The world holds its breath, but the snow and wind jitter. Winter knows, and winter does not dance today; it flutters and flaps like a drowning bird. Silver shakes his head and stomps impatiently, yet I wait. Death is the most patient. I wait to be here -- for the extenuating circumstances evoked by God to hint at my presence. And so I wait. I wait and I observe.

The General stressed how close the...Apocalypse currently grows towards all-out conflict. It feels strange to use that word, to know that the event looms over us all. The armies of Heaven and Hell locked together. Archangels versus Princes of Hell; angels against demons. And all the world beneath them turned to ash...becoming a winter of bones and dust.

Until a new spring comes again -- or a new summer...whichever side prevails at the end. But not now. For now, the antichrist awaits me, even if he does not yet know it.

For all his stomping, Silver crosses the lake at a leisurely trot. I nudge at his flanks with my thighs, but he ignores me. I shake my head.

“Yes, how foolish of me,” I sigh. “How dare I think I was the one in control of executing these orders as opposed to you.”

Silver snorts. I cannot help the chuckle that bubbles up from my chest, but immediately silence it. This is not the time for humour, not even my own private, wry amusement.

The city is wide awake: the buzzing energy of the morning, fresh and new. It is helped along, too, by the ever-present smells of gochu, sesame, and soy. Their aromas dance on the air, cutting through icy chill as steel through flesh, flowing hot blood to meet the ice beneath our feet--

I bring Silver to a sudden stop. He looks back at me with his great eyes. I lean in and rest my hand against his neck. I count his breaths, their metronomic steadiness anchoring me out of...out of…

Out of a burning world. Ash floating down like snow, the sky on fire...and yet the world is covered in a layer of ice. At first, I wondered why the innermost circle of Hell is frozen, and so War brought me to the humans’ Arctic and viciously threw me so I slid across the tundra.

Funny thing I learned about ice, something that, I believe, humans rarely realize until too late: ice burns.

And this world will burn, as it has before.

And then shall it anew -- as always, where Death trails, so too is there Life.

This human -- no, the antichrist...that is what I should know him by: his title. Perhaps it would have been better had I not learned Hyun’s name -- if I had not let curiosity usurp my focus to rule my constitution and disrupt my self. Perhaps then, too, the other Three have remained out of this. Although, I cannot help but consider, knowing now what I do, that perhaps there was no way for this situation to have avoided their attention.

The Apocalypse is like a sweet song for us -- a chance to ride free. To know what it means when the Seals are opened…

We can only imagine, only read the histories of our predecessors, whatever they chose to record in whatever words of their choosing. It is a strange thing, to read the words of the only other individuals besides God themself, who could say, “I understand you,” and I would believe them.

I do not understand this would-be antichrist. All these times he has caught sight of me, he still looks at me in what can only be described first as shock, followed swiftly irritation. It has not affected his daily routine in the slightest. Even now, he does nothing more than...learn. Or attempt to; he appears distracted during his current lecture and easily allows his gaze to glaze over into the recesses of his thoughts. His right leg bounces up and down in some kind of unconscious twitch.

Does my face take on that appearance when my own mind wanders?

I rather hope not -- the expression looks ridiculous.

A bell chimes at set intervals and pockets of young humans swarm the hallways during these waves of change. I follow in their shadows, out of sight to them all. Although...I feel a pull in a handful of directions -- the gentle desire of human thought.

I sigh. Thoughts such as these are ones I wish I never heard. Such humans only believe they desire me -- but it is not me they wish for. Only the release or the mercy they believe I bring. To them, perhaps, I do; to others, a sudden and tragic cutting short of young life.

All are young to Death. After all, a wise human once said that time was relative.

How much time does the antikhristos believe himself to have? How much time must I spend waiting? Waiting and watching.

It is life -- human life. No more, no less.

After another lecture, the human spends the rest of the day in the library, looking through books and taking notes, pausing only when in need of release or food. Famine would have been ecstatic had she been here, flitting from one human to the next, observing each meal with great interest. Of course, should she accidentally touch any of these humans…

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I cannot push the thought away, and there is no need for imagining. I have seen many a human fall to Famine. Unlike War, Famine usually brings me there slowly, though equally as painfully.

What must it be like to be human? So fragile and needy -- any small brush against them and they come crumbling down to dust.

