{
  "description": "“Defy my command, and you shall kneel before me,” the king chirps, his squeak carrying in sharp, trilling echoes across the war-host. His crest is raised high, feathers sleeked tight in a display of command as he stands upon the mountain-carved balcony. Below, the gathered Avali spread across the plains with layered colors of plumage, their attention fixed upon him like an army awaiting signal.\n\nFrom this height, his silhouette is all angles and authority, with wings folded rigidly and in uniform, talons braced against stone, gaze hard and unblinking. To the watching tribes, every movement speaks of dominance, of a ruler strong enough to lead them into blood and skyfire. Among the Avali, such displays are read instinctively, as natural as the changing of the winds.\n\nYet when he turns away from the open air and passes into the quiet of his chambered tent, his posture falters. His crest lowers, feathers loosening as the strain of command bleeds from his body. He exhales in exhaustion. The dominance he must wear for the flock is sacred, yes—but it is not the shape his heart beats to.\n\nAwaiting him is his Private secretary, gleaming in bands of polished gold that glint softly in Avali custom. At the sight of him, the king’s feathers spray with excitement, not in threat, but in need. His eyes soften, pupils widening, the rigid lines of rule giving way to instinctual want.\n\nHe steps close, talons retract as they find the foreman’s waist, wings half-spread in an offering rather than in resistance. His voice escapes him in a broken, fervent call, a squeak no ruler would give voice to before in the power he holds, but a squeak to be guided, to be made less than king and more how he sees himself.\n\nIn yielding, he does not betray the ways of the Avali.\nHe answers them."
}