His ruined wings laid against his back like a tattered cloak. Once, they had been massive, thick, covered with preserving powder, their strong, hollow bones forking through to keep them strong. Now the bones were exposed, chipped, without the care his kind needed to keep them perfect and beautiful. They once resembled a Tiger Swallowtail butterfly's wings, deep and black, brown, and green, like nature. But they were faded now. The tips were white. The holes looked like they had been burned in. They were useless to fly, and once, he had missed flying. Now he couldn't even remember what it was like to soar above the treetops and raise up to sift through the clouds. It had taken days to climb to the top of this particularly ancient mountain---after all, the smaller the mountain, the older it was. It was one of the smallest in the middle of the range his home once sat in. He could see his old home from here, between huge trees. It was the largest mountain in the range. Beautiful. Its top was shrouded with clouds almost all the time. There was always snow falling. There was an awful thing up there he just didn't want to see again. But he wouldn't have to if he didn't climb the ancient stairwell.

He looked down at his hands, the bare skin. He was dark in tone, like light earth, his hair black as night and long, but he'd managed to cut it recently. It was a bother when it kept getting caught in a tree or stick or bush, or tangled with insects. Standing, stretching, Gen rearranged his wings a little and winced. There were times he didn't even know what good they were. Since he had forgotten the sensation of flight, wings were moot. He couldn't repair them, he couldn't reach them the right way, not like his companion would be able to. With bare feet he made his way down the mountainside. He barely wore clothes---those that remained in good condition were the thin, low-hanging pants on his hips, made of wool. They were old and green, dyed with berries he'd found around a few years ago. Or had it been more than a few? He forgot.

Gen took the overgrown, nearly-gone path, and with a wave of his hand, areas that were too dense were cleared up as the earth rearranged itself and moved aside momentarily. His home was right in front of him. The home of his people, at least, those that no longer were. In the trees a few miles out, remnants of vine and wood bent to shape homes remained. Cloth had rotted away long ago, and the massacre that he'd seen as he flitted away were reduced to stony bones scattered here and there. This particular area of the forest had been abandoned long ago by all living creatures, except nature. The sickness in the air had driven the away, if not killed them, and now, it was utterly silent. The shifting of the trees sounded ridiculously loud. His breathing did too. As he emerged onto a stony area of land, he was able to look up. The entrance was curtained in blooming ivy whose flowers dripped a sweet-smelling sap onto the old steps. The dark red sap had stained the steps over the years, making it look as if blood had been poured in buckets down the stairs over the years. He swallowed at the thought, and suddenly the overpoweringly sweet scent made him feel sick. He stepped up, however, and brushed the ivy aside, shivering at the cold, unfeeling stone that his kind had carved out to form the entrance of their city. The huge entry hall. Here, the cloth was still existed. It was faded, but he could see the six-spired sun that represented the elements his kind studied and mastered so long ago. Earth. Fire. Air. Water. Light. Darkness. Inside the spire, a small gold circle sat. That represented those that had mastered all the elements, and there were very few of those when they were still alive. He was among them, and had lived with others of his kind at the top of the mountain, in the Cloud district.

Breathing out shakily, Gen lowered himself onto his knees and pressed his forehead against the cold stone. It was dusty. It was cold. It was uneven. Nearby, bones were scattered. No carnivore had managed to come scatter them from their crumpled fetal positions.