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In a time where the chapters of history books are shrouded in mystery and where humans once again ascended to the top of races that roamed the world, there were two brothers birthed from the passing down of powers beyond human understanding. So while humans were born as a blank sheet of paper, accumulating emotions and behavior patterns through their environment or the (non-) existence of parental love; those two were born as mystical creatures, having their fate carved out simply by the uniqueness they carry; the one that was passed down to them.
Therefore, the moment they saw the light of day they were not human, never meant to be considered ones. Thus, it is reasonable for them not to carry the weight of humanity inside their heart and mind, emotions that made humans human. They were angels, standing far above the human race while still walking alongside them.
The midday sun was warm, gently caressing one's skin and kissing one's hair, while a gust of wind occasionally let clothes rustle. Birds were chirping in harmony, singing in tones to attract others; leaves falling to the ground almost if dancing.
There was a garden, the greenery vast and flowers adorning the scenery. It almost seemed like a fairytale, a perfect depiction of a beauty that a bystander might describe as the incarnation of the Garden of Eden. Maybe it even was the real thing, the original one; the beginning of a story far, far back in time; or maybe just a replica of memories.
In such a garden, there sat a child of not more than 8 years of age, dressed in a wizard's robe that covered his small body and on his head a pointed hat. Unlike most children his age, his face was thin and his head was framed by black locks that looked well cared for, almost giving him a soft appearance.
He looked like a normal kid who likes to play dress-up, one who would squeeze out an endearing "Aww" from a passerby; not an entity that could strip you of your whole identity, family of destiny. He looked like a normal kid, not like one of the two brothers who were born as Angels, genuine mystical creatures.
Currently, the boy seemed to be deep in thought, concentrating on something in his hands. Next to him lay more of those things, piled up in a small mountain. He tried to craft them together, sticking their ending to their beginning, forming a chain that became longer with each of those additional materials he worked with. A small gust of wind carried some of them away, which snapped the boy out of his focused state, turning his head and grabbing the lost ones to put them back into the pile.
"Ah!" A noise of surprise. He glanced down at the thing in his hand he had worked on, and made the regretful discovery that during his previous movement, some parts of the chain had ripped. His face warped in dissatisfaction.
"I wonder what our cute Lil's Raven is up to this time?" The boy heard a voice behind him and unhurried footsteps of someone approaching.
Without turning, he responded, "Nothing." He waited until he heard the presence sit down next to him before continuing. "Brother showed me the other day how to make flower crowns." He lifted it, his attempt to better show it to the other. "But it broke."
There was a cling as the man beside him put his head in his hand, the armor he was wearing making a sound with each movement. Smiling, his eyes froze for a fragment of a second when gliding over the flower crown before naturally continuing to the boy's face, meeting his eyes. "Then why don't you go to him and ask him to help you?" There was a tint of amusement in his voice.
The boy looked back down, his lips turning down words as if he had eaten something bitter. "He's busy."
The man chuckled lightly. "Then, what about your father?" Looking at him in annoyance, the other muttered, "Don't want to."
The long red hair of the man almost looked like blazing fire when the sunshine hit it directly. "Heh. If He heard this, His heart would truly be broken." A fake sigh. "Then let me fix your broken crown, He said I should keep watch over you after all." He reached out to grab the thing out of the other's hand when the boy yanked it to his other side, out of reach, before shooting the man a judging glare. "No. You'll break it."
Medici's eye twitched. This little shit! he growled inwardly while still maintaining his outward customer-service smile. "Fine. Do it yourself, then." Before helplessly throwing his hands into the air.
The kid clicked his tongue before turning his attention back to the flowers in his hands. He carefully removed the torn part before grabbing another flower off the pile, smoothly integrating it into the broken part. Then he took another one before also weaving it in.
"Not bad," the angel next to him said with fake admiration. "I didn't expect I would see a day when you would do something as harmless as sticking flowers together." He threw a meaningful glance at said flowers before his grin widened. "Well, at least harmless considering it's you, heh." Amon cast him another glare. "Shut up or I'll make you."
The red Angel chuckled. "Oho, I want to see that." After a second, he added, "Don't burn your wings trying to bite off more than you can chew, lil' raven. Would be a shame." The laugh sounded extremely ugly and unpleasant to Amon's ear.
There was another 'tch' sound before everything went quiet again; the boy worked on his crown while the man leaned back on his hands, staring up into the sky, thinking about god knows what. The silence continued while they were occupied with their own thoughts, creating an atmosphere that was neither awkward nor stiff. So they just sat there, the sun warming their skin and casting shadows beneath them.
...
After an indefinite amount of time, Amon's hands finally came to a halt. "Done." He didn't sound pleased with himself, for he neither knew the feeling of achievement nor the enjoyment of fulfilling something.
Medici glanced at the thing in his hands with a crooked grin on his face. "Would be almost beautiful if it wasn't for the fact that.. well, whatever fits your taste, I guess." He lazily stretched his arms that had gotten numb after not moving them for a longer amount of time before leisurely yawning. "What are you planning to do with it?" The man asked in disinterest. Amon shrugged. "Maybe throw it away."
