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He had grown accustomed to the sounds of souls. Each one, he came to learn, had a distinct voice. Singing hymns of unspoken promises or lives full of regret. Whether it be a soul in anguish due to its self-pitying nature or a soul in mourning over time lost, Barbatos came to understand that all souls held one common belief: the value of life.
And here on this ledge, Barbatos stood. He watched as souls spawned anew as each life was taken. Each new soul not surprising in the least. He had not even flinched upon watching 557 men wander down into this realm in a single day.
It is hard to catch a man off-guard when he could see time itself.
He lived as a prophet. Hence, he died as one. And if he was not mistaken, which he never was, a man would cut through the sea of souls on a fleet of his own to meet him on this very day. Asking him the question all men seemed to want the answer to: “What is my future?”
Barbatos possessed the power to see both past and future. And using his divine powers of foresight, he saw a young man, the captain it would appear, approaching him on his ledge to ask him of his fate.
Barbatos counted down the minutes, mentally ticking in his head as he awaited the moment the young man would arrive. He often did not have many visitors who were alive. And the fact that a living human being was coming to see him no less couldn’t help but spark just a tiny bit of excitement and anticipation within the dead prophet. If he still possessed a heart, he presumed it would be beating quite loudly.
He heard him arriving as a different tone of voices spoke amidst the faded, ghostly ones. These voices were rich, deep, and booming. Voices belonging to men who were still alive. And one voice stood out amongst them. Amongst the gravelly, iron-hearted voices spoke a light, airy tone suitable for song in a way that could render men and women alike speechless. Barbatos looked down to take a look at the realm’s visitors.
A worn-out ship slowly approached, built out of pristine oak wood that had been chipped and cracked to showcase the harrowing journey the men on board had endured. From the looks of it, the ship had survived countless storms, mother nature’s wrath. Or, if one could see time itself, one would know that the source of such trauma to the ship had not been natural storms, but storms made by the Sea God himself. Barbatos naturally foresaw this encounter. He presumed 557 souls would grow rowdy over this group’s appearance in the land of the dead.
The prophet waited patiently. He watched as the young man with a head of snow white hair bid his temporary farewells to his crewmates. Barbatos lifted a hand to adjust his robe only to find his hand slip through nothing. Right, he was dead. A habit from when he was still alive. As the young man’s footsteps drew nearer, Barbatos swore his hands were sweaty. But, that was quite impossible considering he had no body to produce sweat from. A phantom feeling perhaps? He cursed himself to remain civil. Execute proper formalities, let one breath not falter-
“Barbatos?” A light, soft voice reeled him back from his stupor as the young man spoke up. Barbatos performed his usual dramatic slow turn as he faced the captain. The prophet stared, lingered just a bit too long on the silence before clearing his throat.
“I am the prophet you seek answers from, yes,” he responded back cordially as he always did whenever men sought him out. From this distance, Barbatos could see the young man’s features more clearly.
His skin was fair, a bit pale in the underworld’s natural ghostly light. A soft bed of white hair lay propped on his head that framed his features to give off the look of someone befit of royalty, not sea life. The softness of his voice which rang melodically in Barbatos’ ears further encapsulated his royal upbringing. However, slight bags under his eyes, the scars lining his hands, and his slightly tattered clothes and cape gave evidence to his unmistakable status as captain.
“You wish to see your fate, young man?”
“Oh, should’ve known the prophet would be one step ahead of me,” the young man laughed lightly at his own joke as Barbatos gazed the way a human may gaze at a rat in the kitchen. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Yes, I’m here to see my fate.”
The young man’s response was met with silence as the prophet stood frozen.
“Uh… did I offend you, Barbatos? Are you okay?” As if a spell had broken, Barbatos began speaking again,
“Yes, I’m quite fine. Apologies.”
That laugh. What was it about that laugh? It had rendered the prophet utterly speechless. Why did he freeze? He shook his head gently as he focused back to the purpose of this visit.
Barbatos cleared his throat as he prepared to tell the man his fate when suddenly he was cut off by the young man speaking again, “So, do you need to know my name or something?”
The prophet stared once again, this time dumbfounded by the question. “For what reason would I require you to tell me your name?”
“Formalities? I don’t know. You don’t need a person’s name to see their future?” Barbatos watched as the young captain took a few light steps towards him, his tattered, midnight-colored cape flowing behind him.
“May I remind you I can see the future? I already know your name,” Barbatos responded pointedly as he politely brought his right hand up to rest against the left side of his chest, like one would position it so when citing a pledge.
“Solomon,” the young man said anyways as he now stood only a foot away from where the prophet stood. “My name’s Solomon.”
