Chapter Text
Phil was eighteen when war struck his country. Phil was eighteen when he enlisted in the army, determined to help in any way he could. Phil was eighteen and naive.
*****
Phil was twenty when his commanding officers started to really take note of him, noticing how he fought. Phil was twenty when he started to get placed on the front lines. Phil was twenty when he earned the name Angel of Death.
*****
Phil was twenty-one when the war reached its climax. Phil was twenty-one when he came back to camp covered in scrapes and bruises and blood that wasn’t his, people parting for him when he walked. Phil was twenty-one and tired of war.
*****
Phil was almost twenty-two when the war ended. Phil was almost twenty-two when he was sent home with a clap on the back and a ‘Good job, well done!’. Phil was almost twenty-two when he found a clearing in the forest near a village and he decided that that would be his home.
*****
The village was a nice place, and it was a good area for him to rest in when he wasn’t working on building his house ( It was going to be in a nice clearing in the forest that lay about two hundred fifty blocks to the right of the village. As nice as the village was, he didn’t want to live in it).
It was moderately sized, with large black walls surrounding the perimeter of the central area. Outside the walls were farms, small family homes, and fields upon fields of crops. Inside, the village was bustling with trade and culture. Shops and inns lined the criss-crossing streets, musicians and dancers performed in the plazas, government buildings stood tall and proud, and homes for larger, wealthier families stood along the edges of the government district, their green grass lawns laid out for all passersby to see.
There was one hole in the wall, at the front of the village. It had a large gate with a door (controlled by the local guard) that stayed open all throughout the day, and closed at night, just when the mobs started spawning. A road running through it connected to the main road in the city.
Everyone in the village was friendly, and he had already made a few friends. Sam owned the hardware and mechanics store two streets down from Phil’s inn. He was a nice man that always seemed to be working on some sort of redstone project. He sold nails to Phil for half the price when he heard how Phil was building a house, despite Phil’s insistence that he didn’t have to do that. A nice family owned the bakery a few blocks away and he found himself going there sometimes just to strike up a conversation with one of the adults, although sometimes he got swept up into an animated conversation about ladybugs or cookies with the couple’s three year old daughter. He’s also pretty sure that eating as many of their cookies as he did wasn’t healthy, but he wasn’t to blame. The Nihachus had a gift for baking.
The only people he didn’t seem to get along with were the guard. Within two days of renting a room in the inn, he’d gotten a letter from the head of the guard inviting him to take a spot as an officer. He’d thrown it away almost immediately after writing a curt but kind letter refusing the position. His war glory days were behind him, and he planned on keeping it that way. They didn’t let up though. Anytime he passed them in the street, they’d recognize him instantly and try to start a conversation with him about the guard, or the harvest that month, or the war. He never pushed them away, but he never let the exchanges last very long.
After three months of stilted conversations, he took to wearing a green and white bucket hat and green cloak that hid his wings, his most notable feature. It also covered his hair and his normal attire, and the conversations that seemed to happen upwards of five times a week were whittled down to once or twice a month. He could deal with that.
*****
A year and a half of living in the village and his house was complete.
It was pushed into the back right corner of the clearing, and Phil was proud of it. The downstairs had his room, a bathroom, and one large room that he had split into thirds to serve as a connected living, dining room, and kitchen. The upstairs had two storage rooms, a bathroom, and a guest bedroom.
Connected to the left wall of the outside of the house was a small stable that was just big enough to comfortably house Phil’s two horses. Beside that was a pen with a few cows in it. Taking up the rest of the back of the clearing was a neatly organized and fenced off farm and garden, with potatoes, carrots, and wheat. Phil had tried to get some chickens into a pen near the cows, but had failed terribly. The result was clearly shown in the occasional chicken wandering in the thick woods surrounding the clearing and the back of the cabin-farm combo, or the flock that would sometimes enter his front yard in the morning. On those days, he would stand on his front porch, cup of coffee in his hand, and glare at them until they left.
