Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a very beautiful tree that sat atop a lonely hill. Its leaves were blood red, glittering beneath the full moon whenever the wind stirred them.
Perched high among its branches was a very, very sad pigeon named Blitz.
Blitz was a small pigeon with reddish-brown feathers. He looked much like a roller pigeon, but the black and white markings on his head distinguished him as an imp pigeon— a common street breed in IMP city.
Once, he had flown proudly beside his flock through the city skies, wheeling between rooftops and chimneys while demons pointed up in delight. This flock of imp pigeons were special birds. Not only did they possess the uncanny homing instincts of street pigeons, but they could tumble and flip through the air in dazzling little spirals.
Blitz had always loved showing off. But he had also been too adventurous.
He had flown too far from the rooftops that day, too far from safety, and a hawk had spotted him in the open sky. Worse still, the predator had followed him home. Their flock’s nest beneath the warm solar panels — once hidden and safe — had been invaded in a storm of frenzied, flapping feathers and frightened eyes.
“Mama…” Blitz cooed weakly into the night.
If pigeons could cry the way humans did, he thought he might never stop.
The hawk had torn at him during the attack. Bald patches marred the feathers all over his body, leaving his skin exposed in ugly pink spots. Blitz felt hideous now. Broken. Wrong. He had not even bothered preening himself tonight.
For the first time in his life, he was truly alone.
“Mama…” he cooed again, quieter this time. “Barbie… Fizz…”
Poor little thing. They might not even be alive…
He huddled against the branch with his feathers pressed tightly to his body, letting out soft grunts of distress as he tried to settle his nerves. Every rustle of leaves still made his heart leap.
Then, suddenly—
Rrrrrrrrroo.
Blitz’s head snapped upright. “Coo?”
A low rumbling chorus drifted through the darkness. Pigeons. A great many pigeons. Dozens of pigeons. Tens of pigeons. Hundreds of pigeons.
Blitz perked up despite himself. He was far from home, but he recognized the sound immediately: a flock settling in for the night.
And so, with nowhere else to go, he spread his shaky wings and leapt from the branch. The cool night air caught beneath his feathers. Blitz wobbled at first, still sore from the hawk attack, but soon he was gliding toward the distant coos and rumbles.
The strange building he discovered sat near the edge of a rooftop garden, washed silver beneath the moonlight.
It was long and wooden, with wire-covered windows and little ramps leading to openings along the sides. The roof slanted gently downward, and the entire structure smelled faintly of feathers, straw, dust, and seed. Soft coos echoed from within: a sleepy conversation.
Blitz landed quietly on a narrow ledge outside one of the windows and peeked inside.
Dozens of pigeons rested within.
Little box-shaped nests lined the walls in neat rows, each tucked with straw and feathers. Some pigeons slept puffed into round little balls. Others blinked drowsily beneath the dim moonlight filtering through the mesh.
But these pigeons were unlike any Blitz had ever seen. Some had enormous fan-shaped tails. Some stood tall and elegant with proud chests. Others had fluffy feet or curly feathers around their necks. Every pigeon looked different from the next, painted in silvers, creams, reds, blacks, and speckles.
Blitz stared in derision. All these fancy, pompous birds just sat in a loft all day— instead of flying wild and free, like he did. Did these pigeons even know what it meant to be a bird at all?
“Coo? Excuse me?”
The sudden voice made his feathers snap tight against his skin. Blitz jolted so hard he nearly fell from the ledge. His heart hammered wildly as he whipped around toward the sound.
Another pigeon from inside the building was watching him.
Blitz relaxed slightly. At least it was not a hawk.
The stranger was difficult to make out in the darkness, and Blitz tilted his head sharply, trying to get a better look. “Who the hell are you?” he cooed angrily.
The other pigeon approached with a soft whe-whe-whe-whe of wings. As he moved into a shaft of moonlight, Blitz finally saw him clearly.
Oh.
He was beautiful.
The pigeon appeared to be around Blitz’s age, though much larger and fluffier. His feathers were pale gray and white, soft as clouds, and great frills curled around his chest and face like a feathery mane. His dark eyes gleamed gently in the moonlight. He looked a great deal like an owl pigeon, though he looked particularly unique.
