Hester walked to the end of the pagoda, walked over the crumbling steps, opened his wings and was ready to fly back—he knew it was too late, that Death had done what she came to do—whatever that was. So there was no need to speed back he still was going to however, his bones ached from the trial and felt fatigued almost ill as he opened his wings to fly back—crack—Hester turned to the sound his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword ready to face down half a dozen fighters instead one lone warrior appears into the moonlight.

Alexander, and Hester couldn't help but sigh in relief, but he looked different—moved differently, was he injured? Alexander walked over to him looking past him with a dazed sort of horror as Alexander said the three words that will come to haunt Hester until the day he dies.

"They took him."

Was all he said, there was no explaining who they are or who he is, because Hester had nightmares of this happening—sleepless weeks of this exact experience, though unlike some it always had the same end, Hester's heart was set ablaze.

Hester couldn't even scream, couldn't cry, couldn't do anything, he was suffocating—the world itself had stopped. Alexander shirt stained with blood face filled with bruises and cuts, his metal prosthetic seeming to be damaged as it clicks with something misplaced Hester looking no better, thought he couldn't imagine what Wilbur looked like—that was a lie—he could picture exactly what Wilbur looks like, almost like he was in front of him.

He looked scared, and alone.

Then, like breaking his thoughts like glass, there still stubbornly remained remnants of them floating in and out—like the world mourning the loss of something the clouds couldn't hold it in anymore and cried, the rain was bitter and cold but it made little difference to the burning rage in Hester's chest.

The two just stared at one another, not really sure what to say—they both silently began to walk back to the mountains leaving the destroyed remains of a pagoda that had been taken and taken from Hester, night after Godsdamned night. Twilight had fallen but the moon and stars were obstructed by the looming clouds overhead, even once they made it to the plateau the rain became a numbingly vengeful blizzard still they both tracked on.

There was no more light, the sky opened and the heavens wept as the wind blew Hester at its mercy to be dragged along. Thought even with the blizzard he was in, a storm much more dangerous and much more powerful was raging inside of himself—his mind worked like clockwork already calculating how and what to do, to get Wilbur back—and if it was too late, a punishment Hester was going to look forward to.

None he came up with ever satisfied him.

The pit in his stomach being filled with the flames of revenge. He made it to the house stepping on the stone stairs and opened the door, he blinked once— twice then made it inside the house, it was not disheveled, it was destroyed.

Hester's blood pulse with rage against the monsters that walked the same plain as he. The anger festered over and Hester bit his tongue to stop a scream the metallic tang of blood was felt as he bit harder once the original sting began to feel numb.

He walked over to the table closest to him, not gently weaving past fallen or broken items—instead kicking whatever got in his way, hearing the spine of a book crack as he moved it with his foot. Still he continued then just sitting on the stool there and holding his head in his hands trying to stifle the flames encapsulating his entire being.

Hester had less than an hour ago had a son and the delusional naive thought that he was safe, he could raise his son from the ashes of flames he spread, he had everything.

And...