He didn’t need chickens anyway.
The border of the woods pushed up against his back porch and was slightly thinner than the woods surrounding the path that lead from his house to the open plains bordering the right of the walls of the village. He had briefly explored it when he was building and found a small pond with a few willow trees on its banks. He made a small path to it, in case he needed to use it for something. He also placed a nether portal back there, just so it’d be out of the way in case anything came out of it.
When he had finished furnishing the house and had cleaned everything up, he invited his friends over for dinner. The four of them had a grand time.
*****
The nightmares started two nights later.
By that point, he had finished every kind of prep, clean up, or start up for his house. He started to take things easier. And then he had a nightmare.
It was less of a nightmare and more of him reliving one of his worst moments from the war. But it scared him. He stood in the kitchen with a cup of tea in his hands and reminded himself to breathe. It’s been almost two years since the war ended. He was fine.
(He ignored the way he twitched at the smallest sound and tucked his wings in like he did during many battles so they’d become smaller targets.)
*****
The nightmares didn’t stop.
*****
One night he didn’t go to bed. He stayed up until sunrise farming, convincing himself that it was the prime time to harvest the crops.
He collapsed onto his bed two hours after the sun had risen, and his exhaustion carried him into a deep, dreamless sleep.
*****
He tried to find ways to help himself get back to sleep after a nightmare. Nothing worked.
One night, he made himself a basic training dummy and set it up in the yard. It lasted barely half an hour of Phil hitting it with his sword.
He made another one. It lasted twenty minutes.
Phil looked at the remains of the two dummies, iron sword in his hand, breathing in a routine manner than was as natural as, well, breathing. He dropped his sword and sunk to the ground, curling himself into a ball and wrapping his large black wings around himself, like some sort of blanket.
The night was quiet, aside from the occasional hoot of an owl and the shaky sobs that came from the center of a clearing.
*****
He went to the village to go pick up some supplies, wearing his hat and his cloak.
Sam noticed his condition. “Dude. You look like you haven’t slept in ages.”
Phil laughed it off. “After so long of living here, I don’t think I’m used to how much sound the woods make.” He waved his hand around for emphasis. Sam laughed.
On his way to the bakery, a guard on patrol noticed him.
“Phil! Where’ve ya been?” He said, walking up to him.
Phil gave him a slightly strained smile. “Hey!” He had no clue who this guy was. “Yeah, I’ve moved a bit aways. I just came back to see some friends.”
The guard nodded. “It’s a shame you didn’t stay. We really could have used you here. Imagine!” He spread his hands out some. “The famous Angel of Death! Working for the guard! The way you used to cut down men like they were nothing! Crime rates would drop significantly!” The guard was barely looking at him now, too caught up in his war hero fantasy.
Phil’s smile grew tighter. “Y-yeah.” He nervously laughed. “That would have been something. Anyway, I’ve got to go. Told a friend I’d meet them.”
The guard snapped out of whatever stupor he had gotten into and nodded, saying bye to Phil as he turned and left to continue his patrol. Phil breathed out a sign and kept walking to the bakery, pointedly ignoring all the memories fighting their way to the surface of his mind.
The bell attached to the door of the shop jingled when he opened it. “Just a minute!” A familiar voice called out from the back room. No one was at the counter. He took the time to look at the newest baked goods in the glass case by the counter.
A second later, Karina came out of the back room, a purple apron tied around her waist and her long brown hair tied up in a messy bun. Her flour smudged face lit up when she saw who was in her shop. “Phil!”
He stood up from looking at a particularly good tray of sugar cookies. “Hello, Kari.”
She wiped her hands off on her apron as she approached the counter. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
“Just thought I’d pop in while I was in town. How’s the rest of ‘em?”
She propped her elbows up on the counter and leaned forward, shaking her head, although she was smiling. “Issac’s in the back, teaching Niki how to frost a cake.”
