Chapter Text
The sky bled the colour of rust and ash.
Sunset had come early this day, choked beneath clouds thick as stone. The earth itself seemed to mourn, split and scorched, pitted with the craters of fire and hoofbeats.
Where once there had been a village - a bustling hamlet nestled between gentle hills - now there was only the blackened skeleton of it. Timber beams stood like broken teeth against the horizon. Stone walls had been shattered as though with giants’ fists. The wells ran dry, the rivers fouled. Crops lay withered, twisted husks under a sun that no longer gave warmth.
No voices rose from the ruins. Not one.
But they had been here.
The Four.
Not together - no, never together. That was not their way. Each had passed through at its own time, its own will. Each had marked the land in its own fashion.
Pestilence had come first. A low mist had slithered into the valley, carrying the sharp tang of sickness. People coughed blood within hours. Livestock swelled and died in their pens. No herb-woman’s charm, no priest’s blessing could hold back the creeping plague.
Then Famine. A slow, deliberate strangling of the land itself. The fields grew barren. The orchards dropped rotten fruit. The ground cracked underfoot as if thirsty for the very souls of the people. Hunger drove men mad. They turned upon their neighbours, upon their own kin, for a scrap of moldy bread. And still, the ground yielded nothing.
War rode next, clad in bloodied armor. Its horde descended like carrion birds, slaughtering the few who remained hale enough to resist. Smoke rose for days, black columns stretching toward a heedless sky. Screams echoed from the hills, then faded.
Then silence.
And finally, Death. A shadow beneath the waning moon, it had moved without sound, guiding those who had been too weak to flee, too broken to resist. Death did not judge. It did not question. It merely completed what had been begun.
Now, there was nothing left to take.
Or so it seemed.
From the heart of this forsaken place - where the old square had once bustled with market stalls - a figure appeared.
There was no one to see it arrive. No footfalls marked the soot-caked ground. No breath stirred the air. It simply… was .
A shape cut from night itself, a figure wrapped in a cloak the colour of a starless void. The edges of its garment seemed to drink the light, leaving a faint ripple in its wake. No face could be seen beneath the deep hood, save for a faint gleam of eyes - twin points of cold grey that burned with something deeper than grief.
The figure stood unmoving amid the ruin.
Smoke drifted by. Embers flickered in the ash like dying fireflies.
At last, the figure’s shoulders rose, a single breath drawn into lungs that had no reason to hope. And then - a cry .
Raw, unbound, wrenching the silence apart.
A sound that seemed to echo through the bones of the earth. Windows shattered. Birds fell from the sky. The very air seemed to quiver.
And when the cry faded, the figure sank to its knees amid the blackened wreckage. A gloved hand swept through the ash and bone - here a child’s toy, charred and broken; there a wedding ring, blackened but still whole.
The figure gathered these things, trembling. Its breath was ragged.
“My kin, my home…” the voice whispered. It felt not entirely human. It rang with layers beneath - sorrow, rage, the promise of something vast and patient.
The hooded head rose.
“They think themselves beyond reach. They think their power shields them. They think they have no weakness.”
The figure rose to its feet once more, tall and unyielding.
“They are wrong. I will find it.”
A vow was made then, not with gods, not with the dead. But with the universe itself, with the bones buried deep and the stars in the sky.
“I will take what you hold dear,” the figure said to the empty sky. “One by one. When you know loss - when you know grief - you will remember this place. You will remember me.”
A cold wind stirred, the first in many days. The figure turned without another word and walked toward the forest’s edge. The shadows welcomed it.
*****
Centuries passed.
And still they rode.
Not always together. Rarely, in truth. The balance of the world demanded otherwise - their burdens scattered them across time and place.
Pestilence, War, Famine, Death.
Each fulfilled their duty in their own way - sometimes called by the higher forces, sometimes moving of their own accord.
But one thing remained constant:
A presence.
They had felt it for centuries - faint at first, then stronger.
A sense of being watched. Of something patient. Something waiting.
It wanted something from them - that much was clear.
Revenge.
But from where it came or who it was, they could not say. No name had been given. No face glimpsed. No clear shape to hunt.
It simply was - a force lingering in the cracks of the world, always near when they were at their most vulnerable, always gone when they tried to pursue it.
And one thing, above all, became clear:
It needed them together.
All four.
It would have struck them alone if it was able, that much was obvious. So, they had avoided that trap easily enough - wary now of how and when they gathered.
As time had passed they had grown less cautious.
But now - with Death herself carrying life - the force stirred again.
They had not seen Mallon in decades. Not truly.
Their paths had crossed briefly, once or twice, but she had chosen a different life - one they did not wish to follow.
News of her marriage - and then of her pregnancy - had come only by way of a photograph on a text message.
A slender hand, adorned with engagement and wedding ring, holding a sonogram.
A single message beneath it:
“You know how to find me.”
Cassian served in distant war zones, treating the illness he created and saving those he could, keeping the balance intact.
Draven trained soldiers in hidden places, teaching them the ugly truths of war.
Dorian moved among the starving and displaced, fighting hunger with wit and steel and too much charm.
But they always kept one ear to the wind.
And then - one night - it came.
A whisper.
Not a voice - not truly.
A feeling , seeping through the cracks of the world, riding the breath of the wind.
“I will take what you love. I will destroy her. I will destroy you.”
The words were different for each of them but the meaning was the same.
The target was clear.
Death.
Her happiness.
Her unborn child.
The Four.
Cassian was the first to move.
In a darkened field hospital tent, he handed over care of a patient to another doctor. He pulled the gloves from his hands and walked into the night.
On his phone he began a video call.
Across the world, two others answered.
Draven - sweat-soaked from training, breath sharp. His brow furrowed the moment the screen lit.
Dorian - perched on the back of a battered jeep, field jacket half-open, the desert wind tugging at his hair. His smile faded when he saw Cassian’s eyes.
“ You felt it. ” Cassian’s voice was low, certain.
Draven swore.
“ Fuck aye. It’s moving. I heard it. It’s after her. After the child. ”
Dorian’s usual charm was gone. His gaze was cold.
“ It wants to destroy us. Everything we are. ”
Cassian nodded once.
“ We waited too long. It has grown stronger. The only way to destroy it is with the power of Four. You know this. ”
Silence for a breath.
Then Draven spoke, his voice rough.
“ I’m in. We do this. For her. For the child. For us. ”
Dorian gave a sharp nod.
“ We’ll meet at the usual place before we make our way to the Abbey. No delays. Family comes first. ”
Cassian’s mouth set in a grim line.
“ Then it is decided. We go now. ”
In three separate places, three ancient forces packed their bags. No one asked them where they were going. Their answer, if pressed, was always the same:
“Family calls.”
And across the miles - unseen in the darkest corners of the world - a presence smiled.
The Four were coming together.
Exactly as it had hoped.