If any naive part of Micah had hoped the flight to earth would be easy, it was instantly stripped away the moment the wind smacked into him. When he'd been struggling to keep aloft at its surface, it had tugged at him plenty, but that was nothing like giving into its pull. This truly was a whirling storm that sucked him in, spinning him in dizzying circles as he plummeted downwards.

Any semblance of steadiness soon vanished entirely. This wasn't a flight at all. It was falling, endlessly, completely at the sky's mercy.

He made a brief attempt to twist around and catch a glimpse of Elysia from underneath, yet all he saw was an expansive white-gold blur before the wind wrenched him aside and he tumbled into another wild spiral. Gritting his teeth, he wrestled his wings tight to his sides, pinning his arms in beside them, desperate to regain some element of control.

If this was the sky's version of a dance, then perhaps he was beginning to lose faith in the art. This one moved swiftly and breathlessly, ten times the pace of any regular song, designed to sap energy and impossible to slip from.

Bitter cold shredded through him. His eyes stung. His lungs burned. He struggled to heave in a breath, the air brittle and fragmented, nothing more than a thin trickle. Black spots were beginning to creep into the corners of his vision. What would happen if he passed out now? What was the extent of the blood's protection? Would hitting the ground still hurt?

The pounding of his heart rose above the rushing air in his ears. He gave in, squeezing his eyes shut, no longer wanting to stare out at the nothing he fell into.

Time slid by in lazy drifts. All he knew was that, eventually, the winds began to calm, shifting from icy rapids to an easier current, until he found he could breathe again. He gulped in several lungfuls, sighing each one out with his relief, the courage finally arriving to open his eyes.

Beneath him, there was land.

His next breath arced into a sharp gasp. At first, all he made out was a glaring sheet of colours, silver and blue and red, until he blinked and the city began to take shape. Unlike Elysia's buildings, which were all polished curves and soaring rooftops, this place was littered with sharp, rusted structures, armed with a wicked glint akin to the point of a needle. And they were far, far more plentiful in number. The indigo hues of twilight formed narrow fractures amongst the city's cramped sprawl, almost dispelled entirely by the dazzling lights flooding from the taller buildings.

Realisation snapped through Micah with the crack of lightning. It was close, and growing closer by the second. He kicked his legs out, clawing at the air, until his wings finally responded and flung out on either side of him. His stomach dropped as he jolted, dragged to an abrupt halt. Bearing himself aloft felt near impossible after so long of giving in to the sky's wills. His wings trembled, exhausted before they'd even begun.

At least they were somewhat working. Part of him had become resigned to his descent concluding in an earthen crater. Pushing all his strength into his wings, he tilted them and dived towards the city.

His weight pulled at him, every beat too heavy. He quickly abandoned the idea of this being a flight, either. All he'd gained was more control over the direction in which he fell. He twisted towards the largest gap between buildings he could make out, squinting through the rapidly brightening red glare flooding from one side.

It took up so much of his vision that he didn't make out the horizontal pole blocking his path until it was too late. Panic spearing his shaky wings into action, he yanked himself aside, but the end of the pole still scraped his side, tearing through his tunic and leaving a piercing sting beneath.

He barely had chance to register the pain before the opposite building loomed into view. He didn't have time to dodge this time. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but he also felt his right wing slam into the wall, splaying at an awkward angle. There was no hope of recovery. He cried out, helpless as he tumbled towards the ground. He made a haphazard attempt to reach out with his legs, but his feet hit the path too hard and they folded beneath him, leaving him to land in a crumpled heap.

The ground was different, too. Gravel and grit scratched at his palms as he made a futile attempt to drag himself upright. Every inch of him shivered, exhaustion crashing over him in a weighted blanket determined to smother the last of his strength. His right wing was pinned under his chest, pain lancing up it and throbbing in his shoulder. Tears blurred his hazy view of the street. Harsh crimson light flooded the dulled metallic greys that shaped all else around him.

