Without humanity, do we cease? Is it my end an Apocalypse would signal, as much theirs?

Such questions circle round my mind as I brush out the pale mane of my mount. It shines like moonbeams in the light, but other times it is like clear water. Whenever I look at him, in these quiet moments of solitude, I always think of the words.

“And I looked,” I whisper, “and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with.”

Silver snickers, I laugh softly. That is the case when mount and Horseman are together for so long: we know each other’s moods and emotional temperatures. The verse always amuses us both -- so dramatic and yet so full of gloom.

Humanity never has liked what it does not understand. But I suppose we -- no...I am no better. I do not understand how that human could see me, and I do not like it.

“What did you see?”

War is tugging off his jacket, hanging it beside his own mount’s stall. His wet hair, now dark, is plastered across his forehead; his mount, great and red beside him, shakes out water from its mane. I half-expect to see the drops turn to blood as they fly through the air; it would not be the first time War has worn his bloodstains back home. But the droplets remain as clear water.

“Where were you?” I ask, frowning at the liquid now pooled at the red beast’s feet. I had not sensed War depart, nor even his return. How long had he been gone? Curse that human for consuming my attention. Curse Gabriel for leaving me to wait in silence.

Curse me for...just curse me.

“What did you see in Gyeongju?” War asks again, enunciating each word slowly, carefully. In instances like this, our youngest truly has the aura of a Horseman: commanding, thoughtful, powerful. The young face belies his core, though not necessarily his nature. Such is the case of war: equal parts screaming and stoicism; the raging Akhilleus and the tactical Caesar, all wrapped in the brilliance of Sun-Tzu.

There is a blazing intensity that cloaks itself around War and burns in his eyes. I am half-ready for his lips to curl back to expose his teeth or for a feral snarl to rip up his young throat. I can now smell the incense from the old city and the chill of the winter air emanating off his clothes.

War knows.

“I should ask you the same,” I reply slowly.

I detest games. You cannot cheat death, no matter how often humanity tries. But here, in this moment, I tread carefully. Even Gabriel had looked unnerved by what I had seen, and I, too, am uneasy at such a revelation. What the impetuous War might do...it is not something I wish to attempt imagining.

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“He saw you -- that human kid.”

I nod. War swears, running a hand through his hair to rub absently at the back of his neck.

“He saw you,” I say. It is not a question; I know the answer. It is written in the wildness of War’s darting eyes, and the way the muscle in his jaw twitches in a rhythm like pounding army drums.

War nods, “I thought I’d lost it: a human, looking at me plain as day -- even from far away, he didn’t seem surprised at it.”

“Why were you in Gyeongju?” My eyes narrow.

“Because something was off with you. And because…” he motions around with his hands, mouth opening and closing, unable to find the words he seeks. “I don’t know -- I can’t explain it. But something’s not right down there. It’s like...like the entire place is holding its breath. Did you notice how much of it was there?” he asks.

Ichor. Aether.

“Aye,” I sigh, “I saw. There is a great deal of activity, yet I have no reason to be drawn there. Nor do you, for that matter. Petty squabbles between individual angels and demons are nothing new.”

“It’s not just us -- Famine’s gone, and Conquest was twitchy enough to bail on that chess match in Moscow they wanted to oversee. How much do you wanna bet they’re gonna find that human too before the day is done?”

I gently pat my mount, who walks away, settling down upon the bed within his great stall. I wonder how Silver enjoys staying here within his four walls, or if, perhaps, he travels out into the universe when he is not at my side. Perhaps he vanishes within a shower of opalescent dust as little more than a shadow in the night. I watch the rippling muscles beneath the pale hair, the way his breathing eases as he falls to sleep -- or else does a remarkable job of appearing to do so. All this time spent together, and still I cannot always tell when that horse does or does not truly sleep.

“Has this never happened before?” War asks, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Yes...and no. I have never met a human that could see a Horseman. But this feeling…”

I have felt an echo of it before, but even in those times, it was not the same -- not quite this palpable.

“Conquest and Famine have told me about the last time the Four rode together. Is this--”

“No,” I say sharply, too sharply. I sigh again, angry at myself for my break in composure, “This is not the same, though it is...similar.”

More similar than I would like to admit, and yet also more potent and concentrated than even that time in Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

War frowns, “How old are you, Death?”

I cannot help myself: I laugh. It is a quiet sound, but none could mistake it for what it is. I imagine that human boy cowering in fear to see Death laughing.

“Does it matter?” I ask.

War shrugs, his usual, devious smile returning to reveal white teeth. “Not really, just curious.”

“It is better not to be,” I brush off my hands upon my legs and leave War in the stables to tend to his own mount. I have no reason to leave and cease this discussion, but I feel restless.

I am restless enough that I would be willing to climb up to Gabriel and the other archangels myself if the irritating mass of aether that is the Messenger does not bring me answers soon.