The Children’s Perspective
They called him a monster.
A butcher.
A killer.
But to the children who whispered his name in the dark, he was something else.
He was the one who pulled them from cages and chains.
The one who wrapped them in starlight and promised they’d never see the faces of their captors again.
The one who listened when no one else would.
To the League, he was the Child Killer.
To the children, he was the one who killed for the children.
And if he had to carry that title, so be it.
They’d keep his secret.
Because he was theirs.
When they told their stories to each other—huddled together in the safe places he carved out for them—they always started the same way.
With the circle. The knives. The chanting.
And then him.
Some said he came like fire, ripping the air apart.
Others swore he was shadows, swallowing the world whole.
But all of them agreed on this: when he appeared, everything stopped.
The cultists screamed. The ground burned. And then, silence.
None of the children saw what he did. He never let them. A starry veil always covered their eyes, hiding the violence, keeping them safe from the horror that would have broken them.
When the cloth lifted, the monsters were gone. Every single one.
And he was still there.
He always knelt to their level, never looming, never frightening. His voice was soft—even if it sometimes echoed like something too big to fit inside a human throat. He asked if they were okay. If they were hurt. If they needed food or water. He wrapped them in warmth, fed them, and when they shook too hard to speak, he simply stayed.
Some of them cried.
Some of them screamed.
Some of them clung to him and never wanted to let go.
He never pushed them away.
The world beyond the summoning circles saw a nightmare. A ghost king. A killer of men.
But the children, the ones who survived because of him, passed down another truth.
In their whispers, he was the protector in the dark.
The one who burned away monsters so they could dream again.
The one who chose them—over crowns, over thrones, over kingdoms.
They didn’t care what anyone else called him.
He was their savior, their guardian, their king.
And no matter what the Justice League thought, no matter what the demons muttered in hellfire, the children would keep his secret.
Because he wasn’t a monster to them.
Because he was theirs.
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