Shadsie
Sage of Tales
Disclaimer: The Kid Icarus series and its characters belong to Nintendo. I am not profiting off my fan fiction. I am merely annoyed at certain plot-gaps and wish to fill them in my own way. I got this idea randomly and it shouted to be written (before any of the others for this fandom I’ve been mulling over in my head lately).
Summary: Spoilers for Chapter 18 of Kid Icarus: Uprising. Pit spent three years in stasis, his soul stored in a ring. We never got to see what happened to Dark Pit during that time, we only know that he did not like it. I wrote this to play with that gap.
RAVENWINGS
A Kid Icarus Uprising Fan Fiction by Shadsie
He was fortunate to be flying low that day.
Dark Pit skimmed a field that had gone to seed, letting his toes touch the heads of tall, wild grass growing where a patch of forest had been cleared decades ago. He cupped one of his hands over the seed-heads idly. The freedom to fly was a wonderful sensation. It also took his mind off the pain in his ankle, courtesy his taking out an Underworld guardian.
“I should have never have helped Pit-stain out,” he groused to himself. “What was I thinking?”
The pain came and went. Adrenaline made it vanish whenever he was in a fight. He was fine and dandy when fighting Pit in the Lunar Sanctum, able to ignore a bit of bone grinding on bone. There had been signs that the old injury had started to heal, but had healed wrong. Dark Pit could be bruised, battered and trailing blood in a fight and would just keep on going, the thrill of the fight and the thrill of victory driving him on to having no regard for his body. He knew that his lighter half was the same way, except that what drove him on was… ugh! … Love… His devotion to his goddess, Palutena, enabled him to bear wounds. It was pathetic! Dark Pit, on the other hand was confident in knowing that he did not “need his mommy.”
Flight was freedom he’d taken for himself. He did not need to ask someone to give his wings their power. He’d smacked a god upside the head and took it. His foot throbbed again, reminding him that no “good” deed goes unpunished in this world. The only reason he even spared Pit instead of going all-out and killing him was that Pit was fun to fight. This is what Dark Pit told himself, at least.
He idly wondered what Pit was up to. He shook his head. Another battle would be fun, but it wasn’t like they needed each other. Suddenly, the black-winged angel felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He coughed and balled up his outer toga in a fist. He pumped his wings, struggling to stay airborne as a profound sleepiness came over him. He lost this battle. His eyes slipped shut and he fell, tumbling wing-over-tail until he came to rest among the grass, one wing sticking up in the air awkwardly.
“What’s goin’ on out there, Homer?” a woman called from inside a small house. “I heard a noise!”
An old man in a battered hat had heard the sound of something hitting the ground, as well. He’d seen something skidding out in his back-field as he was scattering grain for his chickens. Though elderly, the man was spry and it was naught but a couple of minutes before he reached the source of the disturbance. His wife hobbled along after him and caught him staring in wonder and more than a little bit of fear.
“It’s… a boy,” the man gasped. He stared at Dark Pit’s still face. “A boy fell from the sky…”
“He’s got wings,” the old woman observed.
“Do you think we’ve been graced with a Messenger, Sophia?”
“Ehhh…” Sophia groused. “I don’t like the look of ‘im. Looks like an angel, but look at those wings! All black like night… He’s probably a messenger of Hades.”
Homer reached out and touched the wing that was sticking up. He was cautious as he stroked the feathers and flexed it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “He’s warm. Beings of the Underworld are supposed to be slimy and as cold as death. He’s alive.”
“He could be one of Palutena’s, then, but… look at ‘im, Homer! Dark like a vulture or a raven, inky feathers and all dressed in black… I sense he’s mighty wicked. We should leave ‘im.”
Purple light came up in Dark Pit’s wings like flames. The couple jumped back. It subsided.
“He’s a fell-creature, I tell you!” Sophia insisted.
“Um… yes… the purple fire… that was most unnatural,” Homer stuttered, adjusting his hat. “That energy felt like calamity… still, I don’t think we should just leave him.”
“He’s not waking up,” Sophia mumbled. “Whatever he is, he’s not well.”
“Prepare a bed,” Homer said. He turned the mysterious angel over and struggled to pick him up.
“You can’t be serious, Homer.”
“The wild animals will get him if we leave him out here in the field. Maybe when he wakes up, he can give us some answers.”
“When he wakes up, he might destroy us,” the old woman groused.
