Chapter Text
The sun had been bright that morning. It filtered down through the many clouds that cast temporary shadows upon the house, which stood alone in the middle of the field. Despite the calm, serene sight, it was still briskly cold, the air biting whoever happened to be standing out in it. The clouds were darkened in the distance, insinuating that a storm was approaching, and fast.
The clouded sun shone down on two figures, one being tall and blond, with a bucket hat, a long cloak that hung loosely down his shoulders and back, and a lot of shiny trinkets dripping from ribbons and piercings. His feathered black wings were outstretched, enveloping the much smaller figure in their embrace. The young boy wore a simple beanie and sweater, adorned with a few trinkets of his own, one coming from his ear. He wore a large grin, which only caused the man to smile in return, ruffling his head and shifting his beanie around.
They seemed to be enjoying the light they were given, if only for a short time. They both knew that night would be rough, so they took time to enjoy the pleasantness of the other’s company. They were all they had, after all. The serenity began to fade as the field darkened, the clouds thickening overhead. The man simply smiled, picked up the boy, and headed inside. They had enjoyed the calm before the storm, and now, it was time for rest.
———
It was a cold evening. The snow came down in a light flurry, dusting the thick blanket that already covered as far as the eye could see. The lanterns had been extinguished and put away, because a snowstorm was expected later on. The night was quiet, and only the light crack of a fire was heard in the quiet household.
"Dad!"
Philza turned away from the window, which was dusted with frost. He blinked a few times, adjusting from the outside world to the room before him. It wasn't very large, but it was perfect for the two of them. The fireplace roared with life across the room, illuminating the paintings and drawings on the walls. Little trinkets lined the shelves—shiny things brought in by crows, who always seemed to enjoy his company. There were two sitting chairs near the fire, and a large rug spread over the wooden floor. The room was dim, the only light being the fire and various candles. Philza's son, laid out on the floor on his stomach, was grasping for his attention. He had been busy with drawing, the candle nearest him carefully nudged away. Philza smiles, taking the few steps over, and crouching down.
"What is it, Wil?" His son, Wilbur, holds up the drawing. It was good.
"Look, I drew us! See, this is you, and this is me!" Wilbur smiled proudly at his handiwork, and Philza smiled deeper.
"It's lovely." He goes to take the drawing, but pauses, his hand moving to point at another figure in the photo. "Oh, and who's this?" Wilbur shifts so that he's sitting up, his legs crossed.
"That's the man in the snow! He comes during snowy nights and pays people visits!" He smiled, rocking back and forth. The figure had been scribbled in a lighter green. Philza waits a moment before taking the photo and ruffling his hair.
"That's a silly story. Where'd you hear that from?" He stands, moving to put the drawing with the rest.
"I dunno... I think I dreamed about it!" Wilbur stands himself up, picking up his candle. Philza moves away from the wall, blowing out a few candles. The smoke filters through the air quickly, reminding Philza to ventilate when the storm is over. He makes his way towards Wilbur.
"Pft," Philza lets out a small laugh, making his way with Wilbur down the stairs, keeping his hand on the boy's back. He takes the candle from him. "I bet it was a very cool dream."
"It was! He was super tall!" They reach Wilbur's room, and he runs in, wiggling into bed quickly.
"My, someone's excited for bed," Philza says, pleased, moving to tuck him in. "Are you scared of the storm? It's going to be a big one tonight." He tucks the covers around Wilbur tightly, causing him to giggle.
"I'm not!" Philza smiles before brushing Wilbur's hair out of his face, planting a kiss on his forehead. Just as he's about to leave, Wilbur speaks again. "Hey, Dad?"
"Hm? What is it?" Philza turns, his hand already on the doorknob. Wilbur's tired eyes were sparked with curiosity, peeking over the bedspread.
"How do you know when a big snowstorm is coming?" Philza shifts in thought, a smile landing on his face.
"...The crows tell me. They fly all around, and they can see it coming before it gets here. But they're faster than the winds, so we know much sooner." Wilbur's face lights up in amazement.
"Woah..." He snuggles into the bed, now content. He closes his eyes. "Your crow friends are so cool..."
"That they are. Goodnight, Wil."
"Goodnight..." Wilbur mutters, settling into sleep. Philza watches him drift off, and quietly shuts the door after himself.