“Teaching them young? If you needed help around the shop, I'm sure anyone would be more than happy to work for you.” He said, tone light and joking.
She laughed. “Oh I’m sure. No, Niki wanted to learn. She’s going to be such a big help when she gets older. But how have you been?”
“I’ve been good. Still adjusting to the house but it's all going smoothly.”
“Really?” She furrowed her brow a bit. “You look tired. And not your normal ‘I’ve been building a house from scratch with no help and need a nap’ tired. What’s wrong?”
“Oh it’s nothing. Just getting used to the new environment.” He knew that she knew it was a lie, but was praying she wouldn’t push it.
She opened her mouth to respond when the flimsy door to the back kitchen was thrown open, and little Niki came running up to Kari. “Mama! Dad keeps trying to-” Niki cut herself off when she saw who was standing on the other side of the counter. “Mr. Phil!” She ducked under the flip up part of the counter and tackled Phil’s legs in a tight hug, causing him to stumble back a bit.
Kari shot him a look that said that they’d be talking later.
Niki let go of his legs and looked up at him. “You missed it! I made a batch of bread all by myself! All Mama and Dad had to do was the oven part but I did all the measuring and mixing without their help!”
“Wow! Really?”
The door opened again and a man with swept over blonde hair stepped through. “She sure did.”
Phil looked up from Niki. “Hey Issac.”
“Hello. How’s the new house?”
Kari stood up. “Why don’t we all sit down and talk. It wouldn’t be good for a customer to come in with us all just standing here.”
Issac nodded. “I’ll go put on a pot of tea.”
*****
All in all, it was a good visit. As soon as Niki had been out of earshot, Kari had grilled him on his health and why he wasn’t getting enough sleep. He had tried to wave it off but even Issac had gotten on his case and he told them he was having nightmares.
He didn’t specify any further and they didn’t press him for information.
Issac made him promise to try to take care of himself and Kari sent him off with a bag of the sugar cookies he’d been eyeing.
Niki gave him a flower that he wore tucked behind his ear as he rode his horse out of the village.
*****
He sat at the window of his room, watching as the sun sank beneath the tree line.
He was tired.
He was scared to sleep.
He fell asleep two hours later, still at his window.
*****
A yell, “Forward!”
There was no response other than the in sync movement of the battalion along the training ground.
Another yell, “Attack!”
Phil pushed the sword in his hand forward, as well as everyone around him. It entered the center of the training dummy in front of him. It started bleeding.
He pulled back, shocked. He looked to the side to see if anyone else noticed. The man beside him lay on the floor, dead. He had an arrow through his heart.
He looked back to his bleeding target. A man stood there, hands stained with his own blood as he touched the wound where Phil’s sword had gone through his stomach.
He didn’t remember leaving his sword in the dummy. He looked down to his hands. They were covered in dark red blood. He started hyperventilating and only the sound of the man in front of him collapsing to the ground made him look up.
He was on a battlefield. Men ran right and left, ignoring Phil as he stumbled back, trying to find a way out. He heard a crunch and looked down. His foot was on top of a man’s hand. It was broken. He looked to the man’s face, an apology ready on his lips. He was dead.
He gasped and reeled back from the dead man. He flicked both his wings out to the side, planning to fly out. He felt a sharp pain on the back of his wing as an arrow hit it. He turned around.
He was in a tent. A table sat in the center, a map laid out across it. Three generals sat around the table. He turned around, back to the battle.
It wasn’t there.
He turned back to the generals. There was a space at the table in front of him. He careened forward, placing a hand on the table to try to regain some of his balance.
The general sitting across from him was moving his mouth. Phil couldn’t hear him over the ringing in his ears. He looked down at the map, symbols covering it. A dot labeled a town with a familiar name. He reached out shakily and tapped it, dragging his finger down. A smudged trail of blood followed his finger.
He looked up to the general and was met with an open meadow and the burned remains of a village. He turned his head right and left but instead of looking for the tent, he was looking for a specific building.
