For aeons, a society built in God's image and light has existed, a kingdom of floating islands conjoined onto one another.
This said, the kingdom of Angels would be named Kathoros, a united front against the darkness that stirs in the background of Elpis.
For many angels who would wish for a quiet and peaceful life devoid of fighting, they would seek out a village on the outskirts of one of the five dominions, but the cost of a peaceful life would be great for those who value social standing above all else.
The cost of peace would mean being reduced to the bottom of the choir and looked down upon for their lack of valour. Being reduced to a single word.
"Coward"
But for those whose will was firm and spirit unshaken, none of it mattered. Their thoughts rested on the quiet life ahead and the family they would one day raise, sheltered from any unrest within the Choir.
The same couldn't be said for those who couldn't manifest wings. The mere phrase wingless would invite pity onto the faces of the public, but under their masks of empathy lay a deep sense of scorn.
An unquenchable hatred in the face of those God had abandoned. The once proud angels were reduced to a subspecies, mistreated and considered to be walking without grace.
Peace was not a thing the Wingless would have the luxury of experiencing ever since their banishment from the Choir, being left to fend for themselves in the expansive forests of Kathoros.
Those who had yet to sprout wings at the age of twelve would be cast away and deemed useless to the choir and the kingdom.
Our story starts at the outskirts of the Star Dominion in a small village named Nova. Although its size was small, the people were closely combined, everyone being on friendly terms with each other.
Partly due to the Star King's rule, the village experienced little to no crime. The expansive web of people ensured that no trouble would arise to cause the eye of the Divine to fall upon them.
If this unsightly probability were to ever actualise, it would most likely mean the destruction of the village, and its denizens would be purged. Deemed undesirables by the Choir and killed before any problems would occur.
Its population is just over 1,000; its overall contribution to the continued survival of Kathoros is very little. Supplying very little of the Kingdom's natural resources is used for weapons and machinery.
As a result, it was deemed a low-priority area, often leading to a lack of aid from the choir. Whether it be famine or forsaken encroaching upon their territory, no matter how dire, it would never concern the choir. Leaving the citizens of Nova alone to deal with their blights.
Always maintaining an indifferent stance in the face of the village's weakness.
Ratella Evergarden is a long-time orphan, once left for dead by his parents, dumped on the doorstep of the same orphanage he now calls home. Unlike the children around him, he had yet to sprout any wings, incurring the scorn of the locals and the attention of the more boorish citizens of the orphanage.
No matter how hard he would try to force his wings to materialise, it would never bear any fruit, only inflicting a deep corrosive sense of pain to ooze from his back muscles, seeping into the surrounding muscles and bones.
For a surface dweller, the pain would have most likely killed them outright. In spite of this, Ratella would call this pain "training", seeing each feeling as a process and growth, but despite his mindset, he still had yet to sprout even one wing.
Every day was similar; he would awake from his slumber, greeted by the familiar ceiling. The room was filled with beds lining both sides, with little figures covered by blankets lying upon them.
Although they were leaves from the same branch, their treatment was vastly different. Those with more wings are favoured and revered by the surrounding children and by some of the staff at the orphanage.
No one would speak to the boy much to his dismay, only opening their mouths in his direction to hurl insults and other disheartening statements about his lack of a future.
While others would float to the dining room where they held all the meals of the day, he was confined to the earth. Unable to flap his non-existent wings, his feet were bare and cold due to his status.
The routine was the same, sitting by himself, incurring the curious but also distant looks of his fellow orphans. In their eyes lay no hospitality, nor any invitation to friendship. Totally devoid of the warmth an angel should embody.
Ratella found their looks deplorable; he was more angelic than the full-blooded angels standing before him. Not once had he seen any of them lend a helping hand to the impoverished of Nova, only turning their heads in disgust. The surrounding adults are warping their understanding of the world.
Fortunately, he was spared from their warped teachings, allowing him to wander the village aimlessly, seeing their precious teaching wasted on him.
He had no qualms about taking solace in the silence and the chirping of nearby wildlife.
Ratella's endless thoughts were disrupted by an orphanage attendant barking orders at him.
"Stop staring and eat your food. You're lucky you even get any, they say wingless don't even need food, just leeching the life force from those around them!"
The woman barking orders was of small stature for a woman of around fifty summers. Her wings were frail and drooping slightly downwards.
The witch was one of the leading instructors in the orphanage's education system and a stern lecturer. Taking her pent-up rage out on those who misbehaved or spoke out of turn.
Despite this, Ratella was treated the worst within the confines of her classroom; his attitude was anything but mischievous, and he often stayed quiet, not expressing his boredom with the pointless lessons that covered the same subject over and over again.
The education system was anything but helpful, apparently just there to provide a monetary boost from the Choir.
Ratella quickly wolfed down the food congealing within his wooden bowl, paying the irate woman no mind. Replying to her shouts with silence, not even sharing the woman a glance.
Her cheeks reddening with anger and embarrassment at being ignored by a so-called undesirable, she knew better than to escalate the situation further and retreated back to where she once stood.
Her little tirade had gained the eye of the headmistress, who was beckoning for the reddening woman to come closer so they could chat.
Tila, the headmistress, had often been Ratella's only friend in this world full of aversion. Valuing his opinion and coming to his aid when needed, protecting him from the poison spilling from the surrounding people's mouths.
Ratella truly valued the woman as a motherly figure.
After a couple of minutes, the two women emerged from the darkness, their faces illuminated by the candlelight. Tila's face was plastered with a charming smile, while the other was the opposite, looking miserable and utterly defeated in the face of her superior's fury. She eyed Ratella with a certain look of contempt, brows twitching.
Tila winked at the boy before walking upstairs towards her office, invoking a sense of unbridled joy and love for the woman.
His admiration was plain to see to the surrounding children, who merely shook their heads at him, their faces adopting a look of pity, not scorn, oddly enough, but he paid it no mind and gleefully awaited the end of breakfast.
Eventually, they were dismissed and allowed to do whatever they wanted in the surrounding meadows and walk into the village centre if they wished.
Their freedom is only possible through the deeply connected society inhabiting Nova; whether you cause trouble on the far reaches of their territory, it would always find its way back to the headmistress's ear.
Ratella called the sense of freedom false, since they were still under the village folk's watchful gaze. This sense of observation is only growing stronger for Ratella, being considered a scourge by the older angels within Nova.