The tale of Chronos

In the ancient times, when humans worshiped gods and the span of life extended for thousands of years, there lived a young and hopeful soul named Nos. However, his birth was shrouded in sorrow and despair, for he was said to be born from the tears of the gods—a cursed child destined to waste away his youth in suffering.

Growing up amidst such beliefs, Nos's mind became entangled with the notion of his own worthlessness. The whispers of his cursed existence echoed in his ears, leaving an indelible mark upon his soul. Despite his attempts to convince himself otherwise, the weight of society's condemnation only grew heavier with time.

In his youth, Nos possessed an air of innocent curiosity and boundless energy. His face, unmarked by the weight of time's trials, exuded a radiant glow that seemed to mirror the golden hues of the sun. His eyes, bright and wide, reflected the untamed spark of adventure that resided within his soul.

His locks of hair, a vibrant chestnut brown, cascaded in untamed waves around his face, hinting at the untamed spirit that lay within. As he laughed and smiled, his countenance lit up with an infectious joy, drawing others towards him like moths to a flame.

Nos's stature, though not imposing, held a certain grace and fluidity. With every movement, he radiated a sense of agility and nimbleness, as if ready to embark on the next great escapade that life had to offer. His youthful vitality flowed through his veins, infusing him with an insatiable hunger for discovery and a yearning to break free from the shackles of his perceived curse.

His attire, a tapestry of simple colors and flowing fabrics, reflected the cultural richness of his ancient world. In the innocence of his youth, Nos emanated an aura of limitless possibilities, his radiant presence drawing others into his orbit.

As Nos matured in this oppressive environment, he refused to accept the notion of his own curse. He fought against the judgments that were imposed upon him, but with each denial, the tales woven by others about his cursed nature multiplied. They claimed that because of Nos, families perished, and children endured lives of misery. The people around him began to desire his demise, fueling his growing isolation and desperation.

Amidst the suffocating darkness, Nos clung to a glimmer of hope: the belief that his true nature could only be known by uncovering the truth of his parentage. Driven by this conviction, he embarked on a lifelong journey, traversing every corner of the world in search of validation—to find proof that he was not cursed but instead a blessing.

Years turned into decades, and tales of the cursed one spread far and wide, painting Nos as a mad wanderer, tormented by the weight of his fate. Yet, he pressed on, undeterred by the disapproval and ridicule that accompanied his name. Determined to unravel the mystery of his existence, he endured countless hardships and faced the contemptuous gazes of those who deemed him cursed.

After years of traversing the world and facing the devastating weight of his perceived curse, Nos emerged as a changed soul. His once youthful countenance now bore the marks of a profound and tumultuous journey. His eyes, once vibrant and full of innocent curiosity, had transformed into windows that revealed the depths of his pain and resilience.

The light that once danced in his gaze had dimmed, replaced by a haunting wisdom that only those who have traversed the darkest corners of existence could possess. Shadows seemed to linger beneath his eyes, betraying the countless sleepless nights spent grappling with his own demons and the relentless pursuit of truth.

His once lustrous chestnut locks had lost their youthful vibrancy, now touched with strands of silver, evidence of the burdens he had carried and the countless battles fought along his path. The lines etched upon his weathered face told a tale of sacrifice and resilience, a map of the physical and emotional toll he had endured.

Clad in tattered and worn garments, his attire bore witness to the trials he had faced. The colors that once symbolized hope and vitality had faded, now mirroring the muted hues of a world scarred by the passage of time. Dust and dirt clung to his weary boots, testaments to the arduous miles he had traversed and the harsh landscapes he had braved.

Despite the devastation etched upon his appearance, there remained a lingering strength within him—a resilience that defied the odds and the voices of doubt that had sought to break him. His presence, though marked by pain, exuded a quiet determination and an unwavering resolve to reclaim his lost time and rewrite the narrative that had been imposed upon him.

n his final journey to his own hometown, the place where it all began, Nos's weary heart yearned for answers. He returned with a heavy burden, carrying the weight of countless tales and the scars of a world that deemed him cursed. Little did he know that his arrival would mark the turning point in his quest for truth.

