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Jimmy spread his golden wings as he stared down from the railing of his sky façade, the wind rustling in his wings and making him long more then anything to fly. There was nothing that compared to the feeling of flying, the rush of adrenaline as you took off into the air.
When he had flown before, his wings were always majestic, somehow flapping at exactly the right time. His hair always got ruffled and in his eyes, but he didn’t care as he was too filled with the euphoria of being so high above the ground.
It was ironic now just how much faith he had had in himself. To trust his body enough to never think twice about plummeting to the ground had been both kindness and cruelty. He’d never been scared before, but he’d also never appreciated just how lucky he was.
He had never forgotten the moment his feather had been clipped, the slight pinch before part of his identity had been stolen.
Twenty-two seconds – that’s how long it had taken the watchers to remove the feathers that allowed him to fly. Twenty-Two seconds that had been the worst time of his life and had left him in an even worse place.
He had finally reunited with his cousin after so long recently, and yet he still hadn’t managed to put into words what had happened to him. Grian miraculously hadn’t yet noticed the strange cut of his wings, but it was only a matter of time.
The other hermits luckily didn’t know what to look for – and they had been the first people other than Joel and Scott that Jimmy would call real friends in a long time.
Scar had instantly flown over to his sheriff office, and while he seemed intent on breaking just about every rule to exist, he had laughed with Jimmy, not at him. He had also accidentally blown-up part of his base, but that was largely Grian’s fault.
And Tango – A Blazeborns from hermitcraft, who always seemed to be crashing at Jimmy’s place. He was rather short, though he protested that he was average height for his hybrid. And the fire atop his head wasn’t the only thing that burned brightly.
Tango always seemed to be energy, running around after a million different moving parts. He’d always smile wildly at Jimmy in the mornings, inviting him to speak. He never interrupted, and he genuinely seemed to care. Jimmy found himself spending far too much time looking into the glowing amber of his eyes.
Jimmy hadn’t felt so alive in years, so it was no wonder the wind was calling to him again. As he’d slowly lost pieces and pieces of himself, he’d learnt to supress it’s wild calls. He knew there was no place left for him there anymore.
But now, it almost felt like he could – even if it would only kill him. Feathers like the ones the watchers had taken didn’t just grow back, and Jimmy didn’t know any magical specialist that could heal them. If he owned up to his friends, he was sure they’d find him one.
But first he’d have to face everything, from how and why his wings had been clipped in the first place, as he still had little recollection of the after – it was mainly just memories of lying in Scott’s arms. They had been cute together, but they were ultimately better then friends.
Jimmy would also have to investigate his part In the rift. He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but when building, he’d noticed a purple strand of Magic that felt like home crawling through the cliff. For some strange and stupid reason, he’d tugged on it and brought it through.
Jimmy sighed one last time as he looked down at the beautiful view once again, knowing he’d never fly again. It was a hopeless dream, and one only a fool would rely on.