His white hair fluttered in the wind. It reminded Barbatos of snow, filled with a certain biting coldness but beautiful when looked at up close.
“And I have told you, young man, that I already knew that,” Barbatos argued but couldn’t help feeling amused by the young man’s eccentric behavior. “Do you have reason to want me to know your name so clearly?” He asked in both disbelief and curiosity.
“Perhaps I simply want the great Barbatos the prophet to remember my name,” Solomon answered back with that light, airy voice of his. “I’m getting my fate told by a dead prophet after all. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he responded with a laugh.
That laugh again… Barbatos cleared his throat once more.
“Solomon, your path is a winding one. One filled with trials and tribulations that will approach you without mercy and it has since been rooted from the very essence of your origins as King. You will sail these seas and experience a betrayal. I see you meet your end, unable to return home to your kingdom, your fate sealed by the ocean’s ruthlessness. Lost forever, where no one can hear your cries,” Barbatos took a deep breath upon finishing. He laid the young captain’s fate out bare, the skeleton of his tragic fate. He expected the reaction all men often gave when he spoke of fates like these: fear and denial. His words were met with an empty silence except the persistent moans and groans of souls around them.
But Solomon responded in the calmest of voices. “I see. I suspected as much.”
Barbatos had to do a double take. That’s it? Is that all the young captain had to say? Solomon’s voice sounded much too calm for a man who had been told he would die alone, lost out at sea. In fact, if Barbatos wasn’t mistaken he heard the slightest hint of relief? “Perhaps this is for the best. Thanks, Barbatos.”
The prophet was met with the back of Solomon’s head as he turned around and began making his way off the rock.
He should let him go. He knew he should let him go just as he did all the other men who walked away from him after hearing their fates. But something tugged at Barbatos’ chest. He needed to stop him. But, he shouldn’t. He heard Solomon climb down from the ledge-
“Wait,” Barbatos’ voice rang and he watched Solomon go still. The silence around them filled with the sounds of souls once again. The prophet felt himself grow rigid. He had stopped him, but now what? He assumed Solomon was equally as confused as he heard the faint, light voice respond back,
“Yes?”
Barbatos blinked a few times before finally speaking, “I have just told you your prophecy.”
Solomon turned to face Barbatos fully as he raised an eyebrow. The captain—king drew closer once more, “Yes…?”
“It is one of a tragic end.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you seem so…” Barbatos’ voice trailed off, the words caught in his throat. He felt as helpless as a fish out of water.
“So…?” Solomon’s nonchalance and naivety made something in Barbatos snap.
“Content.” Barbatos let out a deep sigh he had not known he was holding. “Why are you so content?”
“Because I expected it?” Solomon responded back, slightly confused by the prophet’s question but also amused in a sense. If Barbatos still had blood he was sure it would be boiling. “I am down to 43 men from the original 600. Our chances of survival are not favorable to say the least-”
“No. That’s not it.” Barbatos’ voice cut through the air like a knife. “You seem almost… satisfied by such an end. As if…” he paused, not for dramatics but fear for the potential confirmation to his suspicions, “...you wished for such a fate.”
Solomon’s eyes locked on Barbatos as he stared at the prophet. His soft, white hair gently swayed as a breeze passed by, as if attempting to carry away some of the tension that had befallen between the two. Those eyes that had just the slightest glow in them previously now looked dull as the king before him tightened his lips to portray his discomfort.
Barbatos felt himself moving from his place on the rock, his trembling form leaning towards the man before him, suddenly wanting to go up to him. He nearly took a step forward when suddenly those tight lips of Solomon’s loosened to release a series of light laughs.
Barbatos now understood why Solomon’s laugh had rendered him immobile when he had first heard it. It made a warmth spread in his chest that had felt nothing but coldness and emptiness ever since he had entered this realm for the first time. It made him want to smile back, to reflect the pure innocence of such a laugh with one of his own. And yet right now, Solomon’s laugh filled him with coldness, pierced him like a stake through his heart.
His melodic laugh that had sounded like an angel’s chorus to Barbatos’ ears felt so wrong in that instance as Solomon seemed to not understand just how serious the prophet was. His angelic voice slowly stopped its song as Solomon calmed down from laughing.
“Barbatos, isn’t it quite strange for a dead prophet to care so much about a single human’s life? I almost got the impression you cared for me just a little there, Barbie,” Solomon replied as he wiped a tear from his eye from laughing so hard.
Barbatos did another double take as he heard something unfamiliar. “Barbie?”
Solomon let out a little gasp. “Did I say Barbie? Oops. I tend to give nicknames to people I meet. I guess Barbie just came to me.”
“I do not like it. Call me Barbatos.”
