Micah

Chapter 3

Kent - 78 BC

Micah took a long, slow breath. Being back on Earth with fresh air in his lungs and soft dirt beneath his feet made him realise just how much he'd missed it whilst in the Underworld. Made him realise how much he loathed being in the Underworld. The land of the dead was no place for the living, even if his father was the king. For the first time in 200 years, Micah had real energy. He knelt down and touched the ground as though he could hardly believe it was real.

Next to Micah, Xifomáchos was staring around in wonder, his eyes wide. It had been 200 years since Micah had walked the earth, but had been almost a thousand for Xifomáchos. When Hades had told him he was to accompany Micah, he had hardly dared believe it, but with his own two feet standing on the dirt, he finally let forth his first smile in half a millennia.

The joy was infectious. Both men wore matching grins, eyes sparkling with excitement. They weren't quite sure what they planned to do with their time on Earth, but it didn't really seem to matter. Just being there was enough. Taken by a sense of youthlike energy and joy, Micah began to run in bounding strides. With a startled exclamation, Xifomáchos followed behind him, but he was no match at all for the young Seelie. For Micah, it felt nice to be in front for a change.

Micah finally came to a stop under the shade of an old tree. He leant on the warm bark, panting to catch his breath. He may have more energy on Earth, but his stamina still wasn't all that; hopefully, his father would allow more excursions to Earth, and he would be able to work on it further. When Xifomáchos arrived at the tree, he was panting even harder than Micah, but his grin was just as big. Now that Xifomáchos had a physical body not deformed by death, Micah was able to see much more of his appearance. He was tall and strong, easily standing a head taller than Micah, and almost twice the width. His hair was a golden brown, falling in waves to his shoulders, and his eyes were the kind of grey where you could never be quite sure of their exact colour. He was rather handsome, actually. And of course, as Micah had his own death wound in the shape of a thick scar banding his neck, Xifomáchos had one too. The skin on his right side was paler than that of his right, pink instead of golden. It was a mark of the fire that had consumed him. These marks weren't just something random or accidental, Hades had left them there on purpose, a sign that no matter how much fun they had, what they thought, neither of them were truly alive, and both of them belonged to the Underworld now.

The pair lay sprawled under the tree, swapping stories of their lives. Xifomáchos, who had asked Micah to call him Xi whilst they were away from the Underworld, had many more stories than Micah. He had been a brave warrior in life, leading armies and killing many men, and had only died when an assassin had set his home alight, trapping Xi inside along with his wife and children. It was a sad story, but Xi spoke it plainly, with no bitterness in his tone. In his eyes, it was just the way of war. That way of looking at things was grim, but Micah could see the comfort and beauty in it. War was inevitable, better to accept and enjoy that, instead of living in denial and despair.

After a while of swapping stories, Xi suggested they spar. Being on Earth, Micah would be faster and stronger, and he wanted to see how that would translate into fighting, so he gladly accepted the challenge. The pair got to their feet, dusting off stray dirt from their clothes, and both took out their swords. They stood opposite one another, and with a slight nod from Xi, Micah launched forward in a full-frontal attack. He arced his blade down overhead, the speed of his blow astonishing, but then a single sickening thought came to mind, and he threw himself sideways, dragging the sword tumbling into the dirt with him.

"What the fuck, Micah? That was a winning hit!" Xi cussed angrily. All of this emotion from him was strange but more than welcome. It made him fun to be around, amusing even. Micah wasn't amused this time. He was shaking as he climbed to his feet, rolling his shoulder where he'd landed painfully on it.