Digging his fingers into the path, he managed to haul himself up, struggling to rise to his knees. His arms shook with the effort of supporting him. He stared down, wings limp as they drooped against his sides.

Come on, he hissed to himself. You're Micah. You dance with danger. You can pull through this.

Panting, he threw himself back onto his heels, head tilted up to the sky. It was only then that he noticed the pain in his wing was already easing, some cool wash of relief sweeping away the ache. He gasped, his hand flying up to touch his face. It came away with nothing. The silver blood was gone, but it had done its job.

All that lay above him was rolling grey clouds, a sky etched in far less clarity when viewed from the opposite side. A breathless laugh broke through the tightness in his chest. He'd made it.

He knelt on the gritty earth of Duine.

Only when the sound emerged did the quiet strike him. It was unsettling, a jarring blow after the deafening rush of falling freely through turbulent winds. Exposure prickled over his skin. He swept the street, suddenly aware of every shadow, the darkness swallowing each angled corner. Night was a fabricated thing in Elysia; though the sun sank, it never truly vanished, and so Eike had taken to extinguishing every lantern flame in order to heighten the distinction between the two halves of the day and make for easier viewing of the stars. Micah liked to think he was rather adept at navigating after dark, but Duine was wholly different. He didn't know these streets. Even without that, the darkness seemed to crowd in thicker, heavy and foreboding. He couldn't even make out the stars amongst the clumps of cloud above.

His wings shifted with his unease. Twisting, he scanned the area behind him. The path darted sharply off to the right behind, winding around the building to his left, the one with that insulting pole sticking out of it. A board hung from it, lit in that glaring red light. When he squinted, the light focused into the shape of a snake, head and tail curled upwards so that it nearly formed a complete circle, the words 'The Starving Serpent' etched in bold, glowing letters underneath. The snake's mouth was split open, absent of a forked tongue.

Muffled chatter was audible, seeping from beyond the door only if he strained to listen. A dim light was lit inside, more bleached than the crimson outside but still faintly red. His gaze slid across the building's greyed front, the door leaning on its hinges, before landing on the murky strip of glass that took up much of the side closest to him. A window.

The figures inside were far too blurred and darkened to fully distinguish, but he couldn't miss the piercing sensation of catching another's eyes.

He flinched. The eyes narrowed, and then movement stirred, raising voices disturbing the eerie quiet. Fear spiked Micah's pulse. Ignoring the tremble in his legs, he scrambled to his feet, staggering back into the opposite wall. It was oddly rough to the touch, paint peeling between his shaky fingers as he braced himself against it. He could hardly stand upright. How was he supposed to defend himself if the humans attacked?

They won't. He sucked in a long, calming breath. His entire lifetime had passed since those violent tales. They probably wouldn't even know what he was.

He fumbled for a smile. Better make a good impression, then.

The door creaked as it was flung open. A man stepped out, features smeared in garish crimson by the light, his jacket washed a dark maroon. The clothes beneath were thick and dark, bunched by multiple folds. Micah had to blink, shock and bewilderment clouding his thoughts despite knowing this was the exact image he should have expected. The man looked so small without wings stretching from his back, despite his tall frame and broad shoulders.

Two others followed him, their expressions difficult to make out in the warped light. Micah hoped his shivers were equally concealed. "Hi," he tried.

Slowly, the man advanced, the door swinging shut behind his companions. Quiet sunk in the street again, broken only by the crunch of his footsteps. "Where did you come from?" he asked. His voice was gruff, nearly as low as Ghidor's.

Micah jabbed a finger upwards, attempting a lopsided grin. "Funny story. I fell from the sky."

The man's hand slid to his side, buried beneath his jacket, yet aside from that he showed little surprise. Ice crept up Micah's spine. Yet before the man could say anything, one of the others stepped forward to chip in. "Are you what I think you are?"

