Born in a brothel – such a cliché. But that is Mishka’s origin, so there’s no point denying it. Conceived in a legally sanctioned act of coitus, between a human female and a cloud giant male. Both parties consented, which is how we know no laws were broken. The woman, an indentured prostitute, consented. The man, a wealthy baron in the service of cloud giant royalty, consented. See? No crime.

The subsequent birth of Mishka and his twin brother killed his mother. In fact, it tore her in two. The laws of geometry, combined with Mishka’s paternal heritage, dictated this outcome. But rest assured, no crime was committed.

Mishka grew strong. Raised by the women of the brothel, his aunties, he knew love. But it was a chaotic existence, the love frequently interrupted by, and sometimes defined by, violence. At 9 years old, he was stronger than most fully grown human men, and began to repay his aunties’ kindness with savagery, visiting violence up any brothel patron who failed to abide by the rules of the house.

Mishka grew wise, and came to question the course of his life. He hated his father for indulging his passions without regard to consequences. Yet he allowed other men to engage in the same acts, so long as they abided by the rules of the brothel. This hypocrisy haunted him.

6 year ago, when Mishka was 13, the Witchlight carnival visited his town, and changed his life. He remembers entering the carnival with his friends, without ticket, which is a crime. And he remembers waking in his bed the next morning with no memory of the carnival. But everything from the day itself is lost to memory.

When he woke, he was changed. Sapped of his vigour, he was no stronger than a human man. He could no longer run for more than a minute at time. He could no longer wield a club with any force, making cracking skulls much more challenging. Where once he appeared intimidating with broad shoulders and strong arms, now with his sloping shoulder and a gut that hung over his belt, he scared no one.

3 years ago, the carnival returned. His enfeebled state had made him unable to work enforcement at the brothel. His existence had become tedious and his horizons close. Resolved to force a change, he once again snuck into the carnival (a crime!), but this time he meant to stay. He located the troupe of martial artists that had entranced him on his first visit, and offered himself as an apprentice. Maybe training in a more agile forms of combat could overcome his inherent weakness. Maybe training in mental discipline could resolve his moral ambiguities.

In the first struggle, he met with success and admiration from his teachers. He learned to fight without strength, taking his opponent’s power and turning it back on them.

In the struggle for moral clarity, he also found answers. But these brought no praise from his masters. Mishka had determined that laws are of no use; the law binds only the least privileged and protects only the powerful. But behaving chaotically, obeying one’s own whims, was also reprehensible. The answer, Misha concluded, was that the correct, moral choice depended entirely on circumstances. Sometimes it was right to obey the law. Sometime it was right to disregard the law and do what yielded the best outcome. No system of morality releases us from the burden of deciding for ourselves what is right.