Adekunle's hand instinctively tightened on the tyre iron. His eyes darted from the still, cloaked figure to the vibrant mango peeking out from beneath its cloak. The juxtaposition was jarring, a strange echo of the silent encounter on the rooftop. Was this the silent watcher? Or someone connected to him?
He took another slow, deliberate step into the room, the worn floorboards creaking softly beneath his weight. Funke wheeled herself cautiously through the doorway, her eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity.
"We followed the tracks," Adekunle said, his voice low and steady, addressing the cloaked figure. "The ones leading away from the water treatment plant. We found… a white feather." He hesitated, then decided to offer the fragile object. He held it out on the palm of his hand. "Is this yours?"
The cloaked figure remained motionless for a long moment. The silence in the small room was thick with unspoken questions and a palpable tension. Then, slowly, deliberately, the figure inclined its head. The movement was slight, almost imperceptible, but Adekunle saw it.
The feather. It belonged to this mysterious individual.
Adekunle lowered his hand, but kept the feather. It felt like a key, a silent form of introduction.
"We… we were hoping to find other survivors," Adekunle continued, his gaze fixed on the figure's hooded face, trying to discern any features in the shadows. "We were at the water treatment plant, but… it wasn't a good place."
The cloaked figure remained silent, its posture unchanging. It offered no verbal response, no gesture of welcome or hostility.
Growing impatient with the silence, Funke spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. "Who are you?" she asked. "Are you friendly? We've had enough trouble with those… demons."
Still, the figure remained silent. Its stillness was unnerving, almost unnatural. Adekunle wondered if it even could speak.
He took another step closer, his eyes now fixed on the figure's hands resting on the staff. The staff was made of a dark, polished wood, and it was taller than the figure, reaching almost to the ceiling of the small room. Intricate carvings spiraled around its length, patterns that looked both ancient and strangely familiar, though Adekunle couldn't place them.
Then, he noticed something else about the figure's hands. They were pale, almost translucent, and the fingers were long and slender, like delicate bone. They didn't look quite… human.
A fresh wave of unease washed over Adekunle. The black feather had been associated with a demon, albeit a seemingly benevolent one. What about this white feather? And these hands?
He took a step back, his grip tightening on the tyre iron. "What are you?" he asked, his voice now wary.
The cloaked figure finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, it raised one of its pale hands from the staff. The movement was graceful, almost ethereal. The hand reached up towards the hood, and with a slow, sweeping gesture, it pulled the hood back, revealing its face.
Adekunle gasped. Funke let out a small, involuntary cry.
The face that was revealed was unlike anything they had ever seen. It was not human, not entirely. The features were delicate, almost elfin, with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. But the skin was the color of moonlight, and the eyes… the eyes were large, almond-shaped, and glowed with a soft, internal luminescence, the color of the white feather Adekunle held in his hand. There were no pupils, just pure, radiant light.
And where hair should have been, there was only a delicate, white down, like the softest feathers.
The figure was beautiful, in an otherworldly, unsettling way. It radiated an aura of peace and serenity, yet there was also something ancient and unknowable in its gaze.
Still, it remained silent.
Adekunle struggled to find his voice. "You're… not human," he finally managed to stammer.
The figure inclined its head again, a slow, graceful movement. It then raised its hand and pointed a long, delicate finger towards the white feather in Adekunle's palm.
Adekunle understood. This was their connection. This being was associated with the white feather, just as the other, darker being was associated with the black feather.
"What are you?" he repeated, his voice a little steadier now, though his mind was still reeling.
The figure slowly lowered its hand and then raised it again, this time placing a single, luminous fingertip to its lips, a clear gesture for silence.
Then, it raised its other hand and began to move its fingers in the air, weaving intricate patterns, as if writing invisible words.
Adekunle watched, fascinated. The movements were fluid and graceful, and as he focused, he began to understand. The figure was communicating through gestures, through a silent language of light and motion.
The first gesture was a circle drawn in the air, followed by a downward motion, like something falling. Then, another circle, this time with lines radiating outwards, like the sun. Finally, a pointing gesture towards itself.
Adekunle frowned, trying to decipher the silent message. Circle… falling… sun… me?
He looked at Funke, who was watching the display with wide-eyed wonder. "What do you think it means?" he whispered.
Funke shook her head, equally perplexed.
The figure repeated the sequence, its luminous eyes fixed on Adekunle, as if urging him to understand.
Suddenly, a thought sparked in Adekunle's mind. The first circle… the Fall. The downward motion… the devastation. The second circle with radiating lines… the celestial war, the light and power of the heavens. And the pointing to itself…
"You… you were there?" Adekunle asked, his voice filled with awe. "During the Fall? During the war?"
The figure's luminous eyes seemed to brighten slightly, and it gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Adekunle felt a chill run down his spine. This being had witnessed the celestial war, the battle between God and Lucifer that had shattered their world. What could it possibly be?
The figure continued its silent communication. It drew another shape in the air, this one resembling wings, large and powerful. Then, it made a gesture of separation, two hands moving apart. Finally, it pointed towards the sky, then downwards towards the earth.
Wings… separating… sky… earth.
"Angels?" Adekunle breathed, his voice filled with disbelief. "Were you… were you an angel?"
The figure hesitated for a moment, then gave a slow, almost mournful nod.
An angel. Here, in this ruined world, was a being of pure light, an angel who had witnessed the fall of everything. The implications were staggering.
But why was it here? Why was it silent? Why had it led them here?
The figure continued its silent story. It made a gesture of pain, clutching its chest. Then, it made a gesture of falling again, but this time slower, more drawn out. Finally, it pointed to itself again.
Pain… falling… me.
Adekunle understood. This angel had been injured, perhaps during the war. It had fallen, not in the way the demons had fallen, but in a different way, a wounded descent. And now it was here, on this ruined earth, perhaps unable to return to its former glory.
He looked at the serene, luminous face, the delicate, almost fragile form. This being of immense power seemed vulnerable, weakened.
The angel then made another gesture, pointing towards Adekunle, then making a motion of strength, flexing its hand. Then, it pointed towards the mango in Adekunle's pocket, then made a gesture of growth, its hands opening upwards like a blossoming flower.
You… strength… mango… growth.
Adekunle looked down at the mango seed in his pocket, then back at the angel. Was it implying that he had a role to play in the future, a role connected to this impossible fruit?
The angel then made a final gesture. It pointed towards the distance, its luminous gaze fixed on something beyond the walls of the small building. Then, it made a motion of joining, its hands coming together. Finally, it looked at Adekunle and Funke, its eyes filled with a silent plea.
Distance… joining… you and me.
Adekunle felt a surge of understanding. This angel, wounded and silent, wanted them to go somewhere, to join with someone or something. And the mango, this impossible fruit of hope, was somehow connected to that purpose.
He looked at Funke, her face etched with a mixture of awe and confusion. This was beyond anything they could have imagined. They had been focused on mere survival, on finding food and water and shelter. Now, they were faced with a being of light, an angel with a silent mission that seemed to involve them.
"What do we do?" Funke whispered, her voice barely audible.
Adekunle looked back at the angel, its luminous gaze unwavering. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for sure. Their lonely journey of survival had just taken a turn into something much larger, much stranger, and perhaps, just perhaps, something filled with a sliver of hope in this fallen world.
"I think," Adekunle said slowly, his voice filled with a newfound sense of purpose, "I think it wants us to go with it."
What direction should they go? What kind of journey awaits them? And who or what are they meant to join?