Everything was quiet.
He ran through the village, following familiar paths.
He neared a garden. The flowers were trampled. He kept running.
The charred remains of a house sat just off the path. He froze when he saw it.
He ran in frantically, going through all the rooms, looking. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he ran into the back garden. Someone lay still there. He walked over to her, feeling like he was moving through water.
Phil fell to his knees and turned the body to face him. Glassy eyes stared at him and he choked out a sob that he couldn’t hear. He pulled the girl’s head to his chest and buried his head into her hair, crying.
He woke up with a jolt, sitting straight up in his chair.
It took him a minute to register where he was. He slouched back into his seat, rubbing his hands over his face and breathing deeply. His neck hurt with a sharp pain and he rubbed the back of it, hoping to relieve some of the pain.
After a sufficient amount of self pity, he got up and moved to the kitchen, where he had set out a kettle of water earlier. All he had to do was turn on the burner and wait.
He stretched as he waited for the water to boil, all twenty-one feet of his wingspan stretching out to the sides. He spared a look at his feathers. He might need to preen them soon. He sighed at the thought. He always had trouble reaching his scapulars.
The tea kettle boiled a minute later. He grabbed a mug and a bag of tea, pouring the water and putting the bag in. He went around the kitchen, grabbing milk and honey while it steeped.
He brought the mug over to the dining room table and sat down, propping himself up on his elbows as he held the tea. He took a deep breath in, smelling the lavender. An image from his dream came back to him and he breathed out, trying to expel the image of blood smeared maps from his mind. He took a sip of the too hot tea. The burning feeling on his tongue grounded him.
He took another deep breath and prepared himself for another three hours of this routine.
*****
The next day he grabbed his fishing rod and made his way to the pond he had found earlier. He had gotten barely any sleep last night and he needed something to do that was pretty low energy.
He reached the pond and sat under the willow tree. He liked the way the branches dipped into the water and reflected back to the tree.
He reeled his fishing rod in so the hook was at the top, and with a flick of his wrist, cast it out into the pond.
And he sat there.
Nothing happened.
He crossed his legs and propped his elbow up on his knee, pushing his face into his hand. He signed.
His mind wandered back to his nightmare from the night before. He tried to focus on his breathing, ignoring the way his hands started to feel a little wet. He reasoned it was the water from the pond, and not the blood he imagined.
He thought about the girl from the dream.
He didn’t like thinking about her much.
Just when he thought he’d get sucked into old memories faded with time and tainted with sorrow, he felt a tug on his rod. He looked out to the bobber. It was pulled under the water. He gently reeled it in until he felt a stronger tug and then he reeled it in faster. The water rippled around the string as he pulled a small fish out of the water.
He pulled it off the hook when he realized that he hadn’t brought a bucket with him to hold the fish. He sighed and looked down at the wriggling fish in his hands. He bent down and lowered his hands into the water. The fish swam away.
He sat back up and cast his rod out again.
His mind wandered back to some of his old memories.
He was on the verge of getting lost in them when his rod tugged. He reeled the fish in, unhooked it, and let it go.
And the process repeated.
He breathed deep. The trees swayed and the willow tree’s branches moved, sending small ripples across the pond. A bird sang in the distance. It was peaceful.
*****
The nightmares never really left. They became less and less frequent and he was eventually able to sleep in peace with only minimal disturbance from his subconscious.
Whenever he had a really bad nightmare, or even when he couldn’t sleep for fear of a bad one, he’d go out to the pnd and fish. He never brought a bucket and he never kept any of the fish he caught.
And there beneath a willow tree, Phil learned something had forgotten during the war.
He sat there and listened to the animals moving through the forest, listening to the wind in the leaves, and catching and releasing fish. And he learned that everything had breath and was alive. He relearned how to appreciate life.
He watched the nature around him and learned to appreciate the beauty of it all.