The man dragged himself through the grassy plain. His brown hair was being tossed by the winds, and it was relatively longer than usual and unkempt that it blinded him. His white shirt was dirty to the point of which it could no longer be called the color white. It was turning brown from age and the dirt of the ground that he had slept on in order to rest for the voyage he would have to make the following mornings. A dark burgundy color, most likely blood, stained some areas of his shirt. It was worn and torn. It had deep wounds and pieces of itself holding on for dear life.
His face was beaten and bruised as well as the rest of his body. It was clear that he had been in battle. He had tiny nicks and cuts along his arms and legs he had a large gash along his chest and the side of his abdomen. He groaned with each and every step, trying to the best of his ability to ignore the pain and continued to walk. In his hands, he held the hilt of a sword. It was grasped by both of his hands and with each step, and he anchored it into the ground before dragging his injured leg behind him.
The sword had a hilt that was so long that it had enough space for two hands and a half to grip it. It was made of some foreign material. It was hard like metal, but it was unusually smooth unlike metal. It was as if it were some plastic-metal hybrid. The colors blue and black intertwined around the hilt. They curled around each other and embraced where the summit of the hilt met the horizon of the blade. The blade was even longer than the hilt. It gleamed in the light of the sun and it was of a wolf grey color. A blue line that emitted a weird light ran through the center of the blade. The blade of this sword was unusually wide. At the bottom of the blade where it met the hilt, there was a word carved into the blade. It read “Chrono” and it was carved in an unfamiliar form of writing.
The sun, high in the sky, eagerly followed the man. It was the beginning of the afternoon, and it was sweltering. Against these odds, he still plodded through, eyes fixed on the City of Solace, which was beginning to rise above the horizon. At the sight of this, he tried to pick up his pace and awkwardly moved towards the city. He unfortunately reached his limit and lost his grip on the sword’s hilt, thus, losing his support and he fell face forward.
“I must get this sword to the boy if we are to have any hope of freeing the kingdom.” the man said to himself. He crawled towards the sword and reached for the hilt. He grasped it but, he didn’t have enough strength to stand back up and continue; he had reached his limit. Tears began to form on the corner of his eyes as he remembered how far he had journeyed, only to have failed, how many people depended on him to get the sword to this mysterious boy.
“I’m sorry, Leah,” the man whispered to himself. “I’m sorry, Sora...Tech...everyone, I’m sorry. I have failed.” He said as he thought of all the loved ones he had left behind in order to aid and save.
He desperately reached for the sword, reached for his and everyone of his kingdom’s last bit of remaining hope. But, he soon passed out from over exertion. And so, he lay there until fate granted him mercy. He was found barely conscious, almost dead, and was brought into the City of Solace, along with the sword, by a boy and his sister. This was the same boy that this man had been trying to deliver the sword to. As for the boy’s sister, who knows what role she will play in this story. It may have been coincidence, most likely destiny but, from that point on, their lives would change forever. Only time would tell what will happen to our acquaintances.
And with that, our story begins.