But the villains.
I kissed her forehead and began my story as I walked into her dream, grasping her hand tightly. “Look, look at the ones who watch.”
Two hundred men stood on the edge of the mountain, each of them well over seven feet tall, their faces were perfectly shaped as if the person who had created them had special knowledge of just how far away eyes should be from the nose, and the nose from the lips.
To stare at them was to experience the fullest of contentment.
To be in their presence was absolute adoration.
A battle brewed in front of them, yet they were immobile.
“They were called the ones who do not sleep.” I pointed at the line of men as their gold armor glistened against the sun, a sword and shield was placed in each hand. They continued to stand, their hair tangled in the wind, a mixture of reds and black tendrils escaped out of their gold helmets.
One of the two hundred flinched as a man was decapitated.
He lowered his head for a fraction of a second, while one of the men next to him grunted.
And still, they stood.
“Why aren’t they helping?” Stephanie asked. “Humans are dying! Getting slaughtered by one another. Why don’t they intervene?”
“Because it’s not their job,” I answered. “Their job is to watch, their job is to never close their eyes. For when you close your eyes, even for a brief moment, you lose sight of what’s in front of you, and at times, you can lose sight of what’s inside.”
“That makes no sense.” Stephanie pointed back down at the humans. “Blood’s everywhere, it would take two of the men on the mountain to stop this.”
“One,” I corrected her. “It would only take one.”
The scene changed and suddenly the village in front of them was getting swallowed up in flames.
And again.
They watched.
Stephanie screamed at them. And yet they watched. “Cassius! Do something, there’s women…” She choked out a sob. “Children are dying!”
“Children die every day.” I spoke in a soft whisper. “They see it every day, they’ve been watching for hundreds of years, what makes this day different?”
Stephanie covered her eyes as a child was tossed into the fire—alive.
Screaming she tried to run toward the men watching, but I held her back. It shattered my heart, to see her reaction, to know that the men could have done something—but that they couldn’t.
“Stephanie.” I licked my lips. “To act is to go against every cell in their body, every reason they were created. You have to understand, they were not made to feel, they were made to act.”
“Then why don’t they act!”
“Because they have not been told to… yet.”
More children screamed.
And then suddenly a light shone down on the two hundred men, flickering against their gold shields. Each shield held the design of a tree, but every tree was different, as if its origin came from a differing country or region.
The shields swiftly moved to the front of the men, and with a roar the two hundred descended upon the crowd of humans getting slaughtered.
It was over in thirty seconds.
Less than that.
The humans thanked the men, the same men who had watched them suffer for days, weeks, years, not knowing that this wasn’t some army marching through as they had claimed, but actual beings, created to watch over humanity.
My mother stumbled out of her hut, then fell to her knees in loud choking sobs.
The man, the same one who had flinched while watching, stopped in front of her then knelt down. “Woman, why do you cry?”
His voice was so hollow, as if he didn’t understand emotion.
“My son.” She choked out a long horrendous sob. “He was thrown in the fire…” Even through tears stained cheeks, blood caked to her fingers, and her hair matted, she was beautiful. The man sucked in a sharp breath, admiring her for the first time. “He was only a year, sir.”
“A year,” he repeated. “To be so new…” He shook his head. “I cannot comprehend such a short amount of time.”
“It wasn’t enough.” My mother hung her head. “I’ll mourn him forever.”
As an angelic being, the man could feel the woman’s sadness as if it was his own. He pulled off his helmet, set down his armor, and helped her to her feet.
It was his first mistake.
For without his armor.
He’d forgotten his purpose.
And when he touched her.
He closed his eyes. For the first time in his existence.
And when he opened them—her.
Only her.
And nothing else existed.
How, he wondered, had he gone so long watching, but not truly seeing?
As his men walked back up the mountain, to regain their rightful place, to stay awake, to watch.
He hesitated.
He never hesitated.
He wasn’t aware of the meaning of it.
Until that moment.
So beautiful.
I.
Want.
His breath came out in a whoosh.
Want.
Want.
Want.
Heartbeat slowing, he pressed her hand to his cheek as his blood roared for something more—than watching.