A frightened teenager, white wings grimy from living on the street, runs down a dim alley. He is small; one might mistake him for a child of twelve or thirteen, though he is some four years older than that. He is thin too, almost to the point of emaciation. He clutches a small bundle to his chest as he runs. Overhead crisscrossed clotheslines that stretch between leaning apartment buildings make taking to the sky impossible. He is panicked, desperate. He has to get out now! Behind him a heavy tread echoes off of the cobblestones. His pursuer is gaining.

The boy’s breath becomes ragged. He has to get out! He has to escape! But as he rounds a corner in the still unfamiliar city he finds he is trapped. He looks above, but escape by air is still impossible. He spins around to face the entrance to the alleyway. Perhaps he still has time to backtrack and escape… but no, a dark shape blots out the dim moonlight at the end of the alley. The pursuing man is also an aerian, but his build is sturdy, and he tops the scrawny teenager by more than a foot. He offers no words, but simply smiles as he advances. The boy cowers back. He is terrified, but now that he has nowhere to run he finds a kind of desperate courage welling up in him. His cowered posture allows him to draw a long dagger and palm it in his left hand, the blade lying hidden along his arm. It’s a simple trick, but one the man might not expect from the terrified boy.

The man reaches out to take the bundle that the boy holds close, speaking at last. “Now, you little thief, I’ll take back what’s mine.” He doesn’t even bother to draw his own knife.

The boy swings his fisted left hand. That’s another tiny advantage; few people are accustomed to fighting someone who is left-handed. The man begins to laugh, for it seems that the boy’s punch has not even connected, passing harmlessly just in inch from the man’s abdomen. He suddenly stops laughing, his eyes going wide in horror, for the boy had never intended for his hand to connect, it was the hidden dagger he was swinging, almost invisible in the darkness. He had tilted his hand so that the dagger’s sharp blade cut across the man’s stomach. The man clutches at the wound. He has been gutted, and only his fingers, covered now in his own blood, are keeping his intestines from spilling out.

The boy stares in horrified fascination at what he has done. The man, his eyes still wide in an almost comical expression of surprise, drops to his knees and then falls forward on his face. He lies still in a widening pool of blood that looks black as ink in the moonlight. The boy stares a little longer. His expression gradually hardens. He has done what he must do to survive in this place. Well, so be it. He has already become a thief, now he is a killer too.

The sun was setting by the time Aidan reached the high mountain city. The spires of Aerievale’s high towers caught the last of the sun, as did the snow-topped peak that towered over the city. Aidan didn’t head for the sparkle of the sun on white marble, however. His destination lay on the lower slopes. The city spilled in a disorganized jumble down the mountain. Up near the top were palaces and mansions, and below them the more modest dwellings of the middle class, but the lower slopes were covered in a warren of falling-down houses, dilapidated shops, ugly warehouses and who knows what else that made up the poorer quarter, and it was there that Aidan’s friend Thomas lived.

He was not the only one in the sky that evening. Though many other races lived there, Aerievale was the homeland of the aerian people, and there were still a few of them out at that late hour, most no doubt heading for their homes, or else out for a little entertainment on a fine, clear evening.

Aidan’s eyes scanned the ground below. Here over the poor quarter there were fewer people airborne and more making their way below on two feet. Many of Aerievale’s non-aerians were among the poor. Aidan found old reflexes taking over, and he kept a wary eye on the few that shared the airspace over the poor quarter with him. Life down there was hard, and many of those who lived there became hardened in response. He had seen it happening to himself. Not all of the inhabitants of this area were dangerous, but it was best to be careful. The light faded further, sliding up the mountain above until the last trace of sun vanished. Thankfully, Aidan’s night-sensitive eyes could see through the gathering twilight well enough to guide him. He found many landmarks had changed, but enough remained for him to find his way to a certain familiar-looking roof. When he landed in the street in front of the tiny cottage he smiled, knowing he was at the right place. The house looked out of place on the little street, for where all of its neighbors were run-down and falling apart, this one was in perfect repair, freshly painted and with flowers growing in the miniscule yard in front.

He stood there in front of it, remembering.