“I don’t think so,” her husband said, finally hefting up Dark Pit over his shoulders, grabbing him by the thighs in a limp-noodle piggyback. “Whatever he is, I’m not going to leave some poor young boy to get eaten by the wolves.”
Later that evening, the couple found a mysterious weapon in their field. It did not seem for work for either of them, so they figured it belonged to the angel. They locked it in a box in their root cellar.
Meanwhile, their unexpected houseguest was laid out upon a simple bed in the bedroom that used to belong to their children. The old man and the old woman tried to make the boy as comfortable as they could while still being able to observe him. They tried to spread out his wings so that he could lie on his back. Dark Pit remained asleep.
“They call this a coma, don’t they?” Homer said. “When someone sleeps this deep? I don’t know how to rouse anyone from it. Folk in this state usually die if they don’t wake up in short-order.”
“If we can get some food and water in ‘im, he might remain,” Sophia responded. “Look at all the gold he’s wearin’. These circlets and the crown of laurels… Can’t make hide or hair of that thing he dropped in the field with ‘im, but we can sell the gold.”
“Out of the question, dear,” the old man answered as he slipped an extra pillow beneath Dark Pit’s head. He pulled the crown off the boy’s head and set it on a table. “They’re his. He came with them. We may not know his intentions, but we aren’t thieves.”
“What do we call ‘im, then? Not like we know his name.”
“Hmmm.”
“He’s fair-skinned but everything else ‘bout ‘im’s black… hair, clothes, wings. He’s got raven’s wings.”
“Ravenwings. Why not?”
“Does he look hurt, besides the coma?”
Homer stretched out “Ravenwings’” limbs and gave him a quick examination. “Oh, my… his foot’s not right. It looks like he broke it and let it mend wrong… like it wasn’t treated at all.”
Sophia pried one of their guest’s eyes open and screamed, instantly recoiling.
“Aaaaah!”
“What is it?”
“His eyes… they’re as red as blood! I told you he’s an evil thing!”
“Let me see.” Homer gently pulled both of Dark Pit’s eyelids back to get a quick look at the bright red irises and flat-looking pupils. “Tsk. Coma to be sure. They actually look more of a dark brown to me… a bit reddish, but not like he’s bleedin’.”
“Didn’t you get a good look?” Sophia complained, “They weren’t just red, they were… flat! Like the kid’s got no soul!”
“He’s still got breath,” the old man answered. “If he’s still got breath, his soul’s gotta be in there somewhere. Poor boy. I think I’m gonna have to re-break his ankle, re-set it so it mends right. The kid shouldn’t mind with the state he’s in. Maybe this’ll be the thing that will wake him up.”
The pain of the procedure made the boy whimper, but did not rouse him, much to the couple’s disappointment.
Over the course of three years, the elderly couple that lived on the edge of nowhere took care of the comatose boy they called Ravenwings. They did their gardening and farming by day – their property was just a subsistence operation, barely supporting even them. Homer had let the large field go to seed years ago for lack of strength to plough it in his advancing age.
Their guest’s re-broken and mended foot healed properly, though the couple did not know for the life of them how. Whenever Sophia put a bowl of water to Dark Pit’s lips, but a little went down his throat. The rest pooled over his gums and spilled over his cheeks. Food was another thing. She made pottage and soups to try to slip into him and got naught past his teeth but a few spoonfuls. The boy didn’t seem to have any need to eliminate, either, which was fortunate for the state of his clothes and the bed. His muscles remained firm and he didn’t lose a bit of weight.
“It’s like someone else is eatin’ and workin’ for him,” Homer said once, when wiping his head with a damp cloth. “He sweats a bit, but that’s about it. It’s not like I know how angels work.”
Occasionally, Dark Pit would shift and turn in his sleep. The old man and the old woman – as a couple or together – would watch him in spare moments, especially when he got lively. They thought someone should be there for the kid if he woke up.
“I wonder what Ravenwings dreams about?” Sophia asked. Dark Pit, his back to her, wrapped up in a blanket they’d give him, mumbled something about a “white-winged idiot.”
Some of the couple’s neighbors made the long walk to their patch of land due to the rumor they had an angel in their keeping. Sophia took to charging them to see their Ravenwings, although Homer disapproved. They did need some extra money to keep themselves going, especially with the few needs the angel did have.