He reminds me of you, Gabriel had said. Before you were--

Before I was what? Before I was a Horseman? Before I was Death? Even I do not know what I was; I used to doubt whether I was anything or anyone at all. But according to the Messenger’s brief moment of misspoken secrets, I now know that I was once, very likely, a human. I had a life, and it was War who discovered me while I still had that life.

Why had he never told me?

An ache squeezes at my chest, and I place my hand there. I press, pushing away the feeling before it can gain any kind of strength.

Hyun leaves the building housing the library, followed by another student; I recognize his sparring partner from the other day. My target does not appear pleased about his company. I see the restraint in his face, the way he clenches and unclenches his fists, rolls his eyes, and resorts to sarcasm as deflection. The waves of intense emotion coming from the larger one are almost staggering. Anger, irritation, playfulness, confusion, protectiveness...they swirl around like a lightning storm across the American plains.

A tremendous sight: few things compare to God’s work when it came to designing weather patterns.

But the antikhristos...I frown. I am not here, even still. It is...the strangest of dichotomies. The closer I get and the longer I remain, the greater I feel the potential energy -- the tension, grow. It thickens and hardens around us, and yet...and yet…

I am not here.

I have my commands, I have heard the invocation -- the confirmation of extenuating circumstances from the very lips of Michael himself.

So why the delay? Why stay the moment where I am here and may ferry this soul to the river that washes away the past?

I follow behind the vehicle they use to commute between education and training at a leisurely trot. Silver barely has to push to keep pace with the car. It takes less than an hour for the two to travel from one city to the next, navigating the meandering streets of their home town to eventually pull into the small lot outside of their training studio. They run inside quickly, holding their arms close across their chest against the winter wind.

I pause on the asphalt. Perhaps there? The swirls of aether and ichor form a beautiful modernist painting of glittering gold and burning black. I look and see nothing, no one.

It is only the humans within and--

Sharp, buzzing fire rips at my spine. I fly forward, entire being sparking with pops of pain. I smash into the asphalt and roll to lie face-up on the searing, charred ground. The sky above is darker now, the snow falling with more intensity. I watch the flakes fall...so beautiful.

I do not move. I am unsure I can. That shot crashed against my spine, my seal…

I hear Silver roar in my head. Ah...he felt that. I mentally apologize to him that I was not paying closer attention.

“What business does Death have here? Why does she stalk the son of the Morning Star?”

I do not know this voice. Its owner stays out of my sight.

But it does confirm one thing: the boy is the child of Lucifer. The heir apparent to Hell. Truly, the antichrist. I did not no know myself to doubt, but to hear it from the lips of...whomever this demon is, is something I had not realized I had desired.

“Don’t try to move,” the voice goes on. “That hit knocks even Uri’el on his back, and I made sure to catch your seal.”

“Who--” I manage to gasp.

“Why are you here, Horseman?”

My scythe…

“Servio Dei, dæmonium,” I spit, despite it sounding more like a groan. “You cannot protect the antikhristos from the word of God.”

“...the what?”

My...scythe...there! I feel it in my hand, I grip it tightly. I try to move to swing it up and...is that a whistle?

White appears at my side. White and red.

“Get back here, you bastard!” War cries and chases after whomever...whatever it was that caught me unawares. Death, unaware. What a concept.

Conquest’s face comes into view, unreadable as always. “Hello, Death,” they say.

“Conquest,” I manage.

“Careful,” they run two fingers across the air. I follow them with my eyes. “You took a bolt to your seal.”

“A lightning bolt?” The sky betrays nothing, and I can only briefly gape at it in confused wonder.

Conquest nods. “Any guesses as to who that was?”

“No,” I sit up, painfully. “But I know whom they serve.”

And I also know confusion when I hear it. This demon...or perhaps it was a Prince of Hell, had no idea that Hyun was the antichrist.

“What is going on, Death?” Conquest asks.

“Time is out of joint,” I murmur to the sky. I cannot answer Conquest’s question, for I have none, and the worst thing to do would be to embrace the rest of the three into this quagmire which I willingly brave upon the orders of Them, Who Is Most High. Why have the other three suffer, when I can bear the responsibility alone. I finish the old British playwright’s quote in my head:

“O cursed spite! That ever I was borne to set it right!”