———
It was much later in the evening that the snow began to pound outside, almost blocking the view of the outside world. Philza sat by the fire, wings folded neatly behind him, reading one of his favorite novels. How many times he had read it before, he couldn't count, but the story never grew old to him, not in his many years of existence. The windows that hadn't been cushioned rattled aggressively in their frames, making a light racket that slightly bothered him. He finished the last few lines of the page, closing the book. He stood carefully, stretching out his tired back, and setting the leather-bound classic on the mantle above the fire. He moved silently across the room, putting bits of his own lost feathers in the loose areas of the windows, lulling the light chatter that had taken up the room before.
The only sounds now were the crackling fire and the roaring snow outside. Philza silently prayed it wouldn't reach the windows this time around, as the last time had granted them heavy flooding once it had decided to melt. He shivered without the warmth of the nearby fire, quickly moving back closer to it.
A quiet night spent alone wasn't out of the ordinary for him; in fact, this was how he liked to spend most of them, with his son sleeping safely downstairs and the silent house all to himself. He seated himself back into the chair, letting the warmth seep over his body once more. His hands grasp the book off the mantle, but after pulling it down into his lap, he found himself having trouble opening it. His face grew to an expression mixed between concern and determination. The leather felt heavy in his hands, and as he pried it open, the words slowly floated off of the page, or stayed dormant, unreadable.
Philza narrowed his eyes before shutting the book, his eyebrows pressing together. Why now? The world spun for a moment, distorting his vision, and he stood abruptly from the chair, moving away from the fire. Whispers began tickling his mind, causing him to falter. He leaned against the wall away from the staircase entrance, stumbling on his own two feet. The murmurs grew in his head until a single word was shouted clear through the static of voices.
PHILZA
He pressed his hands to his ears, his eyes shut tight. No, he wouldn't have it. Not now. Tonight was going so well. It was so peaceful, so why now?
PHILZA
THE WINDOW
IN THE SNOW
TROUBLE
GO
RECEIVE HIM
Philza's eyes shot open, his focus having trouble as he adjusted to the room again. He was on the ground, hunched over, hands over his head. His breath came out heavy, and full of desperation, as if he would never breathe again. His hands slowly slid off of his head and onto the floor, and with shaky arms, he pushed himself back up, sitting against the wall. The room was no longer spinning, but his vision was still hazy. He was mildly confused, his breaths still coming in heavily as sweat pooled at his chin, dripping into his lap.
The weird flashes he had gotten sometimes weren't usually a warning, let alone so short. The voices had commanded terrible things in the past, and caused Philza heartbreak that he never took the time to dwell on. But here, in the emptiness and silence of his home, he was forced to reconcile with those awful feelings; those awful things he did just for silence like this. The only way to make the voices stop.
With a trembling conscience, he stood up, finding his legs. The world swayed at his sudden rise, and he clutched onto the wall, catching himself. Not now. He took a deep breath in, letting it out cautiously, as if it would be his last. The world came into focus, and he stood carefully, making his way to one of the windows, peering out into the snow.
The once before "outside world" was now a world of darkness, shielded by not only the night but the thick layer of snow that poured from the skies. He glanced up at the clouds, half expecting to see something, but was only met with darkened sky. He lowers his gaze to the surrounding field and trees, still cautious of the voices' warning. But he was meant to do this. He was worried what would happen to him if he didn't.
As he waited by the window, he began to dwell on his past endeavors. In all of the years he had been able to breathe, to walk, to fly, he had never lived in complete peace. The gods had shunned him out of their realm, confining him to a mortal form, blessed with the kind of immortality that was conditional. He lived forever; however, he could still obtain injuries that would take a mortal's time to heal, and would die any mortal death. The only godly power of sorts that he was allowed to keep, other than his conditional immortality, was his power of flight. It gave him a sense of freedom, but had caused him to be shunned by the earth's conscious creatures, considered a freak of nature, and cast away from all civilizations.
A few years ago, well into his half-immortal life, he had met a woman. And she was much different than the other humans that roamed the planet. She was intelligent, and showed great interest in his power of flight, and only wanted to learn more about it and how his wings worked. He had taken a liking to her, and eventually, he was blessed with his son, Wilbur. Wilbur's mother had been a woman of music, using it to express her emotions and wrote many songs for the two of them.
