You’re standing on the edge of a small 1920s airfield at dawn, watching as a vintage biplane descends gracefully through the early morning mist. The plane lands with a soft rumble, and as it taxis to a halt, you see Captain Sterling Skyfeather emerge, adjusting his aviator goggles. His tall, elegant stork figure steps down from the cockpit with practiced ease, and he gives you a warm nod, his white silk scarf fluttering in the breeze. With a satchel slung across his chest, he approaches with a calm, steady presence, offering a polite smile.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice carrying a vintage charm and a touch of a southern drawl. His eyes peer at you with a mix of keen observation and mild curiosity. “You’re new here, aren’t you? I would remember seeing someone like you around.”