The Book of Sacrifice

Honesty

Visiting home felt far less welcoming than the rest of Tremé. Adonis briefly recalled a time where the house had a near-angelic glow to it every time the sun touched down on it. The front yard was once filled with toys and slides. He recalled his brother, younger than he yet a ray of light and wittier than almost any adult, holding up an action figure of some TV show character they idolized. A small smile fell upon his lips as he made his way past the unkempt yard. Unlike that pleasant memory, the house felt like a shadow of its former self. He could see it withering away, from the yard barely being cut properly to the peeling on the walls. It was safe to say it was not the home he once knew. Just before approaching the staircase leading to the porch and door, he spotted logs. Still freshly cut and stacked up. Another memory returned, one of him and his little brother attempting to build a fort. Their father had been kind enough to allow them to go at it whilst he chopped up the logs in his backyard. The Hunter could recall the sound of his father's axe splitting wood with little to no struggle. He even remembered his envy of that strength.

That same sound snapped him out of his thoughts, with a grunt following after. The memory faded and Adonis returned to the current setting. He heard wood being split in half and slowly made his way to the backyard. Every step felt as if he were walking in a field of glass. It felt as if the earth would swallow him whole if he dared to make sudden movements. Of all the things Adonis had faced in his many years as a Hunter, perhaps this was the one thing he was not prepared for.

*chop!*

*chop!*

*chop!*

Every time the split wood hit the ground, it was as if two mighty meteors crashed onto the Earth, making his entire being tremble as the ground shook. The figure ahead caused the Hunter's very being to halt and become one with the earth. The man's back was turned from him yet it was as if he were gazing into the Hunter's soul. He watched as his father scooped up the split pieces of wood and tossed them into an unkempt pile. Rubbing the sweat from his brow, the old man put up another log, drew a deep breath as he raised his axe and brought it down with the same strength Adonis knew well. "Dad…" he called with a voice so weak, not even a creature with the most keen senses would detect it. As another log was split, The Hunter collected himself and tried again. "Dad." he called once more, with more base present than there had been prior. All his resolve could not prepare him for the cold eyes that turned to meet his.

He was still as burly as Adonis remembered, though he lurched forward a bit in his old age. His brows were knit and constantly repressing the sweat he worked up yet his gaze was held as much emotion as a rock. The old man kept an unruly, long beard with patches of grays. Age was wearing on him, notably. "Donny?" he raised an eyebrow, casting the axe to the side. An awkward silence fell as the two stood across from each other. The Hunter did not know what to say and assumed his father did not either. He broke eye contact and took a look around the backyard, "Miss Ortega says she's concerned about you. Called me to come check in."
"Surprised she didn't do it herself. She's always knockin'." his father looked at the pile of wood and made note of the rather high grass surrounding them. Another moment of silence, all until a loud whistle from inside made itself known. "Come in. Got some tea on."

As Adonis entered his childhood home, he stood at the doorway with a hall right in front of him. He closed his eyes, trying to collect himself once more as memories made their way in. Memories running down those halls with his brother, chasing each other up and down the stairs with toy cuffs and a toy gun. As he made his way down the hall and to the kitchen, the Hunter remembered the warmth in his heart as the two shared a sofa together on the weekends with cartoons inspiring them and the chance to drink sodas late at night bringing about their mischievous nature. Nothing could replace love like that, and nothing would ever make him forget it. On the other hand, he wished he could forget the horrors that would soon follow.