The taller man shot him a pointed glance. Micah swallowed thickly. He'd been expecting wonder and awe, perhaps a little innocent disbelief. This read more like a strange kind of suspicion. He shifted a little further into the wall, clinging onto his grin. "Depends what you think I am. I personally like to describe myself as--"

"Answer the question," the taller man growled. In the odd light, his eyes seem to flash crimson. "What are you?"

Micah's breath caught. The stories of humans itched at the back of his mind, a thousand tales of violence and hatred and the unceasing desire to spill blood. His belief that they were no longer true was gradually wearing away, chipped at by the shadowed stares piercing him in place. He tucked his wings in a little tighter. "Look, I'm really quite tired," he said, not having to fake the weariness in his voice. "Since I've been falling for hours and all that. I'm not really in the mood for a conversation. I think I'll be on my way and--"

A harsh click cut him off, and all words died in his throat.

There was a weapon pointed at his face.

It was all he could recognise the object as. Gleaming black metal that absorbed the red light rather than reflecting it, shaped into a stunted barrel that curved downwards into a handle gripped tight in the man's hand. His forefinger hooked into a loop that swerved upwards from the handle. He was near enough now that Micah made out the tiny lever resting just beneath, the trigger, a twitch of a movement away from snapping closed.

"I'll give you one last chance," the man snarls. "What are you?"

Everything felt frozen, encased in hardened ice. Micah's heart thrashed in a desperate attempt to thaw it. He tensed, knowing only one way to get out of this.

He shoved off the wall and sprang into a run.

An indistinct shout echoed in his ears as he swung around the street's corner, bare feet stinging as they skidded over the loose gravel. All of a sudden, he was back in the storm again, struggling to gasp in enough air, the world dizzyingly wrenched from his control. His wings pulled at his back, useless, aching weights that threatened to topple him over. The humans' pounding chase behind broke through the sound of his own ragged breathing. All on either side of him blended into one, a blur of dusty greys and flashing lights.

He spotted a gap to his left and yanked sideways, stumbling, lunging for the pole of the lamp hanging over the corner to steady himself. Something grabbed hold of his wing and jerked him back. He cried out, pain slicing the soles of his feet as they slipped backwards and he crashed onto his front, his outstretched hands not catching him in time.

Another hand curled around the sleeve of his tunic and hauled him onto his side. He hardly had time to consider scrambling back when cold metal pressed into his throat, and he could do nothing but freeze.

"You're not very smart, are you?" the man hissed. This time, electric blue reflected in his eyes, flooded from the lamp above their heads. It did little to calm their sharp hostility. "Do you even know what this is?"

The weapon tweaked, digging further into the underside of his chin. Micah couldn't answer if he knew how. He hardly dared breathe.

"This is a pistol." The man crouched a little lower, their eyes almost level. Fine, dark hairs littered the lower half of his face. "One click of this trigger, and it will kill you. Do you understand that?"

Panic flooded Micah's senses, thick and choking. Pistol. The word held a thread of familiarity, but it was too slippery to slot into place. All he could attach it to was the mechanical weapons in Ghidor's keep. The pistol was smaller, but it expelled the same fear, dealt the same killing blow.

The man's brows drew in, awaiting an answer. Micah fumbled for his voice, only able to drag up a brittle whisper, and even then it shook. "Yes."

"Good." Just slightly, the man relaxed his grip, the pistol only resting against skin. "I don't want to have to kill you, but if you pull something like that again, you'll leave me with no choice. I'm sure you'll still be worth plenty to Mistress Rajan." His other hand wrapped around a clump of Micah's hair, keeping his head shoved down. "Now. Need I ask again?"

Micah's gaze flicked to the pistol. His thoughts stuck together, meaningless and edged with frost. He ran his tongue over his teeth. "You... you've asked a lot of questions. It's getting hard to tell them apart."