Philza's expression turned sour at the time this memory rolled around. This is where the film began to burn, to corrupt. He had blocked out this portion for a reason, and by the time it had passed, the next clear memory was him and Wilbur alone, in this house. He took a shaky sigh, his body leaning against the windowsill. How long had he been standing here? Long enough, he thought, carefully glancing out into the snow again.
His eyes stopped when they landed upon a figure, walking through the snow, coming straight for his house. It was far enough away to where Philza couldn't tell who it was. It was tall, long-strided, and seemed to be wearing a long coat, completed with a hood that threatened to slip off of the figure's head. Its arms weren't at its sides, but rather, bunched up around its chest. Philza stood up from the sill, heading for the door. The person looked lost, and no matter how private this house was, he couldn't let someone freeze to death. He pulls on a long winter coat over himself, tucking his wings carefully under. He quickly slipped on a scarf and some gloves, as well as outside boots, and opened the door.
He's immediately blasted with cold, and, squinting against the snow, he leaves the house, shutting the door behind him. It was much colder out here, causing his entire body to flare up in goosebumps. He cursed it, descending the snow-covered steps carefully before scanning the landscape. The figure was visible in the distance, however, it had stopped walking. Philza rushed forward, worried that the person was going into shock. The snow bit at his face, threatening to freeze him. He nuzzled his face into his scarf briefly before rushing forward again. It was hard to walk, the snow up to his knees here, the figure only drawing closer. He squinted, trying to meet the eyes of the individual. It was only in a dozen strides that he came to a halt.
The figure was tall, and even then, that was an understatement. It easily stood ten feet taller than Philza, himself, did. Philza couldn't make out any facial features, as the hood easily shrouded the stranger's face in shadow. The coat, he quickly realized, was a long cloak, and the figure didn't seem to be affected by the snow at all, the area around it melting to the ground. Philza swallowed nervously, eyes travelling back up to the head of the figure. He suddenly felt as if he was dealing with a lot more than a lost person in a snowstorm.
"Um..." Philza starts. The figure shows no sign of response to his voice. "Are you lost, mate?"
Silence shrouded them once again, the snow beating down upon Philza's face. He absentmindedly brushed it away with his glove, and the figure seemed to respond to his movement.
"...Can I help you? Are you okay? I would offer to let you inside, but, uh..." He glanced at the melting snow around the ominous figure. "You don't seem to be bothered by this cold." It begins to shift, and he takes a small step back in defense. "Woah, easy there." He holds his hands up. It leans over, its upper body easily stretching halfway across their distance. He blinks for a moment, assessing this new information.
Across its head was an obscure symbol, which Philza assumed represented some sort of face, the mouth open in amusement. It didn't seem to be laughing, though. It then extended its arms outward towards him, and he took another step back, weary of it. He glanced nervously at the large hands, half anticipating an attack, but was met with a weird surprise.
In the giant palms of the figure, was a human child. It was sleeping calmly, resting against the warmth of the god-like creature. It was blessed with golden hair, wrapped in a red-ish blanket. Philza was taken aback.
"Wh- You want me to-" He held up his hands again. "Listen, mate, I know I'm good with my son, but that's because he's my own. I don't know what world or realm you've come from, but..." He glances back down at the sleeping child, worry creasing his brow. Where did this child come from? What would happen if he didn't take the child from this...god? He thinks back to what the voices told him. RECEIVE.
He swallows.
"Mate, look..." The god stares, waiting for a response. Philza shifts uncomfortably. "This isn't as simple as me just taking the kid, this-" The god begins pushing the child towards him, insinuating that, yes, it was as simple as just taking him. Philza sits and argues with it for more than a minute, before the god goes dormant again. The child was now stirring in its arms, threatening to wake. Philza forces himself to be silent until he's still again. He sighs, the cold finally beginning to settle in his bones, threatening to cause him to break. He needed to get inside soon, or risk freezing to death.
He shifts on his feet, trying to stay warm.
"If- If I take him from you, will you just leave me alone?" He regrets the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. They insinuate that taking the child wouldn't be out of the kindness of his own heart, rather for the god to stop being a bother. He sighs, frustrated, but the god doesn't seem to care, carefully placing the child in Philza's arms. A sudden warmth is spread throughout him, and he looks down at the child, who's still peacefully sleeping. When he looks back up, the god is gone, the space where it was standing now completely leveled with snow, like it was never there to begin with. Philza's path, however, remained, and with his newfound strength, he made the short trek back home.