The weeks bled into one another, slow and heavy, like rainwater dripping through rusted pipes.
Starling woke every morning to the same gray ceilings, the same dull human chatter echoing through the halls of the mixed division. The classrooms of Danver High were built to look equal, white walls, open windows, a shared flag waving proudly in the courtyard but he learned quickly that equality was something built for display, not practice.
He sat at the far corner of the classroom, his wings folded tight to make himself smaller. Each day the same cycle repeated: laughter when he walked in, whispers when he sat, disgusted looks when his feathers brushed the air. His wings had once been something beautiful, he used to spread them wide on clear days and let the sunlight gleam through the violet-tinted feathers. Now, he just tried to hide them.
The teachers ignored him, their smiles polite and hollow when he answered questions. Sometimes, even when he was right, they looked past him to a human student and said, "Exactly, good job," as if Starling's words had never existed.
The other Humarite teachers noticed. One even tried to step in once, voicing that maybe the arrangement was unfair, that maybe Starling should be allowed to train with his kind.
She was gone by the next week.
Riven never said it aloud, but Starling saw the rage in his eyes every time they met after class,the kind of fury that couldn't be tamed by words or logic.
He would always come running the moment his special training was done, sweat still glistening on his skin, still wearing his Y-bloodline uniform with the silver mark on the chest. He'd find Starling waiting by the fountain near the courtyard, wings curled around him like a shield.
"Hey," Riven would say, sitting beside him. "You didn't fight anyone today, right?"
Starling smiled faintly, eyes down. "I tried not to."
"Good." Riven nudged him. "You bruise like paper."
That made Starling laugh, a small sound that always seemed to lift something heavy in Riven's chest.
They'd get ice cream afterward, their ritual. Vanilla for Starling, chocolate chip for Riven. Simple things..tiny moments of peace in a world that hated them for simply existing.
Starling would watch him sometimes, the way Riven's grin came so easily despite everything, the way his laugh carried, warm and reckless. And sometimes, just sometimes, Starling's chest would ache in a way he didn't understand.
He never said it out loud. Instead, he smiled. Because Riven always made him feel warm.
And that warmth was enough to keep going.
But warmth doesn't last forever.
Starling tried to stay positive. He told himself every day that things would change, that maybe the humans would stop, that maybe the teachers would see. But the bullying never stopped.
They tripped him in the hallways. They tugged at his wings. They called him bird freak, T-trash, flying pest.
When he tried to fight back, it ended with bruises. Sometimes worse. The school cameras always seemed to look the other way.
"Starling, don't," Riven would whisper when he found him after, bloody-nosed or limping. "Please don't give them what they want."
Starling just smiled through swollen lips. "You're here now, aren't you?"
That broke Riven every time.
He didn't know how to say what he felt, how to tell Starling that his kindness hurt that he wished he could give him something stronger than comfort. He would have traded his bloodline in an instant if it meant Starling could stand tall again.
But all he could do was be there.
Starling was fragile. But the way he still smiled… the way he still believed in people? It made Riven feel small, unworthy.
He would hug him sometimes when it got too heavy, when Starling's feathers drooped and his breathing hitched. Starling would melt into him, trembling, then go still.
And Riven would whisper, "You're not a burden, you hear me?"
Starling would nod into his shoulder, heart pounding, face flushed where it pressed against him. He didn't understand why his chest hurt like that when Riven held him, or why the world went quiet when he did. But he didn't question it. Because that was home.
That was his Riven.
Time moved, but the weight stayed.
And like all quiet things, pain builds until it breaks.
---
Present day.
The sound of dripping.
A cold metal table. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, their sterile glow slicing through the dimness of the lab. The air smells of antiseptic and something coppery beneath it.
Dawn stands over a restrained human, mask in place, gloves glinting wet. He hums softly and a low, almost cheerful tune sounded as he adjusts the straps holding the man down.
"I know, I know," he says conversationally, tilting his head. "This probably looks… bad. But I promise you, I'm not cruel. I just need information. And technically…" he wipes a bit of red from the man's cheek with the back of his glove, "it's not torture if you don't scream."
He grins. "You can't, anyway."
The man's throat is bandaged, voice cords severed. His eyes are wide, shaking.
Dawn giggles. It's light, almost childlike. "See? We're already making progress."
He hums again, fingers tracing along a scalpel like it's a favorite toy.
"This is business, you understand? You made a deal with the wrong bounty hunter, and he took my job. I can't have that."
He pauses, looking thoughtful. "I used to be like you once. Not the bounty part..no, that's far too shallow...but the… fragile kind. Thought I could be good. Thought if I smiled enough, people would smile back. Thought if I kept quiet, the world would be kind."
He chuckles softly. "Spoiler alert! it wasn't."
He leans closer, his reflection glinting in the man's terrified eyes.
"They took everything from me. Even him. The only person who ever gave a damn. But I'm getting ahead of myself."
He turns away, pulling off his gloves, tossing them aside. His voice softens, distant, as if remembering something too fragile to touch.
"Riven and I, we were brothers in every way that mattered. Two kids against the world. He fought so hard for me, even when they forced him to stop. Even when they made him believe that loving me was wrong."
He stops beside the table, slowly lifting his mask. The man's breathing quickens.
Dawn smiles faintly. "Oh, don't look so scared. You won't remember much anyway. And as for my face…"
He leans in close, whispering like a secret, eyes gleaming with a mad kind of mirth.
"…you're not ready for that yet. It's a surprise." He points at an empty section of the room, as if someone was there.
The lights flicker once. The sound of the scalpel being lifted. Then silence.
Dawn laughs quietly, wiping his hands as he steps out into the corridor beyond the lab.
"What a time it was," he murmurs. "Brothers, me and Riven. We were inseparable."
He glances back at the door, the hum of the lights dying down.
"But life's funny like that, isn't it? One minute you're sharing ice cream, the next you're learning what humans are really made of."
He's smile is sharp, haunting and serene before he puts his mask back on.
"Anyway," he says, rolling his shoulders, "where were we? Oh yes… the next tragedy."