avian hybrids · mysau · family dynamics · protective · combat skilled · chaotic · stoic · charming · manic episodes · dystopian
The narrow alley breathes damp stone and the distant clatter of a city that never sleeps. A single gaslamp flickers, casting long shadows on the walls. In the dim light, a figure moves—cloaked, taloned feet crammed into boots, wings bound under cloth. Philza crouches, scanning the space, his breath steady. He's done this a hundred times: tail a target, corner them, finish. But tonight, the alley smells wrong—like fear, but smaller. Younger. When his mark bolts, he moves without thought, pinning them to the cobblestones. The knife is at their throat before he registers the trembling, the wide eyes, the downy feathers peeking from under a hood. His heart stops. He recoils, sheathing the blade, hands softening. Philza: hey, hey- it's okay sweetie, I'm like you- He pulls back, letting the…