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"Birds of a feather," Jax muttered, echoing an old proverb his grandfather used. "We aren't the same, Jax," Kaelen countered.
"You have the drive?" Kaelen whispered, leaning in. His eyes darted toward the door, where a pair of Enforcers were hassling a street vendor. [S1E2] Birds of a Feather
"Time to fly, High-Flyer," Jax grinned, kicking the table over to create a barricade. He pulled a pair of makeshift mag-grapples from his belt and tossed one to Kaelen. "Hope you aren't afraid of heights." "Birds of a feather," Jax muttered, echoing an
A crash at the door ended the philosophy lesson. The Enforcers had spotted them. His eyes darted toward the door, where a
"No? We’re both sitting in a basement, hiding from the same police, trying to keep a world from ending. If we're both flying toward the same sun, does it matter whose wings are real and whose are scrap metal?"
Jax, a scrawny mechanic with grease permanently etched into his cuticles, sat across from Kaelen. Kaelen was a High-Flyer, a literal citizen of the floating Upper Spire. He wore silks that cost more than Jax’s entire workshop, yet here he was, nursing a glass of fermented sludge in the slums.
The neon hum of the "Aether & Ore" tavern was the only thing louder than Jax’s nerves. In the dive bars of the Lower Rings, people didn't just hang out; they coalesced like oil on water.