“Slit his throat!” Titus, their neighbor to the west, demanded. Sophia stood between him and the bed, as did her husband. They had kept Ravenwings for just over a year at that point. For someone who didn’t speak to her and was incapable of much but the occasional snore, she’d grown an attachment to him that surprised her.
“We shall do no such thing!” Homer yelped. “Why would you even think of doing such a thing to someone so helpless?”
“Have you even been to the cities of late?” Titus demanded. “There is an angel that looks very like him, save white-winged and white-clothed that has become the scourge of kings! He’s lead the angelic armies against us!”
“What do you mean?” Homer asked, wide-eyed.
“The gods are against us and so are their servants!” Titus exclaimed. “Creatures like the one you keep are against all of Mankind!”
“Even Plautena?” Sophia asked, wringing her hands in fear.
“It is Palutena’s Army that has destroyed the coastal settlements! And that one… That one… by his looks! If Light is against us, what are we to make of Darkness?”
“Leave. Now.” Sophia commanded.
“But! It is best to strike now when the enemy cannot strike back!”
“That is unsporting!” Homer contended. “Leave my property or I will escort you out with a pitchfork!”
Homer and Sophia spent a lot of time with Ravenwings after that. Neither of them went outside to do their chores together anymore, for fear of one of the neighbors breaking in and taking out their guest in a dishonorable way.
That’s not to say that they didn’t think of doing the deed themselves.
“I hope we don’t have to kill you, Ravenwings,” Sophia said as she sat in a chair beside him mending one of her husband’s tunics. “We will have to strike while you’re still weak, a’ course. At the first sign of hostility…”
She stroked his hair. “You don’t look hostile. At least, not n’more. You remind me a bit of one of our sons, one who passed away long ago. He had fine dark hair, like you. Was killed in a war… seems most of the kids weren’t favored by the gods…”
She went back to her mending. “Stephanos fought to defend the city at the foot of these mountains from the Underworld and was taken by one monster or another. My daughter, Sapphira and her husband were killed not too long ago when the Goddess of Nature, Viridi, decided to destroy the city in which they lived…. So much sorrow in the world, Ravenwings.”
Sophia watched the gentle rise and fall of Dark Pit’s chest. She thought she heard him mumble something. She thought she’d made out something like “rawdeal” or “stupidpettygods.”
“Maybe you can understand me?” the old woman asked. “Another of our sons was slain in a war among humans. The king of our principality wanted him a Wish Seed, something-or-other. Took our boy, Kairos, to war. We wish we had ‘im back.”
Dark Pit didn’t answer back this time. Sophia grunted. It seemed he’d fallen right back into a deeper sleep. “Our other four are alive,” the old woman said, taking his hand. “So don’t you worry. Homer n’ I can’t make anymore, but we made us some kids back in the day. It’s one of the few things we poor mortals are good at. We survive.”
Sophia rose from her chair and hefted Dark Pit up a little to try to adjust how he was resting. She and Homer had to shift him often to prevent bedsores and other issues that they didn’t imagine they’d ever have to deal with before playing caretakers to a comatose angel. She plucked a feather that was about to molt. Their Ravenwings had actually proven useful in his own small way. Homer and Sophia were rare among country-people in that they were literate. Whenever they needed to write letters or lists, they had a steady source of good writing-quills now, sturdy and long.
“And the strength of mortals is that we take care of each other, too,” she said to him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ravenwings? Where would you be if we’d left you? Still strange that you don’t die or get sick, with the state you’re in.”
In his unconscious state, Dark Pit put a hand over Sophia’s. Sophia stared on, surprised. It was warm – warm and full of life when it really had no business being so. His skin did feel just a little warmer than usual. The old woman smiled. Perhaps Ravenwings was soon to come back from his state of living-death.
She kept on telling him war-stories and other tales of life in the human realm.
Somewhere far away, a small child found a shining object on the ground and picked it up.
Dark Pit awoke with a start. Black gave way to gray and gray, in turn, gave way to blurred colors. He vaguely heard someone shout “Come quick! He’s awake!” That was only on the edge of his hearing. He rubbed his head and found that he was un-crowned. The angel found the laurels upon a table and quickly reapplied them to his scalp. He stretched his wings and knocked a clay cup off a table, spilling the water within it on an earthen floor. He found that he was in a bed and pulled the blanket that was on him off.
He could have sworn that he’d just had a dream about Pit. He was fighting a bizarre creature. There was something about a ring. Dark Pit looked down at himself. He was balling up a fist over his chest. There wasn’t any pain there – not anymore. He cautiously stood. There was no pain in his foot, either.
