The Nephilim were on the earth in those days — and also afterward — when the angels went to the daughters of men and had children by them.
They were the heroes of old, men of renown.
In the beginning, there’s a boy standing in the trees. He’s around my age, in that space between child and man, maybe all of seventeen years old. I’m not sure how I know this. I can only see the back of his head, his dark hair curling damply against his neck. I feel the dry heat of the sun, so intense, drawing the life from everything.
There’s a strange orange light filling the eastern sky. There’s the heavy smell of smoke. For a moment I’m filled with such a smothering grief that it’s hard to breathe.
I don’t know why. I take a step toward the boy, open my mouth to call his name, only I don’t know it. The ground crunches under my feet. He hears me. He starts to turn.
One more second and I will see his face.
That’s when the vision leaves me. I blink, and it’s gone.