“My name is Stolas,” the fancy pigeon said politely. “It is very nice to meet you.” When Blitz did not reply, he craned his neck curiously, and pecked at the wire separating them. “How is it that you are outside the loft at this hour?” he asked. “I did not know pigeons could simply… leave.”
Blitz blinked.
Then he puffed up his chest despite the bald spots marring his feathers.
Something about the other pigeon being so clean and perfect-looking irritated him immediately.
Stolas tilted his head curiously. “Well?”
Asshole. Did this pigeon seriously not see that Blitz had been through absolute hell today?!
“What, like it’s hard?” Blitz snapped, trying to puff himself up as large as possible. Before he even realized what he was doing, instinct took over:
His chest feathers ballooned outward, growing big and round, and he spun in a quick little circle across the ledge while fanning out his tail feathers. Every feather he had left flared proudly. He desperately wanted this pigeon to see how impressive he could be.
The little owl pigeon stared at him with huge eyes. Then he let out a string of delighted coos. “Coo! Coo-coo-coo!”
Blitz froze. The happy little sounds hit him like sunlight after a storm.
His feathers slowly settled back down, and some of the tension left his body for the first time all night. He awkwardly sat back onto the ledge and ruffled his feathers, trying to act unaffected.
“The hell are you making that noise for?” he muttered.
“Well…” Stolas ducked his head shyly, avoiding Blitz’s gaze. “I like your feathers, that is all.” He peeked back up at him. “I do not think I have ever seen such a lovely red color or profound iridescence before.”
This owl pigeon was not to be trusted, as he was obviously lying. Half his feathers had been ripped out by a hawk, after all. He looked terrible.
“Yeah, right,” Blitz scoffed, flapping a wing dismissively, though he could already feel warmth prickling beneath his feathers. What the hell is an ‘iridescence?’ “It’s dark as cloaca out here anyway,” he grumbled. “And I can already tell you’ve got the whole damn rainbow stuffed into this weird nest of yours.”
But Stolas barely seemed to hear him anymore. The owl pigeon had begun fluffing up excitedly, ducking his head and giving eager little wing flicks. His tail twitched behind him as he pecked experimentally at the wire barrier between them.
Tap tap tap.
Blitz huffed. “That’s not how it works, y’know.”
Stolas immediately stopped. Blink blink. “It’s not?”
“No,” Blitz huffed. “Demons don’t let you just walk through windows.”
He stretched his neck downward toward the little metal object latched near the bottom of the mesh. “That thing’s the problem.”
Stolas followed his gaze. “Oh!” He shuffled closer curiously. “Demons call this a lock,” he explained importantly.
"Yeah?" Blitz puffed up proudly again and hopped down toward the latch. “It keeps you from getting outta this weird-ass cage.” He pecked lightly at the metal. “I could probably break you outta here.”
Stolas’s eyes widened so much they looked like big, delicious seeds.
“W-What?” he stammered. “Take me outside?!” The owl pigeon looked genuinely horrified now. “Is… is that something pigeons are allowed to do?”
Blitz stared at him. “You’ve seriously never been outside?”
“No!” Stolas exclaimed, much too loud.
Br-oooo… Br-oooo… came the noise of the pigeons inside the cage, and Stolas jumped as if caught. He lowered his voice immediately afterward, glancing nervously back toward the sleeping loft behind him. “I mean— no. We are not supposed to leave without permission.”
Blitz blinked. Then he looked back at the rows and rows of nest boxes inside the loft.
The sleepy, fancy pigeons.The wire mesh.The lock. Eugh.
“Well, today’s your lucky day, cuz I’m busting you out of here!”
“Oh, my!”
He puffed out his chest proudly before he cocked his head at the lock. The little metal thing glinted in the moonlight, stubborn and ugly. He tilted his head again.
“Hm...” He pecked it once.
Nothing.
Again. Peck peck.
Still nothing.
Stolas watched with enormous eyes from the other side of the mesh.
Blitz refused to look stupid now. (He was regretting saying something that cool before actually having a plan.)
