The leaves crunched as Hester walked over them, feeling the warm breeze as it passed. Hester liked moving—after a while in the mountains he became fidgety over the blanket of white snow all around him, it was nice to have a change of pace and in a place he was familiar with.

The two walked in a comfortable silence until.

"What is your weakness?"

Alexander asked, Hester was taken aback by the question. "Why would you ask something like that?" Hester sputtered completely lost in the conversation. A moment ago they were quietly and calmly walking Alexander behind him and Odin after that.

Alexander sighed almost close to annoyance giving reason to the absurd question.

"Are we going to fight our way in? If we are, I want to know what I'm fighting."

"Oh" Hester thought for a moment, what was their weakness, a struggle—a flaw they all shared? Hester highly doubted there was any that covered all of them, other than one.

"Our wings."

Hester said eventually.

"Our wings mean everything to us, they are everything that we care about, our wings are our pride, our victories a trophy and a gift, they are us."

A small silence, one that let the words turn and fold, Hester knew a question would come after it, he was sure of it.

"Even a debt?" Alexander asked quietly.

"A generational debt, one that can never truly be repaid."

Hester answered grimly, a debt that was paid for so long ago and ten times over and yet still he was trapped in a deal that he never agreed to.

A debt he forever wears on his back.

"It is a blood debt," Hester said softly as he silently cursed himself for the tremble in his voice.

"They shall pay with their blood."

He heard Alexander stop, just for a moment a split second where the footsteps paused between the rhythmic stomp of him obediently following.

"Hester" Alexander started "If you do not want to—"

"They took Wilbur, this is what they deserve."

This is a small debt they owe me, and this one would not be denied by gracious Goddess hands. Hester turned Alexander had already started tugging Odin along filling the space that was made between them.

They marched on.

The trees grow taller and wider, the path becoming more of a vast open field with Redwood trees, some so big Alexander almost mistake them for towns at a distance, they looked as if they were reaching for the heavens, a determination to grow farther and faster then the others. Hester continued on, barely acknowledging the wonder of this almost magical place.

Hester had a cold resolution as he walked. -the heart is like an arrow- Alexander thought in slight awe of his willpower.

-it demands to land true- Alexander had heard it from somewhere, some book that had his attention for a brief moment. Hester was that arrow, his heart and soul and wings.

He never turned or stopped, only when something got in his way, but always moving, perpetually making his way to his goal, to his son.

«»«»«»«»«»

. . .the heart is like an arrow. . .

. . .It demands to land true. . .

«»«»«»«»«»

"Is Wilbur your kid?"

Hester—for what feels already too long—stopped and paused, huffing from the long journey and little rest.

"He is my everything."

Hester said, his voice frayed and broke but it spoke the truth, the whole truth.

Wilbur is Hester's son.

Hester is Wilbur's dad.

But a lie was set in the center of his chest.

Here is the truth; Hester is a good father for Wilbur

Here is another Hester is Wilbur's only father.

Here is a lie; Hester is a good father.

What father—person would let their child get kidnapped and get hurt? What human being would allow that to happen? Hester—Hester was that person.

Hester knew the risks, and still leapt for the stars even as his wings only seemed to drag him down he still tried to fly, still acted like he was meant to be in the sky, like he deserved to be there. Even once he left, even once he abandoned his home.

He did not deserve Wilbur.

But Gods be damned, Wilbur did not deserve this pain, Hester would take it all away—make it all better for his son, for his everything, for his Wilbur.

For his Wilbur

For his Wilbur

The silence stretched and let his thoughts fester like never before. He let his anger bend and shift move and burn and he allowed it all, he shoveled wood into that burning flame in his chest and keep his eyes ablaze until he couldn't find anything else to throw into it, he was going to feed this monster like they fed the stories of the Angels of Death to him as a child.

Instilling fear and determination, anger and yearning. A small sense of worthlessness and yet opportunity to become greater, something to cling to when the waves became too strong, the cold too harsh, the wind too bitter, the sun too hot and the world too wide.

It was a question, what would the Angels do? and then Hester would have followed from there, Hester was nothing but a mule, an ass to continue the world worth of shame his family made to keep him behaved, domesticated and tamed.

Alexander opened his mouth then shut it, like he wasn't sure he wanted to let the world know what he was thinking—like if it was inside his head Hester could somehow not hear it.

"I don't know," Hester answered the wordless question.

"I don't know if he's alright."

"He is stronger than you believe." Alexander shrugged, helpfully.

"The kid's a brat, I'll be surprised if they don't hand him over."

"I suppose." Alexander agreed, of course neither said what would happen if they didn't just hand Wilbur over, it would be a bloodbath.

"He'll be alright, stop worrying, that's what I'm here for, mate." Hester joked light-heartedly but he turned back and still saw a spike of fear in Alexander's eyes, a burning flame one moment away from being drowned by the crashing waves—Hester knew his eyes shared the same sorrow.

Two twin stars, both fading from light.

It seems ironic that the one he cared for the most would be his downfall, his farce, his Achilles heel.

But yet oh-so-fitting.

They continued on.

After a few more grueling hours, they saw it.

