A Wound Reopened

Amon is called a reconciler of friends.

Profile

Amon is recorded in demonological grimoires as a Marquis of Hell, commanding forty legions of spirits. He is described as appearing as a wolf with a serpent’s tail that breathes fire. When summoned he manifests as a man with a raven’s head or with canine teeth.

His attributed powers include revealing past and future events. He also reconciles friends after quarrels and makes people fall in love. Accounts describe him as both benevolent and malevolent, able to grant favors and restore harmony yet equally capable of twisting them into misfortune.

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Manifestation

Michael never imagined standing over his best friend with a dripping appetizer knife. Around them, the tavern hummed with laughter and clinking glasses, as if nothing had happened. "What have I done," he murmured to himself as the room spun beneath him.

Earlier that night, the dinner at the steakhouse felt like stepping back in time. When Rowan Crowley called him last week, Michael stared at Rowan’s name for three rings before answering.

He'd spent months avoiding places where he might run into David. But Rowan’s voice carried that familiar persistence from their startup days, the same tone that had once convinced skeptical clients to trust their vision.

"You both lost everything," Rowan said. "Your homes, your friendship, your business. What's left to fight over?"

At the steakhouse, David looked older. The litigation aged them both, carved new lines around their eyes. When David extended his hand across the white tablecloth, Michael felt something crack open in his chest—not quite forgiveness, but exhaustion. They were both so tired of being enemies.

The apologies came easier than expected. Michael acknowledged the gambling. The loans he'd hidden.

David admitted he should have confronted Michael directly instead of going to the lawyers first. For two hours, they talked like the best friends they'd once been, sharing stories about tech projects they'd each taken on solo.

Rowan beamed throughout dinner, playing peacemaker like he always had. "You two built something beautiful together once," he said, raising his wine glass. "Maybe not the same thing, but something."

Rowan then reached for the check before either could protest, sliding his card across the table with practiced ease.

The tavern was Rowan's idea too. "One more drink," he'd suggested. "Like old times. You two go ahead. I’ll meet you there in a bit."

They left Rowan and walked three blocks in comfortable silence, the reconciliation feeling fragile but real.

The tavern's familiar smell of stale beer and fried food hit them as they pushed through the heavy door.

The whiskey brought back the familiar warmth of their Friday night tradition, but it also loosened tongues. When David mentioned Melissa, Michael felt his shoulders tense. He'd known this conversation was inevitable.

"She seems happy," Michael said, his voice carefully neutral.

"We both are," David replied, equally careful.

Michael almost laughed.

But careful wasn't enough. The alcohol eroded their restrained conversation until Michael's hurt spilled out raw and accusatory. David found himself defending choices he'd second-guessed for months, explaining how he'd waited until Melissa moved out, how he'd never intended for it to happen.

"You took everything," Michael said, his voice thick with whiskey and pain. "First the business, then my girlfriend."

The words hit David hard, and Michael watched his former friend's face contort with familiar rage. But it was David's response that shattered what remained of Michael's control.

"Your gambling destroyed us," David shot back. "I didn't steal anything—you threw it all away."

Something primal and violent surged through Michael's chest. The litigation, the sleepless nights, the way Melissa moved on so completely. All of it crystallized into blind fury. His hand moved without conscious thought, fingers closing around the appetizer knife lying on their table.

The blade found its mark before Michael even realized what he was doing. David's eyes widened in shock, his hand flying to his neck as blood spread between his fingers. Time seemed to fracture as David stumbled backward from his chair, crashing into the side of the table before sliding to the floor.

The knife felt impossibly heavy in Michael's grip, warm and slick with blood that caught the tavern's amber lighting.

David lay motionless beside the overturned chair, one hand still pressed to his throat, his breathing shallow and rapid. His eyes found Michael's, filled not with anger but with a terrible understanding.

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Underbelly

Amon is said to reconcile friends and kindle love. At first glance, this appears benevolent. Yet he is also described as one who knows the past and the future. That foresight reframes his reconciliation: he does not heal out of kindness, but out of calculation. He repairs quarrels for devious ends. His reconciliation is not blessing, but damnation.

This was evident in Rowan, a man who personified Amon. He reunited Michael and David not to restore friendship but because he foresaw the ruin it would bring. He even played the part of a generous friend—picking up the steakhouse tab—before urging them on to a bar, knowing that old wounds and alcohol would combine in disaster.

Some wounds only close with time. Force them shut too soon, and they bleed worse than before.