He hopped off the ledge and fluttered down to the rooftop below (whe-whe-whe-whe), muttering under his breath. “C’mon, c’mon, there’s gotta be something around here…”
The rooftop garden nearby rustled gently beneath the wind. Humans had left all sorts of junk scattered around it — bits of string, leaves, tiny stones, broken twigs.
Then Blitz spotted it: A long, thin stick. Bitches love sticks. His eyes lit up. “Oh, hell yeah.”
He grabbed the twig in his beak and fluttered triumphantly back up toward the loft window.
The second Stolas saw him carrying it, the owl pigeon practically lost his mind: “Coo! Coo-coo!” He spun in an excited little circle, feathers fluffing outward as his wings fluttered against his sides. “You found a tool!”
Blitz nearly dropped the stick. “A what?” he said with his mouth full.
“A tool!” Stolas repeated excitedly. “That is what demons use to open things! Blitz, that is brilliant!”
Blitz stared at him. His chest puffed out so hard he almost lost balance on the ledge. He tried not to think too hard about it. “Uh. Yeah. I know.”
But Stolas was still cooing happily to himself. Whatever.
Blitz crouched beside the lock and shoved the twig into one of the little holes experimentally.
The lock clicked.
Both pigeons froze.
Then Stolas started flapping his wings excitedly. He kept flapping and flapping (whe-whe-whe-whe!!!) that his fluffy body was floating from the ground. “You did it!”
“I did?!” Blitz squawked back.
The little latch swung loose. For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then they stared at each other with matching wide eyes before simultaneously bursting into excited coos. They both spun twice before Stolas hurried forward, pressing against the loosened opening. Blitz tugged from outside with his beak.
The owl pigeon was fluffier than Blitz expected. “Okay, hold on— hold on, your chest is stuck—”
“I cannot help my large chest, Blitz!”
“With all due disrespect, yes you fucking can!”
After much grunting, feather fluffing, and indignant cooing, Stolas finally popped free from the opening in an explosion of soft gray feathers.
He landed clumsily against Blitz.
Both pigeons froze. Stolas stared at the open sky around them. The wind glided through his feathers. The stars shimmered overhead. And overhead, a beautiful full moon bathed them all in a gentle light.
His eyes grew enormous. “Oh…”
And with that, the two pigeons launched themselves into the night sky.
Blitz flew first, darting confidently through the air despite the lingering ache in his wings. Stolas followed behind him in slightly wobbly loops, letting out startled little coos every time the wind carried him higher. This fancy owl pigeon was terrible at turning.
By the time they returned to the red-leafed tree atop the hill, both pigeons were breathless with excitement.
At the base of the tree sat a shallow rain puddle reflecting the moonlight like silver glass.
Blitz dove into the water chest-first.
SPLOSH.
Water sprayed everywhere as Blitz flapped wildly, dunking his head beneath the puddle and rolling onto one side. He lifted his wing to get the water underneath.
Stolas blinked.Then, slowly—
He stepped into the puddle.
Cold water splashed around his feet. Soon Stolas was splashing too, though much more delicately than Blitz. He fluttered his wings nervously at first, but before long he was happily spinning in the shallow water beside him.
Moonlight shimmered across their wet feathers.
For the first time that night, Blitz forgot about the hawk.
Forgot about the horror of it all.
Forgot about being alone.
Eventually the two pigeons climbed back onto one of the lower branches to dry themselves. They ruffled their feathers and straightened each one back into place.
Blitz tried not to wince as he stretched one sore wing, but Stolas noticed. “Oh…,” he murmured softly. “You are hurt.”
“I’m fine,” Blitz lied automatically.
But Stolas had already begun gently preening the feathers around Blitz’s neck.
Blitz froze.
The gray pigeon worked carefully around the bald patches left by the hawk attack, using tiny, delicate pecks to straighten messy feathers and clean away dirt. Every now and then he would pause to coo softly under his breath.
Blitz felt his entire body slowly unclench beneath the attention. “You don’t gotta do that,” Blitz grunted weakly.
“It’s really no trouble,” Stolas cooed. “Besides, I get to preen your pretty feathers…”
Blitz flapped his wings in annoyance but didn’t pull away. He stared at him quietly for a moment.
Then, awkwardly, he leaned forward and began preening the feathers atop Stolas’s head in return—just to return the favor, he tells himself.
