We walk arm-in-arm together through the frozen night. Bodies and blood litter the stained earth; the stars look down upon the carnage in cold silence. From the red-soaked earth a single lily blooms; it is trampled and it is bruised, yet it still admirably stands amidst the sea of death.

“You need not remain so late,” I say, and my mentor smiles.

“And miss out on this beautiful view? Never.” War’s smile turns wistful, “Do you remember when we first met?”

“How could I possibly forget?” The corners of my own lips turn up. “Yours was the first face I saw when I awoke.”

His smile fades, “Ah...yes.”

I frown at the change in his expression, “Was there--”

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War pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around and holding me close. I am too startled to react; I stand frozen in place.

“You’ve done well, Death,” he says into my hair. “I’m so proud of what you have become.”

I shall miss you, is what he does not say, though I can hear it in his actions. Fear that I have not known since I first awoke to his and the Messenger’s faces all those centuries ago pierces through my soul.

“Do not cry for me,” he goes on, but I hear his voice catch. “Horsemen do not cry -- is that not what I told you? So come, Death. Wield that beautiful scythe of yours and shepherd me to Gavri’el.”

“War, what are you--”

He throws me away, eyes burning red and brimming with tears.

“I am sorry,” he says, before turning his face to the skies, sword now in hand. “GAVRI’EL!”