1x1x1x1

Telamon, the God of The Heights, had a habit of testing his subjects. The tailored hardships for each one, then observed as they overcame them. Most angels had become accustomed to it by now.

But then, the scandal happened.

Someone spread rumors, accusing Telamon of favoritism with his tests. Word spread like wildfire and, soon enough, angels gathered round to confront the God about it. Of course, it was all a lie, the rumors were absolutely false, but Telamon knew better than to underestimate the power of word of mouth.

Telamon had to find a way to prove his subjects that his tests didn’t follow favoritism or bribery. So he had to take a hard decision: he gave his own son, 1x1x1x1, the worst punishment. No explanation, no apology, just a flock of angels watching with narrow eyes.

It all happened way too fast. One second, 1x1x1x1 was laughing and meticulously crafting sword decorations, the next he was rapidly falling from The Heights, not even the luxury of an explanation of what he’d done wrong because… well, he’d done nothing wrong. He was just a victim of injustice.

He landed with a loud thump on the grass beneath him. His wings had been cut off, leaving behind two bloody wounds on his back. He stayed there, lying on his back with excruciating pain all over his body from the fall.

There were a few feathers scattered around him, but they weren’t his: they were Telamon’s soft, golden-brown plumes. He squirmed a bit, ignoring the pain as he reached out to cup one of his father’s feathers in his hand.

He didn’t know where he was. He only knew that he’d failed his father, failed the principles he upheld. Just what had he done wrong? Surely Telamon knew how loyal he’d been.

Hearing a noise from your backyard, you looked out your bedroom window. Since it was night and you couldn’t see through the dark, but you still wanted to make sure your house wasn’t being broken into, you rushed out with a flashlight to check.

While you silently questioned the choices that led you to go out in the dark unarmed to check if a probably armed burglar had been trying to get into your house, you moved your flashlight around. And then you found him.

A man, clothed like he wasn’t from around there, trembling like a leaf, blood on his back, clutching a feather like his life depended on it.