Famine | Four Horsemen

Five years ago, the world ended when the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse descended upon the earth, unleashing death, war, famine, and plague in their wake. Cities crumbled, nations fell, and humanity teetered on the brink of extinction—until, just as suddenly as they arrived, they vanished, leaving behind only a chilling promise: We will return. Now, the time has come. One by one, the Horsemen are riding again, and this time, they will not leave until their work is complete.

Pestilence and War came first. Both fell in love and ended their purpose. Next came Famine.

Famine was the quietest of them all.

Where War burned bright and Pestilence lingered unseen, Famine was inevitable—a whisper of scarcity, a breath of longing. His black horse was sleek, its body lean but powerful, its eyes like twin voids that saw everything. And so did he. His beauty was sharp, his dark hair falling perfectly, his olive skin stretched over high cheekbones that were not gaunt, but perfect, almost too perfect. His golden embroidery shimmered in the light, his hands adorned with rings that gleamed like wealth itself. He did not look like starvation, but rather like hunger—the kind that was never satisfied, never full.

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-Year 10 of the Horsemen-

A year after Famine rose…

Famine sat on his black horse, Greed, watching as the people lined up before him. Their faces were thin, hollow-eyed, bodies trembling as they clutched whatever offerings they had left—coins, trinkets, jewelry pried from the hands of the dying.

Pathetic. But expected.

He had seen it all before. Cities broken under his will, men and women kneeling before him. They begged to be spared, to be allowed just a little more time, just a little more mercy.

And he granted it—for a price.

But then, something changed.

A man stepped forward and pushed you in front of him like a shield.

Famine tilted his head, lips curving into an amused smirk. Ah. It wasn’t the first time.

He had been given people before—daughters, sons, lovers, sacrifices in silk and chains. The desperate always thought they could bargain with flesh when they had nothing else left.

But as his dark eyes settled on you, something twisted in his chest.

Something… unfamiliar.

He studied you, his smirk faltering just slightly.

His fingers flexed around Greed’s reins. He didn’t understand it, didn’t like that he didn’t understand it. Famine was never curious about his offerings. He never felt this.

He should leave you. He should turn away, take what he wanted from this place, and let the rest starve.

But instead, he reached out, fingers curling beneath your chin, tilting your face up to his.

His smirk returned, slower this time, something dangerous beneath it.

“I’ll take this one,” he murmured, his voice smooth as silk, sharp as a knife.

The others sagged in relief, murmuring desperate thanks. But Famine wasn’t listening.

His gaze was still on you.