001 - Of Frost and Fire

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

-Fire and Ice; Robert Frost

The piercing cold from a black night's sky was all I could remember when I was born.

"Heaven promises you light,"

Ice spread from muscle to bone until I felt it creep through my tendons, freezing each and every artery in my body as it crawled through like a dystopian serial killer.

"Heaven promises you peace,"

Though I screamed for breath, every intake of negative-degree frostbite felt forced and painful, like drawing permafrost into my lungs. I yearned to scream and howl, but they never left my mouth. Instead, it felt like I swallowed needles and my throat only grew raw.

"Heaven wishes unto you peace,"

I had a heart but it did not beat. No blood surged through my veins to keep me warm. There was nothing but vengeful ice that scaled across my skin, burning with contempt.

"Welcome to paradise,"

When my eyelids brushed open for the first time, I looked into his eyes and saw the galaxy. Every single heavenly body that orbited a single Garden, like how electrons orbited their nuclei. The sunset in his eyes was the fiery kiss of the day to the night, and the stars and moon seemed like a gift given to the universe by him.

Then I noticed his hair, radiating luminescence like it was spun from pure gold. Every star and every constellation that encompassed the universe, all were found in the fine strands of his golden locks.

"What is your name, child?" He beckoned. His voice resonated throughout the arena, gentle like the occasional breeze, but yet again reminiscent of the thunder that struck the sky when the clouds parted.

Without warning or my command, my tongue lifted from its physical prison for the first time to utter my first words. My voice hoarse and crushed from choked screams. When I first spoke, I realized that they weren't my words, but rather, a voice in the back of my head, commanding every syllable that parted from my lips.

"My name is Dantalion, Angel of Thought and Harbinger of the Fall."

Though newly born, my mind was that of a man who had lived a thousand millennium lifetimes, each time reborn with even greater purpose and knowledge.

I was born in a colosseum, the birthplace of a multitude of fine warriors, where heroes of fables came to do their time and build the walls that guard heaven. The marble floors were white as snow and clean, yet they reeked of the cries of the eternal fighters. What a tiring life, I thought, after having spent eternal lifetimes fighting for Eden, one might have thought that they would be able to finally rest; yet they were put to work, guarding the walls even after their demise.

My hands, my arms, my fingertips, with them I traced every crevice of my body, feeling every perfection. With my fingers, I ran them through my hair, black and soft, like the plume of swan birds, creating rivers in the mortal world every time my nails grazed my scalp.

I was wrapped in sheets of the softest linen and silk in the world. Woven from the universe itself, it draped loosely over my body.

The wind. The air was crisp; like a breeze in the autumn evening, filled with the mild scent of fallen leaves and running river water.

The secrets of the world brushed against my ears, whispering the ballads and odes of heroes and warriors, the sacrifices of valiant men and women. The melody and rhapsody of the world stirred to life like the crackling of a freshly-ignited bonfire. The beautiful sonnets of the birds and the insects, the forest's poems, everything.

Chirp!

My attention diverted to the sudden noise, a sharp cry that came from... my clothes?

I lifted the folds of my linens to reveal... the tiniest, bird I had ever seen.

It looked partially confused as to it's sudden release from it's soft prison. It's plume was a striking blue, but I couldn't tell if it was the colour of the sky, or rather the ocean. I cupped the swallow in my hands to bring it closer to my eyes. I suppose it was tired, because instantly, it nuzzled itself against my fingers and rested in the sieve of my fingers.

Was this affection? I kind of liked the feeling. It reminded me of being warm and it was like the distant memory of my mother tucking me into bed on a rainy night, though I knew that was simply fantasy.

He watched me explore my surroundings but did not utter a single word, more so preferring to peer at my sheer wonder and excitement, much like a father watching his son in a candy store.

I felt his watchful regard even though my eyes were preoccupied with other things. Like the curious creator he was, he took note of every one of my motions.

"Come, child, there is much to be told,"

And with a weary and tired smile, one of satisfaction and approval, he extended his hand, imploring me to take it.

His smile reminded me of the first morning of winter. Pleasant, calming and gentle. I didn't know this man, and he spoke very little, but all it took was his smile and all of a sudden, I felt everything was going to be just fine.

As the last remnants of the frost inhabiting my body dissipated, I took a glance at the shallow waters that I had been resting on. It was the first time I had seen my face since I was born. Every perfection seemed boring. I skipped over my plump cheeks, or my beautiful, sun-kissed lips. It all seemed so dull compared to my piercing gaze.

Rather, my eyes had taken on an alluring, deep, aureate colour, shimmering like a pool of fresh rainwater. The tides rippled.

This is going to be a long ride...

And so, I grabbed his hand.