“I heard you ran off to Joseon.” Conquest sits cross-legged on the atrium floor, their back leaning against their closed white doors. They hold up their crown to the light, checking the polish; it glimmers and gleams like a new star, reflecting each shiny button of Conquest’s loose, military-style jacket.
“War speaks too freely,” I sigh. “And I thought you were going to Moscow?”
“It turned out to be not much of a match, so I left. If you ask me, it’s hardly worth keeping secrets between us four.” Conquest dons the crown, tilting it so it rests at a slight angle; its shape changes to a white fedora. “What is this all about anyway? War was sulking when he interrupted my viewing experience.”
“I...cannot say,” I reply. It is not a lie; for the first time in a long time, I am uncertain. That human actually saw me. But humans cannot see a Horseman, no matter how powerful their faith nor how strong their belief. They can neither see nor interact with us. After all: we are neither demonic nor divine. We are but forces -- we are always there, but not in any way with humanity
Some humans may, from time to time, experience a glimpse of the divine aether or hear the heavenly song. But that is all, unless God should choose mortals to experience more. And as for the demonic...they do so adore flaunting their power, that making themselves known to humans is something like a game. They revel with the same childish delight as War: crying out into the world for more, always more. In a way, I suppose demons are like children, forever demanding incessant gratification for their desires, never satisfied, and nothing left within them but that foul vice which drove them to that state.
That human saw me.
The thought eats at me, invading everything else. Perhaps even moreso the human’s reaction: shock, confusion, and...denial? He had shut his eyes, clenched his fists, and walked away, as if determined to ignore me. Like he was pretending I was not there and could erase me from his sight as one would a figment of their imagination. As if I were not unique and he had seen me, or something like me before.
I chastise myself: I should not have been there to begin with. And yet I also wonder...that feeling in the air...could it…
It is not that I discount the possibility of coincidence in any given situation, especially amidst the ebb and flow of human life; but in this instance, I deeply doubt that is what this is.
I leave Conquest where they sit, marching across the white marble of the atrium to the chapel. Each step I take echoes up into the high-domed ceiling, and I think of a judge’s gavel upon the block. There is no door to the chapel; I think it was one of the past Wars that ripped the engraved slab of wood off its hinges in a fit of wrath, and none of us have ever found need or desire to replace it. The smell of volumes upon volumes of books relieves some of the tension from my soul, though I do not break stride as I grab my most recently-used volume and pen from the one table in the library-like room, and continue through to push open the glass door that divides chapel from innermost sanctum.
Even the air within this most sacred space is quieter, a reverent stillness that reassuringly blankets my shoulders. The room exists as a massive, perfect circle, columns lining the outer edge as frosted windows let in gentle, diffused holy light. Above the ceiling goes on for an illusion of infinity, adorned in an innumerable number of statues of warrior angels, all of them vanishing into that same soft white light.
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My click of my shoes across the marble floor is deafening as I bring myself to stand before the great altar, adorned with a great book lined in angelic gold; it is The Book. It is God’s Word. Only then do I pause, taking the time to bow to it before sitting down against the nearest column. I stretch out my legs, letting one ankle cross over the other.
I balance the record book to lay flat across my thighs, and write my report, accounting for every detail. The scratching of the pen against paper fills the space with a hypnotic flow. And when I come to the last detour -- the only word I think appropriate for my time in Gyeongju -- I do not pause, describing the human in perfect detail. It must be perfect, accurate. Death, like time, waits for no one, and while death does not discriminate, neither does Death forget those who can only be considered...unique.
What I classify as unique is not what the other’s might consider unique -- though there are plenty of humans who do stand out in all of our memories. More so in mine than the others, but I meet more humans.
And I have been here longer than the others -- only Famine comes close in terms of holding her title as long as I, and yet still I have been here five hundred years longer.
“You certain?”
I did not notice the usual flash of light that signals his arrival, but Gabriel is there, leaning against the next column over. He holds his golden sceptre like a cane, dancing his fingers upon it in rhythmic waves, smallest to index.
“Your arrival was faster than I had anticipated,” I say, standing. I snap my record book shut.
“Well, you claimed a human saw you, a human who still yet lives. It takes priority over other things.”
“So…”
“Nope.” Gabriel shakes his head. “Father hasn’t said anything. This is just me -- I wanted to see if this was anything interesting.”
“You always have been the worst of your siblings,” I mutter.
“Well you have only ever met me and Mik for longer than a look, and I can only imagine how I pale in comparison to the great General of Heaven,” Gabriel laughs. It is an irritatingly pleasant sound. I think of silver bells in winter, or temple chimes blown about by a gentle breeze across mountains and valleys.
“This human saw me, of that I have no doubt.”
“And your mount?”
I nod. “I believe the human saw him first; that is what alerted the human to our presence.”
Gabriel frowns, “What were you doing in Gyeongju anyway? There was nothing that came through as requiring your presence there.”
I look away, “Just a feeling. I have no concrete explanation.”
“The last time you had a feeling…”
“I know.”
“Well...” Gabriel springs forward off the pillar. “I suppose it’s my turn, then. Always a pleasure.”
A light. Then nothing. Only the lingering scent of...rosemary and lavender. Hmph. Archangels. They always think themselves so clever. Last time I saw Gabriel here about my having a feeling regarding human affairs -- saw any of the archangels besides him was...well, it was the humans’ 1945.
Beautiful. Terrible. All Horsemen, riding together on a mushroom cloud of heat and light and choking destruction.
And never again.
Thank God.