He looked up from the floor and saw two gray-haired humans eyeing him suspiciously in a doorway.
“Hey,” he said.
“It is good to see you awake,” the man offered.
“Where am I and who are you?”
“I am Homer and this is my wife, Sophia. This is our farmhouse. We took you in and helped you when we found you crash-landed in our field.”
“Crash-landed?” Dark Pit asked.
“Yeah… you weren’t much hurt,” Homer explained, “Except your foot. I re-set it while you were asleep.”
Dark Pit blinked, the indifferent morning light bothering him. “Asleep? For how long?”
“Th-three years, give or take,” Sophia offered. “You aren’t here to hurt us, are you?”
Dark Pit was walking slowly around the room, testing his mended foot. “You’re too weak for me,” he said bluntly. “I only fight when there’s a challenge.”
Dark Pit took a long look at the two mortals. The voices. He recognized the voices, just barely. He’d been in something of a state of non-being or half-being, yet their voices seemed familiar. These were voices that had sung songs to him. They’d spoken of losing children to the gods’ wars. They’d begged him to drink, to eat. They called him some stupid nickname he couldn’t recall.
“Which god to you serve, angel?” Homer asked.
“I don’t serve any of them!” Dark Pit snarled, “I serve none other than myself! You didn’t have to take care of me. I look after myself.”
“If we didn’t take you in from my field,” Homer ventured, “You would have been eaten by wild animals, mystical creature or no.”
“Mystical creature,” Dark Pit laughed. “Heh.”
“We’ve kept you for three years,” Sophia said.
“Three years?” the black-winged angel questioned. “I don’t recall anything except a pain like my soul was being stabbed and starting to fall.”
“Are you hungry?” Sophia asked. “I think you would be. You ain’t ate a lick in all that time. What do you angels eat, anyway?”
“Whatever, I guess,” Dark Pit answered. “I should probably go.”
“Don’t be in a rush, boy,” Homer said. “We have as many questions for you as you do for us, Ravenwings.”
“Ravenwings?”
“Oops,” Homer laughed. “That’s what we started calling you in absence of a name.”
“Urgh, that’s worse than Pittoo!”
“Pittoo?” Sophia said, coming in with some bread and milk, “Is that your name?”
Dark Pit seethed. “My name is Dark Pit.”
“Darkpit - that’s mighty strange,” Homer said. “Well, welcome back to the land of the living, Darkpit.”
Dark Pit put his hand to his head, memory coming to him along with frustration. “Pit…” he whispered. “Pit… He’s awake, I can feel it! Something must have happened to him! That’s why I was taken down so suddenly! I… I have to go! Did you find an angelic weapon with me? What do you do with it?”
“It’s gone,” Homer lied. He wasn’t yet ready to tell the boy that he’d taken his property and locked it in his cellar. He feared danger in those black wings.
“Never mind! I’ve gotta go!”
“It’s in the cellar,” Sophia said, deciding to be honest. She took a chance, deciding that her now-dear Ravenwings would not hurt them. After all, he was not acting as though they were worthy of it. She grabbed a platter with some bread and milk. “You need strength if you’re going to go anywhere. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Dark Pit snarfed down some bread – he was actually quite ravenous. He downed the entire jug of milk. “I have to find my other half!” He quickly discovered the cellar and tramped down into it, rummaging around until he’d found the couple’s “treasure chest” to retrieve what had been his. He emerged swiftly, holding the prize at his side, showing that he was no threat to the humans.
“It is dangerous out there!” Sophia warned. “Only places like ours have escaped the ravages of the gods because we are so remote! Even the Goddess of Light has turned!”
Dark Pit looked at them seriously. “Is this true?”
“We thought you’d know something, even though you’ve been in a coma,” Homer implored. “Since angels are supposed to be her servants. If you’re rogue…”
“I’m not her servant!” Dark Pit answered, “But I know someone who is. The answers are with him, I can feel it.”
“Ravenwings…” Sophia’s face pleaded with him as he stepped out the door and stretched his wings.
“It’s Dark Pit.”
“You’re still a stranger. We want to know you. We’ve cared for you for so long. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Dark Pit hated the idea of being dependent on anyone, even if he didn’t have a choice. He doubted he would ever speak of this kind mortal couple to anyone. Perhaps he’d even forget about them in time.
