In the heart of the sprawling metropolis known as Ironhaven, where skyscrapers pierced the clouds like jagged teeth, there lived a pigeon named Percival. Percival was no ordinary pigeon. While his flockmates spent their days scavenging crumbs from the bustling sidewalks and dodging the frantic feet of commuters, Percival dreamed of greater things. He perched atop the Skyward Spire, the tallest building in the city, its glass facade reflecting the endless blue sky that taunted him with promises of freedom.
Percival's feathers were a mottled gray, speckled with iridescent blues that caught the sunlight just so. His beak, sharp and precise, was perfect for cracking the toughest nuts—or so he boasted to his few friends. But beneath his bravado lay a restless spirit. "Why settle for street scraps when the world is vast?" he'd coo to the wind. His flock, the Spire Squabbers, dismissed him as a dreamer. Led by the stout, no-nonsense Gertrude, they valued