(Open) The crippled man pushed his messy brown hair behind his ears. A lone limp wing hung for long behind him as Asriel organized his tools. Currently he lived in the slums of the capital as a second rate mechanic, watching the ships and birds fly by with a longing for what he lost. A stained photo hung on the wall of a smiling group in cadet uniform. Footsteps made him turn around with a grunt.