The gray pigeon immediately melted. A soft trill escaped him as he lowered his head further, allowing Blitz to reach everywhere. Blitz dug his beak into the soft plumes and ran it all over his body. Stolas’s feathers were the softest thing Blitz had ever touched.
Pretty soon, Blitz’s beak was scraping over Stolas’ forehead, his chest, and even his mid back. Stolas cooed happily, nodding and ducking his head affectionately. He squatted down into a little loaf, rumbling deep in his chest as he arched his back. He held that pose. Waiting expectantly.
“Uh,” Blitz said. “What are you doing?"
Stolas blinked. Once, twice. He saw confusion in Stolas' eyes, but also a strange eagerness that made Blitz's feathers fluff up with interest. “I’m not so certain, myself,” the little pigeon admitted. “I’m just … I just feel… I just want to...”
“Huh. Ugh,” Blitz wasn’t sure at all. He didn’t quite like the idea of being too close to a fancy pigeon breed. They had no idea what it was like to be a real bird. They thought too highly of themselves, and even worse, were quite stupid.
So Blitz wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to climb onto Stolas's back. But his chest kept puffing up. His feet kept shuffling closer.
Every time Stolas cooed, Blitz's heart started beating faster. Stolas looked like a warm ball of feathers: very soft and pretty.
Fine, you win.
He ducked, his legs flexed like a spring to pounce onto Stolas’ back—
Then Stolas suddenly froze. He sat up, every feather on his body wrapped tight to his body.
“Blitz,” he grunted in alarm. Something in his voice made Blitz’s stomach drop.
The imp pigeon quickly lifted his head, and he saw it: A shadow passed over the moon.
Huge, silent wings. The hawk.
Blitz’s blood ran cold. “Shit…”
The predator circled once above the tree, its sharp eyes scanning the branches below. Their eyes met.
“FLY!” Blitz shouted.
The hawk folded its wings and plummeted downward like hail.
Both pigeons launched themselves from the branch at once. Stolas let out a frightened grunt beside him as the hawk’s talons sliced through the air where they had been only seconds before. Blitz’s heart hammered wildly inside his tiny chest.
Too fast. The hawk was too fast. Blitz knew what he had to do.
“Go!” Blitz yelled. “Get back to the loft!”
“But—!”
“GO!”
The hawk lunged again.
Blitz swerved hard through the air, then instinct took over.
He rolled.
His body flipped sharply backward in one smooth tumbling motion, wings snapping tight before opening again. The sudden movement confused the hawk instantly. The predator overshot him by several feet with an angry screech.
Blitz rolled again.
And again.
The city lights spun beneath him in dizzying streaks as he twisted and tumbled through the sky in wild, almost impossible spirals.
The hawk shrieked furiously and pursued him.
Good. That was the plan.
“BLITZ!” Stolas cried somewhere behind him.
“GO HOME!” Blitz shouted without looking back.
Another roll.
The hawk dove after him.
Blitz darted toward the city rooftops, weaving between chimneys and antennas while the predator chased close behind. His wings burned with exhaustion, and every flap sent pain shooting through the injuries left by the earlier attack.
But he could not stop. Not if Stolas was still out there.
The hawk swooped again.
Blitz barely avoided the talons by throwing himself into another frantic tumble.
The predator screamed in frustration.
“Yeah?!” Blitz panted breathlessly. “Can’t catch me, asshole?!”
The city blurred around him.
Lights. Noise. Wind. Pain. His wings were not ready for such a strong flight. So much pain.
His chest heaved desperately as he dove lower between the buildings.
Then— A flash of glass.
Blitz’s eyes widened, and he stopped a moment too late.
CRASH.
The window struck him like solid ice.
Blitz bounced violently off the glass and spiraled downward, wings limp and useless now. The world spun around him in smeared streaks of light as he hit the pavement below with a weak, crumpled thud.
For a moment, everything was still.
Far above him, the hawk circled once in confusion before disappearing back into the night.
Blitz tried to move. His vision blurred badly. "Mama...," he wheezed.
The last thing he remembered before darkness swallowed him completely was the distant glow of the moon high above the city buildings.
And the thought of soft gray feathers.