The angel started charging up is wings and turned to get a running start. Suddenly, he turned around. His straight-lips curled into a soft, genuine smile.
“Thanks,” he said as he took off.
Summary: Spoilers for Chapter 18 of Kid Icarus: Uprising. Pit spent three years in stasis, his soul stored in a ring. We never got to see what happened to Dark Pit during that time, we only know that he did not like it. I wrote this to play with that gap.
RAVENWINGS
A Kid Icarus Uprising Fan Fiction by Shadsie
He was fortunate to be flying low that day.
Dark Pit skimmed a field that had gone to seed, letting his toes touch the heads of tall, wild grass growing where a patch of forest had been cleared decades ago. He cupped one of his hands over the seed-heads idly. The freedom to fly was a wonderful sensation. It also took his mind off the pain in his ankle, courtesy his taking out an Underworld guardian.
“I should have never have helped Pit-stain out,” he groused to himself. “What was I thinking?”
The pain came and went. Adrenaline made it vanish whenever he was in a fight. He was fine and dandy when fighting Pit in the Lunar Sanctum, able to ignore a bit of bone grinding on bone. There had been signs that the old injury had started to heal, but had healed wrong. Dark Pit could be bruised, battered and trailing blood in a fight and would just keep on going, the thrill of the fight and the thrill of victory driving him on to having no regard for his body. He knew that his lighter half was the same way, except that what drove him on was… ugh! … Love… His devotion to his goddess, Palutena, enabled him to bear wounds. It was pathetic! Dark Pit, on the other hand was confident in knowing that he did not “need his mommy.”
Flight was freedom he’d taken for himself. He did not need to ask someone to give his wings their power. He’d smacked a god upside the head and took it. His foot throbbed again, reminding him that no “good” deed goes unpunished in this world. The only reason he even spared Pit instead of going all-out and killing him was that Pit was fun to fight. This is what Dark Pit told himself, at least.
He idly wondered what Pit was up to. He shook his head. Another battle would be fun, but it wasn’t like they needed each other. Suddenly, the black-winged angel felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest. He coughed and balled up his outer toga in a fist. He pumped his wings, struggling to stay airborne as a profound sleepiness came over him. He lost this battle. His eyes slipped shut and he fell, tumbling wing-over-tail until he came to rest among the grass, one wing sticking up in the air awkwardly.
“What’s goin’ on out there, Homer?” a woman called from inside a small house. “I heard a noise!”
An old man in a battered hat had heard the sound of something hitting the ground, as well. He’d seen something skidding out in his back-field as he was scattering grain for his chickens. Though elderly, the man was spry and it was naught but a couple of minutes before he reached the source of the disturbance. His wife hobbled along after him and caught him staring in wonder and more than a little bit of fear.
“It’s… a boy,” the man gasped. He stared at Dark Pit’s still face. “A boy fell from the sky…”
“He’s got wings,” the old woman observed.
“Do you think we’ve been graced with a Messenger, Sophia?”
“Ehhh…” Sophia groused. “I don’t like the look of ‘im. Looks like an angel, but look at those wings! All black like night… He’s probably a messenger of Hades.”
Homer reached out and touched the wing that was sticking up. He was cautious as he stroked the feathers and flexed it. “I don’t think so,” he said. “He’s warm. Beings of the Underworld are supposed to be slimy and as cold as death. He’s alive.”
“He could be one of Palutena’s, then, but… look at ‘im, Homer! Dark like a vulture or a raven, inky feathers and all dressed in black… I sense he’s mighty wicked. We should leave ‘im.”
Purple light came up in Dark Pit’s wings like flames. The couple jumped back. It subsided.
“He’s a fell-creature, I tell you!” Sophia insisted.
“Um… yes… the purple fire… that was most unnatural,” Homer stuttered, adjusting his hat. “That energy felt like calamity… still, I don’t think we should just leave him.”
“He’s not waking up,” Sophia mumbled. “Whatever he is, he’s not well.”
“Prepare a bed,” Homer said. He turned the mysterious angel over and struggled to pick him up.
“You can’t be serious, Homer.”
“The wild animals will get him if we leave him out here in the field. Maybe when he wakes up, he can give us some answers.”
“When he wakes up, he might destroy us,” the old woman groused.
“I don’t think so,” her husband said, finally hefting up Dark Pit over his shoulders, grabbing him by the thighs in a limp-noodle piggyback. “Whatever he is, I’m not going to leave some poor young boy to get eaten by the wolves.”