"Throw away what?" A third voice chimed in.
The boy knew who it belonged to before he even turned. "Brother!" He ran to him, not in excitement and not in anticipation. Rather on impulse for the Red Angel became boring to be around. "I tried what you showed me." He held up the crown he had just finished.
The Angel of Imagination observed it for a moment before he took it out of his younger brother's hands and put it on the other's head, a serene smile playing on his face. "You did well." He said in a kind voice. Amon grinned in something like satisfaction. "Of course, brother taught me, after all."
Adam put his hand on Amon's head, patting his hair. "But do tell me," he began, "why didn't you use flowers like you're supposed to?"
There was a barely contained laughter in the background.
"Because they are boring." Amon tilted his head, his black eyes absorbing any light that shone on them.
"I see." Adam sighed. Then he put his hands on the cross necklace on his chest before muttering a short prayer. "Amon. They also had the gift of being alive, so you should treasure it and not cut it short merely to your own amusements."
The boy took the crown off his head. "Why bother? They are just dragonflies, and their wings fit the flower theme perfectly." He stared intently at the thing in his hands.
Yes, it was a beautifully, as if not a little bit amateurly, crafted flower crown; the flowers only being the inspiration of it all. In their stead, the head of each dragonfly was missing, the tail of another dragonfly inserted into it instead. The wings assumed the role of the magnificent petals of daffodils, creating an exquisite arrangement that was unique in its existence. It was strangely fitting for someone with Amon's personality.
Adam shook his head in resignation. It's not as if he could tell the other what to do and what not, he could merely play the role of an ideal role model as the older brother. He sat down next to Medici before patting the ground on his other side, indicating that the boy should do the same. They sat there for a few minutes in silence, listening to the noises of nature.
When Adam spoke, it was suddenly, his gentle voice cutting through the air. "It would be advantageous for you to learn what our father is so fond of." He blinked slowly. "Humanity, I mean."
The Red Angel huffed in amusement while the boy looked at his older brother with raised eyebrows, head tilted. "Why? Brother talks like he understands." There was a light ridicule in his voice, as if saying 'hypocrite!'
Adam only smiled calmly, looking at, no, through his younger brother with something akin to pity. "Maybe I can't fully replicate it, but I do understand the gist of it, seeing the meaning behind their actions and the change in their emotions."
The other clicked his tongue again. "I don't need to understand when I can just read their thoughts."
The Angel of Imagination sighed. "Your indifference towards the world might cause you a problem in the future that you might not be able to solve," Adam said with a meaningful look in his eyes.
Amon turned to look at his brother before he tilted his head sideways. "I will just make the source disappear that causes the problem." He answered in all honesty. Medici cackled next to them. "What this kid wants he either already has or will have. Taking without asking, stealing everything to its very existence." He wiped a tear off his face, his shoulders still trembling. "How fun."
Amon shot him an unimpressed look. "Annoying." The other made a fake gesture of being offended. "Ouch ouch," before he stood up, dusting off his armor and throwing his long hair back in a fluent motion. "Seems I'm no longer of use here, I'm out." There was a crooked grin on his face as he bowed slightly, a movement that was utterly unnecessary and somehow out of place, merely serving his own amusement. He followed their father after all, not them. His laugh echoed through the wind as he disappeared.
Adam nodded in the direction of where the Red Angel had just left, before he patted the head of his younger brother. "You should consider." The next moment, the Angel of Time was alone again, his eyes showing slight dissatisfaction. "Boring," he muttered quietly. "This is no fun. Ridiculous."
He tore apart the 'flower' crown on his hand, watching as the bodies secreted various fluids and wings ripped. Then he discarded them by throwing them to the side. "Boring," he mumbled again.
He sat there for some seconds before the monocle on his eye twinkled, another dragonfly landing on his hand. Its wings clapped, its eyes moved and its body stirred. It was very much alive. Breathing. He looked at it in detachment, trying to understand why its life mattered. Wasn't it destined to die anyway? It already lived, so why would it matter when it died?
He grabbed its wings, inspecting their pattern, the fine lines that were beautifully carved out in detail. Amon applied some pressure to his hand. rip!
The boy watched as the dragonfly writhed in pain as he slowly began to tear off its wings. There was neither enjoyment nor regret in his eyes, only a deep-rooted curiosity about why it behaved like it did; he did not understand the concept of pain or agony after all. There was only cold detachment and indifference. The insect stopped moving.
Born a mythical creature, standing above most living creatures, excluding true deities, he didn't care. He didn't have to. There was no reason for him to cherish life even if he understood. He was born an Angel, not a human. There was only him, the ones who weren't him, and the ones that would become him. It was as simple as that.
Somewhere in the 5th epoch, years and years later, when the memories of the boy long since faded, a man with curly black hair and a thin face opened his eyes, a monocle glistening over his right one. Uncharacteristically, there was no trace of mirth, mocking or amusement in his face; his lips turned downwards, no muscles used to change their position. It was a perfectly blank face, his eyes devoid of any light.
He only stared into the vast land where lightning occasionally lit up the surroundings without blinking, drowned deep within his thoughts; his body language giving an almost, but not quite, nostalgic flare.