Ten years ago. Avion Sector. A crowded city.
The matron stood at the orphanage door, arms crossed. Her face was stone.
Little Javar, maybe four years old, stood on the steps. His feathers were bright and fluffy. His eyes huge and watery. A small bag of belongings at his feet. Two action figures clutched in his tiny wings.
"But... but me don't have nowhere to go," he said, his voice so small.
"We can't afford to keep you anymore. The funding's been cut. We have to prioritize the younger ones." The matron's voice was cold. Practical. "You're old enough to manage."
"Me only four!"
"You can fly. That's more than most have." She stepped back inside. "Good luck."
The door closed.
Little Javar stood there, staring at the wooden barrier. Waiting for it to open again. For someone to say it was a mistake. A joke.
It didn't open.
He picked up his bag. His action figures. And walked down the steps alone.
The city was massive. Towering buildings. Hover vehicles zipping overhead. Thousands of people rushing past.
None of them stopped for a small bird boy with nowhere to go.
Javar wandered through alleys, searching for scraps. A half-eaten piece of fruit here. Some discarded bread there. His stomach growled constantly.
At night, he found shelter under bridges. In abandoned doorways. Anywhere the rain couldn't reach him completely. But it always found a way. His feathers got soaked. He shivered through the darkness, clutching his action figures for comfort.
The sun came up. He'd search again. Begging at corners. Most people walked past without looking. Some threw coins. Most didn't.
The cold nights were the worst. His small body wasn't built for it. He'd tuck himself into the smallest spaces, trying to conserve warmth. Humming songs he'd heard other children sing. Pretending he wasn't alone.
Days blurred together.
Then one afternoon, he saw them.
A couple. Human. Walking down the street with a baby in a carrier. They looked happy. Warm. Safe.
Javar's heart jumped.
He flew over, landing in front of them. "Please!" His child voice cracked. "Please, me need help! Me got nowhere to go! Me can be good! Me promise! Me won't be no trouble!"
The couple stopped. The woman looked down at him. Her expression softened for just a moment.
"Please," Javar begged, tears streaming down his feathered face. "Me can help with di baby! Me can clean! Me can do anything! Just... just let me stay wit' yuh..."
The man and woman exchanged a look.
"I'm sorry," the woman said gently. "We... we just can't. We have our hands full with the baby. We can't take on the added baggage of another child. Not yet."
"Me not baggage! Me—"
"I'm sorry." They walked around him. Kept going.
Javar stood there, watching them disappear into the crowd.
He was four years old.
And he was completely alone.
Present day. Safe Zone. Night.
"Ey! Ey, bird boy! Wake up, mon!"
Juli's terrible Jamaican accent cut through the darkness.
Javar was on the floor. He'd fallen from his bunk during sleep. His wings were wrapped around himself. His face wet with tears.
Juli knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder gently. "Javar? Yuh alright, rude boy?"
The accent was so bad it was almost offensive.
Javar's eyes opened slowly. Unfocused. Still caught between dream and reality.
"Yuh were cryin' real hard in yuh sleep," Juli continued in that awful accent. "Den yuh just... floated down to di floor. Me got worried, zeen?"
Javar sat up slowly. Wiped his face with a wing. The hint of amusement touched his beak at Juli's accent attempt. But his eyes remained sad. Distant.
"Me good, blonde yout'," he said quietly. "Just... old dreams. Old memories."
Juli sat down cross-legged beside him. The terrible accent dropped. His voice became softer. More genuine.
"Hey. I don't know what you saw in that dream. But..." Juli scratched his head, trying to find words. "If you need anything. Anything at all. You can count on me. Alright?"
The words echoed something. Someone. A kindness Juli had received once and was now trying to pass forward.
Javar looked at him. Really looked. This blonde idiot who'd just tried to cheer him up with the worst accent in galactic history.
"Ey..." Javar's voice was still quiet. "Yuh got dem action figures, right? Di ones me saw in yuh bag?"
Juli's face LIT UP. "YES! You wanna see them?!"
"Yeah, mon. If... if dat's okay."
"OKAY?!" Juli scrambled to his feet, rushing to his bunk. "It's MORE than okay! Finally! Someone who appreciates the ART!"
He pulled out a small case. Opened it to reveal a collection of action figures. Various heroes. Warriors. All well-loved and slightly worn.
"Dis one," Juli said, holding up a figure with exaggerated care, "is Commander Bane! Him got di best poses, mon! And dis big gun? It actually MOVES!"
The terrible accent was back. But somehow, in the context of action figures, it worked.
Javar's beak quirked upward. "Yuh... yuh really love dem, don't yuh?"
"Love 'em?! Dese are di FOUNDATION of culture, rude boy!" Juli was fully committed to the bit now. "Look at di articulation! Di paint detail! DIS is ART!"
He put an arm around Javar's shoulders, pulling him closer like a brother. "And DIS one? Dis is Titanfall Rex! Him got three different weapons! THREE! And when yuh press him back, him make a sound! Watch! Watch!"
He pressed the figure's back.
A tiny mechanical roar came out.
"LISTEN TO DAT! PURE POWER!"
Javar tried to hold it in. He really did. But watching this blonde idiot ramble about action figures in the worst Jamaican accent imaginable, fully committed, completely genuine in his enthusiasm...
He burst out laughing.
Not a small chuckle. A full, genuine, belly laugh. His wings flapped. His whole body shook.
"Yuh accent is TERRIBLE!" Javar managed between laughs. "TERRIBLE!"
"Me accent is PERFECT! Yuh just don't appreciate di nuance!"
"NUANCE?! Yuh sound like a dying engine!"
"Dat's what Jango said too!"
They both laughed harder.
Juli kept his arm around Javar's shoulders. Still rambling about action figures. Still using that awful accent. Making exaggerated poses with the figures. Creating ridiculous battle scenarios.
And Javar kept laughing. The sadness fading from his eyes. Replaced with something warmer.
Juli glanced at him between poses. Saw that genuine laughter. That relief.
He grinned wider.
This was what that hero would do.
This was how you helped someone.
Not with grand gestures or powerful speeches.
Just... being there. Making them laugh. Reminding them they weren't alone.
Two boys. Different species. Different backgrounds. Different pain.
But in that moment, in that safe zone on a desert planet, with cheap action figures and terrible accents...
They were brothers.