Later that evening, the couple found a mysterious weapon in their field. It did not seem for work for either of them, so they figured it belonged to the angel. They locked it in a box in their root cellar.
Meanwhile, their unexpected houseguest was laid out upon a simple bed in the bedroom that used to belong to their children. The old man and the old woman tried to make the boy as comfortable as they could while still being able to observe him. They tried to spread out his wings so that he could lie on his back. Dark Pit remained asleep.
“They call this a coma, don’t they?” Homer said. “When someone sleeps this deep? I don’t know how to rouse anyone from it. Folk in this state usually die if they don’t wake up in short-order.”
“If we can get some food and water in ‘im, he might remain,” Sophia responded. “Look at all the gold he’s wearin’. These circlets and the crown of laurels… Can’t make hide or hair of that thing he dropped in the field with ‘im, but we can sell the gold.”
“Out of the question, dear,” the old man answered as he slipped an extra pillow beneath Dark Pit’s head. He pulled the crown off the boy’s head and set it on a table. “They’re his. He came with them. We may not know his intentions, but we aren’t thieves.”
“What do we call ‘im, then? Not like we know his name.”
“Hmmm.”
“He’s fair-skinned but everything else ‘bout ‘im’s black… hair, clothes, wings. He’s got raven’s wings.”
“Ravenwings. Why not?”
“Does he look hurt, besides the coma?”
Homer stretched out “Ravenwings’” limbs and gave him a quick examination. “Oh, my… his foot’s not right. It looks like he broke it and let it mend wrong… like it wasn’t treated at all.”
Sophia pried one of their guest’s eyes open and screamed, instantly recoiling.
“Aaaaah!”
“What is it?”
“His eyes… they’re as red as blood! I told you he’s an evil thing!”
“Let me see.” Homer gently pulled both of Dark Pit’s eyelids back to get a quick look at the bright red irises and flat-looking pupils. “Tsk. Coma to be sure. They actually look more of a dark brown to me… a bit reddish, but not like he’s bleedin’.”
“Didn’t you get a good look?” Sophia complained, “They weren’t just red, they were… flat! Like the kid’s got no soul!”
“He’s still got breath,” the old man answered. “If he’s still got breath, his soul’s gotta be in there somewhere. Poor boy. I think I’m gonna have to re-break his ankle, re-set it so it mends right. The kid shouldn’t mind with the state he’s in. Maybe this’ll be the thing that will wake him up.”
The pain of the procedure made the boy whimper, but did not rouse him, much to the couple’s disappointment.
Over the course of three years, the elderly couple that lived on the edge of nowhere took care of the comatose boy they called Ravenwings. They did their gardening and farming by day – their property was just a subsistence operation, barely supporting even them. Homer had let the large field go to seed years ago for lack of strength to plough it in his advancing age.
Their guest’s re-broken and mended foot healed properly, though the couple did not know for the life of them how. Whenever Sophia put a bowl of water to Dark Pit’s lips, but a little went down his throat. The rest pooled over his gums and spilled over his cheeks. Food was another thing. She made pottage and soups to try to slip into him and got naught past his teeth but a few spoonfuls. The boy didn’t seem to have any need to eliminate, either, which was fortunate for the state of his clothes and the bed. His muscles remained firm and he didn’t lose a bit of weight.
“It’s like someone else is eatin’ and workin’ for him,” Homer said once, when wiping his head with a damp cloth. “He sweats a bit, but that’s about it. It’s not like I know how angels work.”
Occasionally, Dark Pit would shift and turn in his sleep. The old man and the old woman – as a couple or together – would watch him in spare moments, especially when he got lively. They thought someone should be there for the kid if he woke up.
“I wonder what Ravenwings dreams about?” Sophia asked. Dark Pit, his back to her, wrapped up in a blanket they’d give him, mumbled something about a “white-winged idiot.”
Some of the couple’s neighbors made the long walk to their patch of land due to the rumor they had an angel in their keeping. Sophia took to charging them to see their Ravenwings, although Homer disapproved. They did need some extra money to keep themselves going, especially with the few needs the angel did have.
“Slit his throat!” Titus, their neighbor to the west, demanded. Sophia stood between him and the bed, as did her husband. They had kept Ravenwings for just over a year at that point. For someone who didn’t speak to her and was incapable of much but the occasional snore, she’d grown an attachment to him that surprised her.