"You're an angel, aren't you?" A third voice, one that came from above, shrouded by shadow and the taller man's broad form. Perhaps the beginning of wonder scraped through that one, although it was impossible to tell when every sound seemed to grate with the edge of a knife.

It was pointless to evade any longer. "Yes."

"She was right," added the second voice, the wary one. "The myths are real after all."

"Let's hope so," the man with the pistol murmured. His gaze raked over Micah's face, slow as if to study every feature, then flicked up to examine his splayed wings. Micah fought the urge to squirm. What could he do to escape? What were the humans going to do to him? He couldn't think straight with chills rolling over his skin, ice pulsing outward with every frantic beat of his heart.

He didn't notice the man's eyes had turned elsewhere until the pistol's hard press against his throat suddenly vanished. He inhaled sharply, hand clamping over his neck as if to shield it from any further attack. The abrupt silence rang loud in his ears. The grip on his hair was gone, too. Arm shaking as he dug his fingers into the grit, he raised his head.

All he made out in the thin veil of blue light was the man, standing, his pistol pointed at something in the shadows of the street's opposite side. He'd gone taut. "Come out," he called, that continued growl deepening his tone. "We see you."

Nothing but silence answered. Micah tried to pull himself up a little more, struggling to peer past the man.

He didn't get the chance.

An ear-splitting bang cracked through the air. It was rapidly followed by two more, fragmenting any sense of quiet, more than enough to make him shrink back. He thought too late to block his ears. A piercing whine split through his head, slowly fading in the wake of the noise.

By the time he looked back, the man was on the ground, crumpled just outside the circle of light. His companions had fallen only a few paces beyond. And, further away, still cloaked by the sinking darkness, was a figure.

Another human, from the way her narrow silhouette cut away the possibility of wings, although that should hardly have been a surprise. Still, Micah scrambled into the corner, tipping onto his back, fear spiking fierce enough to cut through the ice weighing him down. His wings dragged over the ground.

It wasn't nearly enough to get away. The figure hurried forward, slipping into the light. She was dressed similarly to the man: a loose coat hung low enough to cover her hips, and thick, woollen clothing visible beneath. Leather boots rose nearly to her knees. Straight brown hair framed her face, not quite falling to her shoulders, coloured a dark shade of purple when stained by blue-tinged light. Her eyes looked black.

She held out a hand. He stared at it, conscious of how much he was trembling. Was she offering help? Had she just saved him? His mind seemed to have succumbed to the cold entirely, refusing to respond.

With a sigh, she seized his arm and hauled him upright, forcing him to scramble to get his feet under him. His legs buckled immediately, carrying him into her. Thoughtlessly, he grabbed onto her shoulder and leaned into it. His exhaustion had never truly left, but the brief burst of energy that had prompted him to run had drained away, leaving him heavy and shaking. Darkness dragged at the corners of his vision.

She shoved him off, although her grip on his arm tightened. "Work with me," she snapped. "We need to get out of here."

"Sorry," Micah mumbled, feeling himself drift. He made a last, clumsy attempt to right himself, forcing a step, but his foot slipped and he fell. He hardly felt his shoulder hit the ground. He was more aware of her hold sliding away, leaving a strangely warm tingle in her touch's absence.

A weak laugh broke from his lips. "I... I'm tired. Need to sleep." His words were beginning to slur together. Somehow, that merged into another laugh.

She might have said something else, but it was drowned out by the pound of his heart. A slow rhythm, a waltzing song, calm in its steady tune. It was easy enough to be lulled by it. His eyes slid closed, and he finally succumbed to the storm.

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Wordcount: 3193

Total Wordcount: 10321 (yes, I know, help)

Fun Fact: I kinda feel like this city (Anhren) has The Mandalorian vibes, or at the very least suits the soundtrack. Which is an excellent show, by the way. Go watch it--

It's a different vibe to the first couple chapters but I'm enjoying it :D Here's some actual danger, Micah. Suffer.

Oh yeah also wonder who new girl could be whoops haha--

- Pup