As the sands pass through the glass, I’m reminded of a singular notion around every favor I have ever given.
Be they selfless or cowardly, be they coveting money or power or simply deliverance from whatever ails them,
The notion of death itself clings to every wish I have granted. Every soul rubbing the genies lamb in hopes of stalling the hourglass even for a moment,
And once upon a time, the hero of Arcadia was no different.
I had heard only tales of Jackson, he usually only ventured where the darkest of demons trod, or the stupidest of fools proclaimed their evil.
Ignoring those who hid in the shadows, conforming to the status quo as necessary evils.
So I was surprised one September morning when the hero himself walked through my doors, full of vim, vigour and that sickening good nature he was famous for.
He just stood there, a relaxed smile on his face like he’d just walked into the home of an old friend yet there was chilling unease in his eyes, a nervous tension on the very edge of his expression.
I half expected him to attack any moment and violence is so bad for business yet he surprised me as he broke down crying, kneeling before my feet and asking…nay begging for help.
His wife had just given birth and he was terrified one of his many enemies would use them both against him. She could project herself but his son….he would’ve sold his soul to keep him safe.
Yet I never asked for his soul…just a little bit of his time. A few years here and there in exchange for the power to protect those he loves.
The great Maxwell Jackson, destined to die old and loved, bled out in some filthy alley far before his time and you, my dear boy, you’re following in your dear father’s footsteps.
See death might lying around ever corner in this Kronos forsaken world of ours but most either meet it with dignity or fear it at every moment of their pathetic existence.
But you heroes, you live such short lives because in trying to delay others fall, you accelerate the sand in your own hourglass.
Every moment you risk life and death for a human being who wouldn’t think twice about you is days, months maybe even years you inch closer to meeting Charon.
All the lessons The Burned Man has tried to teach you fall on deaf ears because you can’t not be your fathers son.
And in the end, not only will you get every single person you love killed, your hourglass will empty with the slightest provocation.
See my little tale was complete fabrication yet I can feel the burning desire for justice, to teach the big old bad Aarman a lesson in what happens to those in the darkness.
But be careful what you wish for kid, because my hourglass is infinite and once you enter my world, you’ll be just like your father.
A doomed hero Out of Time.