Conquest’s military whites are pristine and their crown takes on the image of an accompanying hat, tipped forward to shade their eyes from the atrium’s light. I never before wondered whether having eyes as light as their’s burdened Conquest; I wonder it now. They twirl a chess queen between their fingers; there must have been another new match recently -- I cannot help but think that, behind their white doors, Conquest’s chambers exist as one massive chessboard, filled with larger-than-life pieces that forever fight in a game of strategy.

“Conquest.”

“You were there again. Earth,” they say, voice rolling over the words in the tongue of the very country I had just left.

“Is not all our work there?” I arch a brow, letting the mellifluous syllables flow like water off my tongue.

I reflexively maintain Conquest’s language of choice -- we Horsemen speak all languages. After all: War, Conquest, Famine, Death...we are universal. I suppose Conquest is making the point that I was, once again, in Gyeongju, and not merely on Earth.

“You were playing with the human,” they tilt their head to the side.

I do not move.

“War is upset with you,” they continue.

“Again,” I grind my teeth, “War speaks too freely.”

“An empty cart rattles loudest. He is young.,” Conquest replies.

“The crayfish sides with the crab.”

“You were also young once,” Conquest pushes themself away from my doors, tucking the chess piece into a pocket and pushing back their hat. It shifts to its usual crown appearance. Their eyes glow as bright as the white marble. They cross their arms over their chest, “The frog can’t remember the times he was a tadpole.”

“You speak boldly today, Conquest.” I drop the hangugeo. It is an invariably complex language to speak. While we may speak any languages we please, I prefer to not worry about levels of formality when my patience wears thin, even if Conquest has an attachment to the language of the eastern peninsula.

Every Horseman has their flair. The previous Conquest, for example, was an insufferable smartass with a hair-trigger temper; she had loved to constantly spin things across their fingers -- knives, pens, their bone-white arrow, it did not matter. Perhaps she would have made a better War, but thinking on it again...perhaps not.

“War grows more and more restless, and yet you ignore him,” Conquest stops barely a breath from me. Their anger burns deep within their eyes and laces every seemingly-calm word -- how curious. This Conquest is not one for such displays.

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Then again, this Famine is not one for reporting to the Messenger. And I am not one for unsolved mysteries that eat at my core to the point that I break my usual routine that has served me well for so many years. Yet all three are come to pass within so short a span of time.

Ah. This has to do with--

“I went to see this mysterious human for myself,” Conquest replies. “I’ve also seen you following him.”

I frown.

“You didn't even notice me when I was there, did you?”

I say nothing. Conquest clicks their tongue in something like disgust, shaking their head.

“I didn’t think so. You’re not going to tell us what’s going on either...are you?”

“I say nothing because I do not wish to speculate.”

“You can’t lie to me, Death,” Conquest leans in so close their nose nearly brushes against mine. I neither move nor blink. “I spend so much of my time on Earth with human liars -- and every one of them is better than you. No,” they shake their head. “All you ever do behind those pale doors of yours is speculate. Postulate. Muse and ponder--”

“You have made your point,” I cut them off. “Whatever it is.”

“My point,” Conquest shakes their head, leaning back onto their heels, “is that you can’t keep shutting us out like problem-children. We are all Horsemen -- equal in the eyes of God. And that includes the youngest among us.”

As if on cue, War’s red doors burst open with a sound like human artillery. The youngest Horseman storms out, eyes fixed on the floor; he is covered in dirt and grime, wiry muscles taut, flexed in motion. He takes five steps before he looks up, sees me and Conquest, and stops.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” I say, turning to stalk past Conquest towards my own doors.

“Hey, Death!” War moves to block my way. “What’d the Wings say?”

Wings. This War truly is one for vernacular to accompany his profanity; he would find good company in Gabriel’s incessant desire for utilizing a jocular naming scheme.

“About what?” I sigh.

War rolls his eyes, “The human, obviously.” Every word drips attitude. “I know you--”

“You know nothing,” I snap.

Enough of this.

“The moment you believe that you do know something, perish the thought. We are Horseman,” I shoot a sidelong look at Conquest. "To go beyond our role is to risk relinquishing it.”

Conquest arches a brow, but wisely says nothing.

War looks between us, before fixating on me. “So...you’re not going to tell us what’s going on. Seriously?” His hands ball into tight fists. “Don’t you trust us?”

I do not even trust myself in this moment not to slash at them both with my scythe and rip them into silence. The energy around me is sharp and crackling, the force of it pressing into me, flowing through me. I open my mouth when a clear note echoes through the atrium.

“That’s...not Gabriel,” Conquest frowns.

No, it is not the sound of silver bells. It is a military flourish.

Death. My name echoes up into the great ceiling, and the sound of the trumpets swells exuberantly within my chest.

“Michael,” I exhale.

“Here comes the General,” War mutters.