“Ok, Barbie.”
“You-”
And Solomon laughed. And laughed and laughed. The light laugh that had the almighty prophet weak in the knees as he watched. Barbatos realized it was a sound he could never get tired of. A harrowing realization dawned on him as he came to the conclusion that he wished that this man could somehow stay here with him, just so he could hear that laugh every day…
He mentally slapped himself.
What was he thinking? Ludicrous. That’s what his thoughts were. Pure ludicrousness. How could he even think to keep a living human down here in the Underworld? Barbatos glanced at his hand, pale and transparent to the point where he could see the ridges of the rock phasing through it like seeing through glass. He was once again reminded of his station as the ghostly wails echoed in his ears. He would not rob this man of his last few years to live.
Though he wished he could.
“Barbie, I’m fine,” Solomon spoke through the haze of Barbatos’ thoughts. “No need to worry about silly ol’ me. At least I’ll be going out with my crew. That’s a cool way for a captain to die, right?”
Barbatos lingered in front of Solomon with a look of disbelief. Perhaps, this was the human’s fate. Perhaps, this was always meant to be. But perhaps, Barbatos felt the smallest spark of concern for the snow-haired king standing before him. Perhaps he wished not to see such beauty be swept by the currents of the sea’s merciless waves and lost forever.
Solomon's eyelids fluttered rapidly as he suddenly didn’t know where to look as Barbatos made his way to the young man. Barbatos stopped when he was now mere inches away from Solomon.
At the distance they were at now, Barbatos could see Solomon’s eyes more clearly. His eyes glistened in the light of the realm and he could make out a hue of blueish-gray irises that reminded Barbatos of midnight or the sea’s dark depths. The slightest hint of copper droplets tinted the very bottom of his eyes. How ironic even Solomon’s own eyes seemed to mockingly illustrate his fate, as if it were determined for him the moment he opened his eyes at birth.
Barbatos took a deep breath as he tried one more time to send the right message to Solomon.
“I have seen countless souls throughout my time here in the Underworld. And every soul can agree that they see the value of life,” Barbatos spoke quietly, carefully. “I see value in you, King Solomon.” Barbatos’ hand reached over towards Solomon’s before quickly stopping and retracting it. He had reached out subconsciously, yearning the warmth of a human’s touch, Solomon’s touch. Such yearning was childish in this moment. “Do not be so foolish as to throw that life away in resignation. Simply put, do not just give up.”
A beat passed between them. Then another. Until Solomon finally spoke, “Barbie, you’re an almighty prophet telling a mortal to defy his fate? Why must you make such a big deal of this? It almost feels like you care about me-”
“Is it so preposterous to care?” Barbatos blurted out before he could stop himself. Solomon froze in shock as his eyes widened, his mouth just slightly parted as he stared back at the ghosted man before him. Barbatos’ gaze unconsciously shifted towards those soft, parted lips before quickly meeting Solomon’s eyes once more.
“Is it so arduous to believe someone could care? Just…” Barbatos took another shuddering breath as he gazed deep into those midnight eyes that wavered as they bore into his own resolute ones. “You still have your crew. You have your people. I simply wish not to see someone with… admirable traits… befall a fate so tragically without fighting back.” He sighed before continuing, “You are a captain and king, you ought to fight like one until the very end.”
Barbatos watched the human carefully. The declaration echoed against the skull of his brain as he tried to process what he had just so boldly claimed. A part of him had seen this coming, and yet the emotions that saddled Barbatos in such a tumultuous manner had him seeing stars. And Barbatos had to admit the brightest star that rendered him the most disoriented was standing right before him.
“Barbie, I…” Solomon remained speechless for a few moments longer. The prophet caught a faint wavering in Solomon’s shaking eyes, but it vanished quickly as it appeared and a smile formed on the captain’s face. A smile that did not reach those midnight eyes. “You’re quite the interesting prophet, haha. I should probably head back to my ship now, though. My crew is probably waiting.”
Barbatos watched as Solomon slipped away, the warmth of the human vanishing along with it.
The realization dawned on him like glass shattering as he watched Solomon’s retreating form. There was no guarantee he would ever see this man again. No. It was predestined in the stars that this would be their first meeting and also their last. Barbatos knew this. Perhaps because Barbatos knew this, perhaps because fate stared down so cruelly upon him for once, a longing desperation slipped into his voice to the tips of his fingers as he felt himself reach out–
“Solomon?” Barbatos called out to him and Solomon stopped. However, this time, he did not turn around. “I hope we meet again.”
A silence passed as the souls mourned.
The young king continued to walk off the rock, leaving Barbatos to his cold, desolate place in the Underworld once more.