Calano felt as if he had been flying for hours.
Then, something changed.
Suddenly he wasn't flying. Instead, he was sitting at a workbench, tinkering with a small black bird, made of metal. It's chest was open, and small bronze gears turned inside.
For some reason, he knew that the small black bird was called a Croling. He also knew that he was it's creator, one of hundreds of Crolings.
This Croling had a small speaker in it's beak, to play music during long flights.
Calano's ears also weren't human, but were instead small black wings, capable of feeling vibrations in the air and interpreting it as sound. His wings were still there, pitch black and massive, and his arms were still covered in black feathers, with talons.
But in this alternate reality, Calano was a tinkerer. A crafter. And the Father of the Crolings.
"Hello, little one." He whispered to the Croling in his hand, closing it's chest. It's eyes blinked to life, and it hopped around, chirping.