The dark silhouette looming, atop them the trees hiding it perfectly from passer eyes and travelers it seemed haunted, something was missing in the ginormous stone mansion.

Looking exactly as Hester remembered it, no new marks made and old marks never repaired. It was still standing, and still haunting.

Hester watched the stone mansion—as if it would come alive and swallow him whole, the turrets and rooftops sprouted from it like a tree the windows like spider webs and vines creeping over the whole thing, the roof being a dark green alone with other accents of the house, the doors and window curtains to name some.

Hester dreaded what awaited him.

«»«»«»«»«»

. . .Blood covered his knuckles then dripped off from the rain pouring down, thunder cracked in the distance.

The Angel sighed, it still stung from where he had hit the jaw of his opponent, a smaller, weaker, and younger member of his family, he and her had both not stopped bleeding yet. However he didn't pass out on the floor and was sent to the infirmary, she was.

The Angel sat down on the steps of the mansion. It had been a long time. It felt like he'd been there, when he wanted space he'd go to the restricted part of the garden, or walk around the library that they never seemed to use. But this was different.

The rain poured from the heavens, the clouds opened their grief and weeped, the cold rain dripped from the Angel's wings, the feathers feeling dense and heavy. It became a weight on his shoulders and back but he didn't move—he'd rather be dead then back inside.

He'd rather be dead?

That wasn't true, he didn't mean that, right? He had spent his whole life being this, he couldn't stop even if he wanted to, it was never the Angel's choice to begin with.

So why was this any different?

It didn't matter what the Angel wanted, and it never would, this wasn't about him—it was about his ancestors, his bloodline, the things he had accomplished and his destiny to do. If he didn't like that, suck it up.

At least that's what he told himself.

No, that's not what he told himself, that's what everyone told him.

They told him to be this, that he was destined to be this—it was fate and no matter what he did he would become this mindless monster that will be forever feared until his final monstrous agonizing filled end, until the bitter end, he was an Angel.

But, why?

The Angel let a bitter laugh escape, because he can't, that's why. And yet like a child the thought pokes again, and again, interrupting the original flow of everything. The moment stopped dead in its tracks as the pestering thought continued. What is stopping me from getting up right now and leaving?

Because this was his home, his family.

Because he was safe here.

Because he liked it here?

What would he even do if he left? What would he even want to do if he did?

He would rather fight for his Goddess than some greedy king. It didn't matter where blood flowed or who it was, as long as he could survive the next day that was an achievement he would treasure.

He lifted his hand, his palm facing the sky letting the heavy rain fall into his waiting hand. It was cold and splashed across his arm and torso, it stinging with a chill thunder cracked somewhere in the distance.

He stopped and wondered where.

He stopped and wondered about his missing cousin too. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, he tried to go easy on her, but he saw, things—things that weren't there memories of things that had happened to him a very long time ago—maybe he was losing his mind, maybe he was going crazy and his sanity finally left him. If so, he was surprised it took so long.

One moment he was in the training grounds holding a blunt wooden spear, the next he was in the burning fields of a kingdom he had been fighting for his life—his cousin was no longer there; it was just him, and his opponent.

And then his cousin was knocked unconscious.

And he had just about lost his damn mind over it.

The Angel flinched as thunder cracked again and the rain pounded mercilessly onto the forest floor. The Angel knew so much it seemed, how to win a losing battle, find a man's weak spot in less then a minute and kill someone in three separate ways, and yet he did not understand this.

Why was his heart beating so fast?

Why was he so afraid every time the lightning flared like a flame to show a convict running away. Like something was watching him through the shadows and yet when the light erupted all he saw was his own wretched reflection in the puddle that creeped closer and closer to him every moment he looked away.

Why was this so hard?

Toying with the idea that he could leave, Gods all he ever wanted to do was leave, to go far away from here and never return, he did not even deserve the memory of this place, and in return did not want his memory to be left behind, so they made the Angel of Death.

A fake name for a fake person who was too much of a coward to say anything otherwise.

The Angel stood up, soaking wet with the weather.

And walked away.

He walked a few feet from where the shadows swallowed the trees and the mask of the mansion slipped ever so slightly.

He turned looking towards the looming mansion, a silent plea to be stopped, to be noticed by someone, anyone.

A silent scream.

All that was left was screaming silence.

He slipped into the night, never to return.

That was the goal, but not the hope.

He could hear church bells ring in the distance—he ignored them. . .

«»«»«»«»«»

"Hester?" Hester blinked by being addressed, Alexander didn't seem worried or annoyed by Hester's mind drifting away. He blinked once twice then said his voice fraying at the edges.

"We go in through the side."

And just like that, he was off.

He was going to show them all that he was a force to be reckoned with, to be in fear of, he was the Angel of Death.

And they better damn believe it.

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Art by BlueRat-art - Hobbyist On DeviantArt
All written was done using Novelist
I'm so close to the end. . . I can feel it lol anyway, I thought over how Hester should have left, I thought about him burning the place down or killing someone a fleeing but, I thought him just thinking to himself 'what the hell am I doing?' and then leaving was more in character for him. Maybe I got it wrong, who knows ¯⁠⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯
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