I am Cronus.
The once-a-brother of a sister died too young, whose name I am too young to remember, the only son of mine Mother the farmer, the light of my life now gone but never extinguished, and mine Father the soldier, leaving behind nothing but His smile and the sight of His back as He marched to His end.
Our time together as a Family, short but everlasting.
I remember back when I was but a young child, already taller than most of my age, yet thinner.
As I grew into adulthood, many will say that I bear the likeness of mine Mother. Tall, slender body, long, unruly hair, somewhat fair-skinned for a son of a widow farmer. One can almost mistake me for a woman if not for the thin mustache I have, the only likeness of mine Father I bear.
Many things I hold dear, now lost. The Mother I have known for sixteen years, for all of my life, has slept Her last. Her passing saddened me greatly, but I found solace in the knowledge that She has joined mine Father in peace.
I was once a son, now a man I have became. Leaving behind the world that I knew, to Wander the world I will live, seeking knowledges, seeking a purpose.
And perhaps glory and power along the way.
I am Cronus, the Wanderer of Life. Wheresoever go this path of mine, may I walk it without regret.
A Sentimental Value
Many would say that I was fortunate to know mine Parents, Their love and scolding, as it was always a luxury in time of war and famine.
Of that, I am eternally grateful.
But no small grief I have for a sister I barely knew. Of her, only two things mine Mother would ever spoke; her eyes, blue like mine Father, and a ring, a gift from a Mother to Her Daughter.
Of mine Mother and Father, I need neither portrait nor relic of Them, for They stay always in mine heart.
But of mine sister, I keep her ring in her memories, however scant they are. In the hope that someday, I would gift this ring to my daughter. A gift from a Father's Sister to His Daughter.
It was in the light of day, under the shade of an old willow that he first greeted me. This man who introduced himself as a brother-in-arms of mine Father. The simple robe he wore, in stark contrast with his demeanor. Like a hunter waiting for his target.
Been watching me from afar, he has for a while. Without me knowing, he thought. Not entirely wrong, I say.
I know him. In the rare time of peace between ceaseless wars, mine Father sometimes invited his fellow soldier for a feast. Some He called brother, this man was one of them. Often, late in the night, after generous feast and several helpings of mead, mine Father will regale me with tales from the battlefield. Tales that oftentimes made mine Mother frown, either by the vivid violence or some other kind of inappropriateness therein. I always thought they were interesting, though sometimes grisly.
Of this particular man, he scarcely made himself known, if ever. Unlike most of mine Father's 'brothers', this man is quiet, almost too quiet for a soldier. Yet oftentimes I find his gaze landed upon me, as if a jeweler appraising a rough gem.
The same gaze he now give me. Many times more intense than ever.
I do find some relief in seeing a familiar face so far from home, yet I can not say that I am happy to meet him. He brushes off my pleasantries and told me straight away that he *will* help me any way he could. To what end, I decide. In what way, he decides.
His purpose, I know little. His intention, I can guess.
Trust is something we can do better, but I will not look a gift horse in the mouth. For now, I will learn what I could, and let Fate decide the rest.