As he wandered through the familiar streets, a glimmer of familiarity sparked within him. It was as if the whispers of the past called out to him, guiding him towards a long-awaited revelation. Seeking solace and answers, he ventured to the ancient temple that stood as a monument to the gods his people had worshiped for generations.

Within the hallowed halls, surrounded by the scent of incense and the echoes of ancient prayers, Nos felt a presence envelop him—a divine energy that tingled upon his skin. In the stillness of the temple, a voice, both ethereal and commanding, resonated within his very soul.

"My child, you have endured the trials placed before you. Your journey has not been in vain, for it was I who laid the path before you," the voice spoke, its timbre vibrating through the very fabric of Nos's being.

Nos's weary heart yearned for answers, but what he discovered left him engulfed in a storm of anger and despair. As he stood in the temple, surrounded by the echoes of prayers and the lingering scent of incense, a revelation struck him with the force of a thunderclap.

"The gods have toyed with me, using their prophecies to test my spirit, to see if I would crumble beneath the weight of their imagined curse," Nos seethed, his voice filled with a mix of rage and bitter disappointment. "I have wasted precious years searching for validation, enduring the torment inflicted upon me. Why? Why would they subject me to such suffering?"

With clenched fists and a voice laced with venom, Nos unleashed his fury upon the divine presence that seemed to permeate the temple walls. He cursed the gods, his words a tempest of anguish and resentment. He demanded they restore the time he had lost, the years stolen by their twisted game.

In his wrathful outburst, the very fabric of reality seemed to quiver. The gods, angered by his defiance, responded with a forceful decree. The ground beneath Nos's feet trembled, and in a blinding flash of light, he found himself ripped from his mortal existence, transported to the realm where time held sway.

As he materialized in the ethereal realm of time, Nos's anger waned, replaced by a profound sense of desolation. He stood in the presence of Kro, the enigmatic timekeeper, who gazed upon him with eyes that held a timeless wisdom. The weight of Nos's curse-laden existence now paled in comparison to the overwhelming realization of his own mortality.

Tears welled in his eyes as he whispered, "I never asked for this. I never asked to be tested, to be cursed, to lose precious moments of my life. All I wanted was to find my purpose, to understand my own worth."

As Nos's anger surged through him like a roaring inferno, his voice reverberated within the sacred walls of the temple. His accusations against the gods grew louder and fiercer, each word dripping with resentment and a profound sense of betrayal.

"Is this how you treat your faithful servants? To mock and torment them with false prophecies? I curse you, gods! I curse your arrogance and your sadistic games!" Nos shouted, his voice echoing in the hollow chambers. "Give me back the years I have lost! Give me back the stolen moments, the precious time that was wasted on your whims!"

His words hung in the air, charged with an intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those who dared listen. The very foundations of the temple trembled as the gods, angered by Nos's audacity, unleashed their divine fury in response to his insolence.

A tempest brewed outside, dark clouds rolling in, obscuring the heavens with their thunderous presence. Bolts of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the wrathful visage of the gods. Their voices rumbled like the crashing of waves against the shore, carrying with them a blend of divine fury and an undertone of sorrow.

"You dare defy us, mortal?" their voices boomed, reverberating through the very depths of Nos's soul. "We are the weavers of fate, the architects of the cosmos. It is not for you to question our designs."

But Nos, undeterred by their divine might, stood tall and resolute. His anger, fueled by a lifetime of suffering and the revelation of their twisted tests, gave him a newfound courage. He met their wrathful gaze with unyielding determination, refusing to be silenced.

"You are not gods of wisdom and benevolence," Nos declared, his voice quivering with a mix of defiance and sorrow. "You are cruel and capricious, toying with the lives of mortals for your own amusement. If this is the realm you rule, then I curse your reign!"

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