“We shall do no such thing!” Homer yelped. “Why would you even think of doing such a thing to someone so helpless?”
“Have you even been to the cities of late?” Titus demanded. “There is an angel that looks very like him, save white-winged and white-clothed that has become the scourge of kings! He’s lead the angelic armies against us!”
“What do you mean?” Homer asked, wide-eyed.
“The gods are against us and so are their servants!” Titus exclaimed. “Creatures like the one you keep are against all of Mankind!”
“Even Plautena?” Sophia asked, wringing her hands in fear.
“It is Palutena’s Army that has destroyed the coastal settlements! And that one… That one… by his looks! If Light is against us, what are we to make of Darkness?”
“Leave. Now.” Sophia commanded.
“But! It is best to strike now when the enemy cannot strike back!”
“That is unsporting!” Homer contended. “Leave my property or I will escort you out with a pitchfork!”
Homer and Sophia spent a lot of time with Ravenwings after that. Neither of them went outside to do their chores together anymore, for fear of one of the neighbors breaking in and taking out their guest in a dishonorable way.
That’s not to say that they didn’t think of doing the deed themselves.
“I hope we don’t have to kill you, Ravenwings,” Sophia said as she sat in a chair beside him mending one of her husband’s tunics. “We will have to strike while you’re still weak, a’ course. At the first sign of hostility…”
She stroked his hair. “You don’t look hostile. At least, not n’more. You remind me a bit of one of our sons, one who passed away long ago. He had fine dark hair, like you. Was killed in a war… seems most of the kids weren’t favored by the gods…”
She went back to her mending. “Stephanos fought to defend the city at the foot of these mountains from the Underworld and was taken by one monster or another. My daughter, Sapphira and her husband were killed not too long ago when the Goddess of Nature, Viridi, decided to destroy the city in which they lived…. So much sorrow in the world, Ravenwings.”
Sophia watched the gentle rise and fall of Dark Pit’s chest. She thought she heard him mumble something. She thought she’d made out something like “rawdeal” or “stupidpettygods.”
“Maybe you can understand me?” the old woman asked. “Another of our sons was slain in a war among humans. The king of our principality wanted him a Wish Seed, something-or-other. Took our boy, Kairos, to war. We wish we had ‘im back.”
Dark Pit didn’t answer back this time. Sophia grunted. It seemed he’d fallen right back into a deeper sleep. “Our other four are alive,” the old woman said, taking his hand. “So don’t you worry. Homer n’ I can’t make anymore, but we made us some kids back in the day. It’s one of the few things we poor mortals are good at. We survive.”
Sophia rose from her chair and hefted Dark Pit up a little to try to adjust how he was resting. She and Homer had to shift him often to prevent bedsores and other issues that they didn’t imagine they’d ever have to deal with before playing caretakers to a comatose angel. She plucked a feather that was about to molt. Their Ravenwings had actually proven useful in his own small way. Homer and Sophia were rare among country-people in that they were literate. Whenever they needed to write letters or lists, they had a steady source of good writing-quills now, sturdy and long.
“And the strength of mortals is that we take care of each other, too,” she said to him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ravenwings? Where would you be if we’d left you? Still strange that you don’t die or get sick, with the state you’re in.”
In his unconscious state, Dark Pit put a hand over Sophia’s. Sophia stared on, surprised. It was warm – warm and full of life when it really had no business being so. His skin did feel just a little warmer than usual. The old woman smiled. Perhaps Ravenwings was soon to come back from his state of living-death.
She kept on telling him war-stories and other tales of life in the human realm.
Somewhere far away, a small child found a shining object on the ground and picked it up.
Dark Pit awoke with a start. Black gave way to gray and gray, in turn, gave way to blurred colors. He vaguely heard someone shout “Come quick! He’s awake!” That was only on the edge of his hearing. He rubbed his head and found that he was un-crowned. The angel found the laurels upon a table and quickly reapplied them to his scalp. He stretched his wings and knocked a clay cup off a table, spilling the water within it on an earthen floor. He found that he was in a bed and pulled the blanket that was on him off.
He could have sworn that he’d just had a dream about Pit. He was fighting a bizarre creature. There was something about a ring. Dark Pit looked down at himself. He was balling up a fist over his chest. There wasn’t any pain there – not anymore. He cautiously stood. There was no pain in his foot, either.
He looked up from the floor and saw two gray-haired humans eyeing him suspiciously in a doorway.
