Got it — Chapter 4 will be the biggest expansion yet: news/worldbuilding for history and politics, while grounding the chapter in Starling and R
The glow of the screen was the only light in the room. Starling lay sprawled across his bed, one wing half-folded beneath him, the other lazily twitching whenever the static on the newsfeed hissed too loud. He could've muted it, but he didn't. There was something addictive about watching strangers dissect your existence as though it were some political experiment.
On the broadcast, the anchor's voice was cool, clinical:
"Today marks the One hundred and tenth year since the great cosmic collision between our Milky Way galaxy and Andromeda galaxy which sent cosmic waves of radiation crashing into earth and turning half of humanity into the now recognized Humarites . However, debate continues over the integration of Null Abilities into military, economic, and civilian sectors. While most Humarites manifest their Nulls by the age of sixteen, discrepancies remain in inheritance, training, and control. In particular—"
Starling sat up, feathers rustling, eyes narrowing. He'd heard it all before, but still, the words stung.
The screen shifted to old black-and-white footage: Humarites in chains, marched through half-burnt cities. Humans jeering, soldiers with rifles raised, banners of Vail fluttering over rubble. Then the opposite..gleaming propaganda reels of Humarites "thriving" in shining academies, playing sports, attending mixed schools like his.
"Null Bloodlines," the anchor continued, "remain at the heart of both fascination and fear. Genetic traces passed through certain families allow for enhanced manifestation of abilities,sometimes stronger, sometimes stranger. Many of the most infamous Humarites, both heroes and insurgents, have hailed from such bloodlines. The Vail administration maintains that 'strict oversight' ensures stability. Yet, anti-Humarite militias claim the very existence of these bloodlines poses an existential risk to humanity."
Starling rolled his eyes. "Existential risk? I can't even pass algebra."
A soft chuckle from the doorway. "That's because you don't try."
Riven leaned in, tall and lanky, with the kind of posture that screamed both arrogance and exhaustion. His skin had a faint shimmer under the dim light, almost glass-like — a Humarite trait of his lineage, though muted now. He tossed a pack of dried fruit onto Starling's desk and collapsed into the chair like he owned it.
"Still watching that propaganda garbage?" Riven asked.
Starling flexed his wings, one feather drifting loose. "Garbage or not, it's about us. About what we are."
Riven snorted. "It's about what they think we are. Big difference."
The news rolled on in the background, showing charts of Humarite population centers, maps of militia attacks, and the cold blue Vail insignia overlaying it all.
Starling watched silently for a while, then asked, "Do you think they're right? That bloodlines matter? That some of us are… destined?"
Riven leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. His voice dropped, serious now. "Destiny's just another leash. Null abilities, bloodlines, oversight , all of it's just different chains. You know what I think?"
Starling tilted his head. "What?"
"That none of it matters unless we decide it does. Screw bloodlines. Screw destiny. You're not a chart on their broadcast, Star. You're you."
Starling's mouth tugged into a reluctant smile. "You always talk like you're giving some grand speech."
"Someone has to," Riven replied, tossing a dried fruit at his face. "You'd just sulk otherwise."
They both laughed ... a quiet, private laugh that drowned out the drone of the anchor's voice.
But laughter didn't erase reality. Outside, the world was sharpening its knives.
The broadcast cut to footage of a Humarite child beaten in the streets while militia slogans were spray-painted across the walls. To the Vail enforcers dispersing protests with tear gas. To smiling political figures shaking hands with bloodied gloves behind their backs.
Starling's wings curled around him like a shield. "They'll never let us just live, will they?"
Riven stared at the screen, his eyes hardening. "Then we don't live on their terms."
There was no bravado in his tone, just a quiet fire that made Starling's chest ache. He wanted that kind of certainty. He wanted wings strong enough to carry him away from all this.
The broadcast's final segment shifted to the top figures of power within Vail: cold-faced generals, faceless administrators, and the First Overseer — a man whose name was never spoken without fear.
Starling clicked the screen off. Darkness fell over the room, but it felt heavier than silence.
"Hey," Riven said after a moment. "You ever think about what you'd do if you had the power to actually change this mess? Like, really change it?"
Starling thought about it. About the wings on his back, the blood in his veins, the uncertainty of when his Null would awaken. About the way people looked at him in school, like he was both fragile and dangerous.
"I think," Starling whispered, "I'd stop being scared all the time."
Riven smiled faintly. "That's a start."
The two of them sat there in the dimness, friends stitched together by difference and the same gnawing hunger for something more. Outside, the city hummed with prejudice and politics. Inside, in that small room, two Humarite boys dreamed of futures they didn't yet understand — futures that might just shatter the world.
And the world, though it didn't know it yet, was already watching them.