Bending the steel plates off of his uniform, Galen changed into more comfortable attire, once again consisting primarily of grey with minor knotwork along the cuffs. His wings folded with a slight ruffle as he sat atop the roof of his home in the Middle Ring, looking up at the blaze of stars, wondering all the while if that blaze in the night sky might soon be obscured by the ash and flames of war. He drew a small line of embers in the air around his palm, intrigued at his recent increase in affinity for fire and heat manipulation. His radio, sitting on his nightstand on the floor below, faintly chattered with the sounds of the night watchmen communicating throughout the city.
"Oh how far we have come" he thought, "and how far we might fall."
The embers in Galen's palm danced like petals in the wind, glowing a soft orange as they floated around him in a rippling ring of light.