I don't think Zeke really ever met Arkham. <<; Tell me if I'm wrong.
One cannot escape fate simply by running away. Gabriel had tried. Ezekiel had tried. In a way, all of those bound to the eight-pointed star and the place made from fire and bone were called back. What made them unique, as it had made men unique, was the most terrible gift of free-will. One could turn a blind eye to heaven and ignore the grace of God. One could abandon all hope and bury themselves in a lie. One could destroy their own world and do so laughing—it was this gift that made men go mad. Control was needed. Anarchy and free-will served only discord and did so willingly.
For now, at least, there was no madness in the boy. He had been lucky so far. His suffering would come in time, when the curse unfolded. No ambition or dreams of heaven made him mad, though. No inherited blood made him mad (though it was most certainly there, waiting to grow). Ezekiel was not Gabriel, though.
The memories were hazy, for the memories of children often are. Ezekiel slowed and sat on his haunches, staring at the stranger who was not a stranger, eyes gleaming in the starlight. “Who are you?”
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