Chapter Text
He pulled himself up and stepped on the highest rock on the hill. The fiercest warrior, feared by many, feared through decades, watched the horizon as the light of dawn pierced through the dark skies. Another battle done for. Another song sung by hundreds of fallen soldiers. Another awaits somewhere beyond the mountain range before him. Yet among all the wars and battles and fights, he felt incomplete. Always seeking adventure, always ending up in his lullaby of swishing swords and arrows.
The flames of war were way too familiar to be out of his comfort. He didn’t even remember what peace felt like, let alone knew the last time he’d felt it. Maybe in his childhood, which was too far away to be recalled.
Instead, the God of War kept his gaze either cold and hard enough to send shivers through spines or featureless enough for someone to wonder if he’s alive to have emotions. He treaded smoothly, quietly, like a silent shadow passing by to take lives. After all, everything comes with a price, even immortality.
Of course, when he was lost in the woods instead of the battlefield, he was also lost in his thoughts. Do I have a purpose? What have I been doing until now? War. That’s it. Why? To fuel my immortality. Why do I need immortality? Because I’m a god and…
Forcing answers to his own questions, he silently made his way through the forest until he heard… what? An animal? Human? Whatever it was, it gave out a cry of agony that traveled through miles.
The War God sprinted through the bushes, shrubs, and trees and reached a small clearing. With his sword out, ready to protect or attack, he saw a man on the ground, looking as if he’d been broken a thousand times over.
Oh, great. A fallen angel.
The god slid his sword back into his sheath behind his back and stepped closer to the man, admiring his huge, nearly black wings looking as if they were burnt. They could’ve been twenty feet in length if they hadn’t been broken and ripped.
“Hey.”
The angel looked at him in shock.
“Hey,” the War God repeated, walking closer until he was nearly standing on the angel, “Do you need help?”
“Who are you? Where am I?” the angel stuttered as he tried scrambling up onto his feet but failed.
“The name’s Ares. Welcome to earth,” the god replied dryly, pulling the angel up and setting him on a rock.
“Ares?” the angel looked in astonishment, “Isn’t that the God of War?” Here we go again.
“Perhaps. What does that matter to you when you can’t even stand up properly? What am I supposed to call you?”
The angel hesitated, then hung his head and replied, “Milo.”
“Well, somewhat of a Peace Angel.” Milo frowned at Ares, trying to show anger but failing with a pathetic look on his face as Ares pulled out a bandage roll and some ointment from his cape. “I keep this in case of injuries during battle, but perhaps it will go on your wings. How’d you end up here, anyway?”
“Injuries? You’re known for ending battles unscathed.”
“Not my injuries. You also didn’t answer my question.”
“I don’t know.”
“What? You don’t know how you fell from who-knows-how-high-above?”
“No, I do remember falling, but I have no idea what caused it. Every time I recall how I fell, there seems to be a gap between me on my cloud and falling backward through the sky.” He winced at the bandage wrapping around his wing.
“You have memory loss?”
“No… yes… maybe just a bit. But I remember most things!”
“And not how you fell moments before hitting the ground. Could’ve used your wings to fly.”
“I- I don’t know what happened. It’s as if… they didn’t want to work. Paralyzed.” Milo’s brows furrowed deep in confusion.
Ares sighed deeply until another question struck him as if he were slapped in the face: “Why are you helping me?”
He looked at the man sitting in front of him. Weak, oblivious, confused, and unarmed. He could’ve ended him by now, but he didn’t. Why was he helping him? That wasn't how...
He shook his head mentally, dismissing the thought.
“Why are you helping me,” Milo repeated, now looking straight into his eyes, “If you could’ve killed me while I was on the ground? I thought your type despises angels in my department - especially you, War God.” The last two words seared the air between the angel and Ares.
“First of all, just because we’re opposites doesn’t mean we’re supposed to hate each other. Second of all, I’m not that cruel to kill another being just because he fell in the same forest as me.” He didn’t know why he sounded so defensive. Maybe because of how Milo said "your type." Maybe because he didn’t like to be associated with “his type.”
The angel paused for a moment, considering the reply until he said, “Fair enough. I thought all subjects of Chaos were wicked. Hopefully, I’ll change my mind.” Well, that hurts.
Not that Ares would’ve disagreed with him.
That evening, Ares decided to take Milo - now with fully bandaged wings - home with him. Surprisingly, Milo didn’t say a word as they approached the cabin. Probably thinking. Inside, there was a small kitchen in the far left corner along with a door leading to a pantry with a few partially stale loaves of bread. Under the wall next to the kitchen was an old bench that looked like it was going to break but was still sturdy enough for three people to sit on. Off to the right was a table with a couple of chairs and a corridor leading to a bedroom with two old beds and a large closet with half a mirror that was supposed to be full height.
The two of them slumped onto the beds and fell into sleepless slumber. Immortals didn't need the rest of sleep itself, but most still entertained the idea. So they pretended - along with the insomniacs of the human population.
Their conversation still hung in Ares’s head. So that’s what angels think about gods. Wicked, cruel beings who mercy no one and have no soul. That seemed right and wrong at the same time. Ares subconsciously decided he’d change Milo’s mind. Why? He didn’t know. Maybe there was a bit of purity and kindness left in him after all those centuries…
Maybe he just didn't want to indulge his creator and be like his Greek namesake who was... somewhere out there. He didn't know the customs of having multiple gods of the same element, nor did he know what happened to the unpopular character from his childhood Greek mythology book.
Call him egotistical or a coward, but he was fine with keeping that Ares in the books.
He looked at where Milo was lying in the bed across from him. The angel's back faced toward Ares, carefully bandaged wings flipping repeatedly as he picked at whichever feathers were sticking out. Ares sighed as he looked back at the ceiling.
As if hosting a fallen angel wasn’t enough, the morning started with a knock at the door. Ares looked out the window and found a single girl, probably around fifteen years old.
She looked ragged - as if she had just come out of the forest and escaped from something that caused her to have a bunch of twigs in her pink, tangled hair that was secured by a strip of cloth from her sleeve. Her clothes were muddy, ripped, and worn. Despite all of that, the girl looked unnaturally calm, her dark green eyes glimmering in the morning sun.
“Let her in.”
Ares turned around to see Milo’s tan face nearly pressed at the window, his silver eyes staring hard at the girl as if scanning every inch of her, weighing her helplessness. “Okay,” he replied calmly.
“Wait, what? You actually will?”
Milo gave Ares a surprised look as Ares opened the door and stared at the girl, calculating whether it was worth letting her come through the threshold. “What’s your name?”
“Call me Nikki. I come with peace from the southern valley. May I stay in your cabin for a few days before I take off again?”
Her formality and foreign accent struck Ares, and he noticed that her clothing was much more than a simple white shirt and black trousers partially covered in broken chainmail. Her doublet - or what was left of it - was royal blue, with crimson stripes on the cuffs and near the buttons. Along the outline of the whole doublet was a set of intricate, golden curlicues. There was a suspicious patch on her shoulder with a symbol. She was part of a royal family. Feeling Milo’s gaze on himself, Ares stepped aside. “You may come in.”
Nikki’s eyes lit up with hope as she rapidly stepped in, catching sight of Milo for the first time and freezing. “Wh- what are you?”
Milo bowed down, “Hello, most graceful human. I am Milo, and the man next to you is named Ares.” He shot a glance at Ares as if to say, Don’t mess this up and follow my lead.
Great. Trapped in the middle of royalty. That’s the last thing Ares needed right now. “Welcome to our humble abode,” he said as he rolled his eyes at Milo.