“Hey,” he said.
“It is good to see you awake,” the man offered.
“Where am I and who are you?”
“I am Homer and this is my wife, Sophia. This is our farmhouse. We took you in and helped you when we found you crash-landed in our field.”
“Crash-landed?” Dark Pit asked.
“Yeah… you weren’t much hurt,” Homer explained, “Except your foot. I re-set it while you were asleep.”
Dark Pit blinked, the indifferent morning light bothering him. “Asleep? For how long?”
“Th-three years, give or take,” Sophia offered. “You aren’t here to hurt us, are you?”
Dark Pit was walking slowly around the room, testing his mended foot. “You’re too weak for me,” he said bluntly. “I only fight when there’s a challenge.”
Dark Pit took a long look at the two mortals. The voices. He recognized the voices, just barely. He’d been in something of a state of non-being or half-being, yet their voices seemed familiar. These were voices that had sung songs to him. They’d spoken of losing children to the gods’ wars. They’d begged him to drink, to eat. They called him some stupid nickname he couldn’t recall.
“Which god to you serve, angel?” Homer asked.
“I don’t serve any of them!” Dark Pit snarled, “I serve none other than myself! You didn’t have to take care of me. I look after myself.”
“If we didn’t take you in from my field,” Homer ventured, “You would have been eaten by wild animals, mystical creature or no.”
“Mystical creature,” Dark Pit laughed. “Heh.”
“We’ve kept you for three years,” Sophia said.
“Three years?” the black-winged angel questioned. “I don’t recall anything except a pain like my soul was being stabbed and starting to fall.”
“Are you hungry?” Sophia asked. “I think you would be. You ain’t ate a lick in all that time. What do you angels eat, anyway?”
“Whatever, I guess,” Dark Pit answered. “I should probably go.”
“Don’t be in a rush, boy,” Homer said. “We have as many questions for you as you do for us, Ravenwings.”
“Ravenwings?”
“Oops,” Homer laughed. “That’s what we started calling you in absence of a name.”
“Urgh, that’s worse than Pittoo!”
“Pittoo?” Sophia said, coming in with some bread and milk, “Is that your name?”
Dark Pit seethed. “My name is Dark Pit.”
“Darkpit - that’s mighty strange,” Homer said. “Well, welcome back to the land of the living, Darkpit.”
Dark Pit put his hand to his head, memory coming to him along with frustration. “Pit…” he whispered. “Pit… He’s awake, I can feel it! Something must have happened to him! That’s why I was taken down so suddenly! I… I have to go! Did you find an angelic weapon with me? What do you do with it?”
“It’s gone,” Homer lied. He wasn’t yet ready to tell the boy that he’d taken his property and locked it in his cellar. He feared danger in those black wings.
“Never mind! I’ve gotta go!”
“It’s in the cellar,” Sophia said, deciding to be honest. She took a chance, deciding that her now-dear Ravenwings would not hurt them. After all, he was not acting as though they were worthy of it. She grabbed a platter with some bread and milk. “You need strength if you’re going to go anywhere. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Dark Pit snarfed down some bread – he was actually quite ravenous. He downed the entire jug of milk. “I have to find my other half!” He quickly discovered the cellar and tramped down into it, rummaging around until he’d found the couple’s “treasure chest” to retrieve what had been his. He emerged swiftly, holding the prize at his side, showing that he was no threat to the humans.
“It is dangerous out there!” Sophia warned. “Only places like ours have escaped the ravages of the gods because we are so remote! Even the Goddess of Light has turned!”
Dark Pit looked at them seriously. “Is this true?”
“We thought you’d know something, even though you’ve been in a coma,” Homer implored. “Since angels are supposed to be her servants. If you’re rogue…”
“I’m not her servant!” Dark Pit answered, “But I know someone who is. The answers are with him, I can feel it.”
“Ravenwings…” Sophia’s face pleaded with him as he stepped out the door and stretched his wings.
“It’s Dark Pit.”
“You’re still a stranger. We want to know you. We’ve cared for you for so long. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Dark Pit hated the idea of being dependent on anyone, even if he didn’t have a choice. He doubted he would ever speak of this kind mortal couple to anyone. Perhaps he’d even forget about them in time.
The angel started charging up is wings and turned to get a running start. Suddenly, he turned around. His straight-lips curled into a soft, genuine smile.
“Thanks,” he said as he took off.
