I tried desperately to make sense of what The King had said.
“Who are you?”
The question rang in my ears over and over. How could my own Father no longer recognize me? I used the edge of my war torn cloak to wipe at the tears and dirt that stained my face, praying for Him to see me.
“Father,” I said softly. “It’s me. It’s your son. Your lastborn.”
“You look familiar to me. News had come my lastborn was dead. You look nothing like him.” The King said as he leaned forward in his throne. His eyes narrowed as He looked hard into my eyes, searching for the answers held in my soul. When finally a spark of recognition reached His eyes, it was all I could do to not weep from joy.
“Lastborn, it seems you speak the truth, but your form is not as it should be. Tell me of your time on the fields.”
I explained how my courier mission had taken me to the front lines. I told Him how the angel stood above me ready to strike but stilled his sword. I left out no detail when describing how the angel’s mortal wound mixed blood into mine. All the while, He stared with calculating eyes as I relayed every piece of how I found myself to be here.
“You speak truth, Lastborn. But you are no longer one of us. The angel’s blood that courses through your veins will only grow stronger as it binds with yours.”
The King sat back and rubbed his fingers against weary eyes. “It is no light decision that I make. You must know this. But we can no longer support you here.”
I felt like I had been kicked down an endless well. Banished. From my home. The thought was near unbearable. “Father,” I pleaded, hoping beyond hope he would change his mind.
“Have you not seen yourself since battle, Lastborn?”
Suddenly, the question pulled me from my free fall. I hadn’t. I don’t know why looking at myself would make any difference. Surely this had to be a trick question of some sort. “No, I haven’t, Father. But why…”
The King cut me off and waved toward polished marble floor surrounding His throne.
I slowly tilted my eyes downward.