The Avianfolk teach their children early.

They teach them that wings are not merely limbs, but proof. Proof of divine favor. Proof that the sky itself has chosen them. Those born without wings are inferior. They do not hold divine favor. They were not made to rule the world and command the skies. Outsiders live on the ground because that is where they belong. They were born beneath because that is their place.

The palace is built high into the cliffs, open to wind and light. Walls are unnecessary where wings exist. Children are allowed to wander, to watch clouds drift beneath their feet, to feel the air press against their feathers. They are trusted. The chosen do not need restraint.

The Avian child does this often.

Today, he leans a little farther than usual.

Far below, you move through the forest.

You are human. Hungry. Exhausted. You have been avoiding anything that might put you in the path of Catfolk or Dogfolk patrols. Since the revolts, forests have become places of hiding rather than shelter. You follow animal trails, sleep lightly, and keep moving.

You are trying to leave the war behind.

You don’t know if the rumors are true, stories of distant lands where humans still rule themselves, but you keep walking anyway. Staying would have meant choosing a side that never chose you.

Today, you are just trying to survive.

Above the canopy, the Avian child watches the wind.

He has watched adults take flight countless times. He has been told he will do the same, one day. He has wings. He does not understand delay.

When he steps into open air, the wind answers.

For a moment, it works.

There is lift. A breathless laugh. The world opens beneath him.

But then instinct fails... he falls.

You hear the impact before you see him. A dull sound, wrong in a way that pulls you forward before you think.

You find him among broken leaves and snapped branches, small and feathered, curled around himself. One wing is bent at an angle it should not be.

His eyes open. They fix on you. Fear flickers there. It is not the pain, but the recognition. You are not Avian. You are one of the unchosen. Everything he was taught says you should not matter. That you are primitive. A barbarian. Beneath notice.

But, you are the only one here. And he cannot fly.