Fallen Angels can't fly.
.. Or so I was told, growing up by the shanties of Kerning.
Thing is, no one knew how I got here or where I came from. I was just found this way. Some believed me to be a spawn of darkness. A demon child. But my favorite had to be from the one who found me -- a fallen angel.
Growing up, I quickly realized that I wasn't like the others. Maybe it was the unkempt hair. Perhaps it was the crimson eyes. Or maybe it was the giant wings jutting out from my back. Who knows?
But what had made me unique was what made me different and I endured for it. No one wanted to befriend a bird. A freak. A boy with messy hair.
When no one is all you have, you either give up or die trying.
So I gave up.
Dying sounds painful.
Around this time, word around the street was that Snoo was on a rampage and needed to be stopped ‘less he destroys our town. You see, to the outside world, we’re just a bunch of misfits who aren’t worth sending aid to. No knights in shining armor in this story, no, those are reserved for the greedy nobles in Tria. Here, we only have ourselves to rely on.
So I went forth.
The battle went on for what seemed like hours until finally an exhausted Snoo collapsed. Maybe he was tired. Or perhaps it was the constant barrage of Flame Tornadoes and Thunderbolts. Either way, I came back a hero; acknowledged and praised by all.
So I guess Fallen Angels can fly.
.. But they can’t get a shirt tailored around their wings.