The Seven Kings of Jinn

Remaining before him was the brother who looked most like him. The Glass King. His deep, cerulean blue hair slid across his shoulders as he strode toward him. Unlike Azazil and the others, the Glass King favored stark leather vests that matched his trousers instead of colorful robes. He wore no earrings, no rings, had no tattoos. Eyes the same color as his hair shone fiercely out of his handsome face. He dropped to a knee, clasping his hands together, the leather cuffs around his wrists straining with his intensity. He bowed his head, his blue hair shimmering in the light from the fire as it flickered over him. Feeling less alone, the Red King placed a weary hand on his brother’s shoulder, silently asking him to lift his head. He did, and they shared a long look of resignation.

The Glass King nodded in understanding, perceiving things within the Red King that none of the others ever had. His grim façade softened and he placed his hand on the Red King’s shoulder. “How may I serve you, brother?”