First Session
“7:51 am”
My arms swing into place, holding bundles of metal poles both high into the air and pointed to the grass. The sky is a pale blue; a single cloud lingers in the corner of my eye, obscuring the Sun. I push down the urge to look anywhere else, my eyes burrowing straight forward. The poles are pointing perfectly outwards: 7:51. That's what I think, but Father Time says otherwise with that frown he's got. I think I'm maybe shaking in the arms, but I don't feel the weight of them anymore. I feel confident. Father Time doesn't give me another command; instead he takes a few steps forward, a bent finger pointing up to my left arm. A wind picks up over the grass, and seems to nearly throw him over.
"Not a minute, and not a second out of place," he says like his breath is all spent, his voice hoarse and tired. He pulls his arm back getting ready for a cough, but nothing comes out so he begins wagging his finger at me again.
Turning to face the fields of grass and small white flowers, his rapidly graying hair gets caught in the breeze, his long white jacket doing the same. He looks out in the same direction, his feet in place like mine. A wave of his hand tells me that I can put my arms down. The poles point to the ground; it almost feels wrong after practicing for the whole morning.
Seeing that the practice is on break, I roll my head on my shoulders, causing some strands of hair to cover my eyes. Between a few blurry blue threads, I look out at the mountains past Father Time. The meadow covers the entire mountaintop; it's flat, stretching out to the horizon where mountains begin their reach up into the sky, dwarfing our small cottage near the edge of a hidden cliff. It's like a giant had cleaved the head off the mountaintop, letting the remaining stump grow miles of grass and flowers among the clouds. I think I read that somewhere back in the Council library, but I’m unsure, the strange thought a haze of memory and imagination.
A painful cough pulls my attention back on Father Time. After a few more, he continues, "Perfect as always, but your mind isn't clear, I can tell.” He stops himself to look around; alone out here, there’s all the time in the world to take it all in. “It’s in the movement of the wind and in the grass…the coursing water within the flower beneath your foot. The flow of time is off," he says as he turns himself towards me, "and I can imagine several things it can be."
His hand reaches out to rest on my shoulder, much like when we were both young, when he'd kneel to match my height. "You've always wanted to be here, and now you're finally here, but…” he points at the air knowingly, “you and Mei had to finally split ways after years together." Mei's face appears, looking at me with her half smile, an affirmation from another time. It’s been years since then when we were studying together, but that's not it.
“Sir…” I start, before he interrupts me, nearly putting a finger in my eye. “Now now, what happened to Father Time?” He looks at me with a smile and a bit of a squint.
I forget I'm holding the poles until Father Time takes the set from my left hand, the imbalance almost pulls me to the ground. Holding it up with both hands, he shakes it, causing the metal to clink together quietly. "Perfect form, down to the minute. You can handle the weight of the Hands of Time. Yet, if you can't set the time in your mind's eye, what will you set the day to? Will it be day?...Cast the swords into the roots of a flower, would it grow? Would it turn back into a seed? If you can't focus on the timeline, nothing you do will help when you're in trouble." He smacks the set of poles into my hand a bit painfully against a knuckle, getting me to hold it again.
"Even we can run out of time..." He crosses his arms, and for a moment, I see the old him. Horous, my mentor for all time. When he picked me out of a hundred, standing on all sides around me…I've always looked up to him, but something's wrong. Something is horribly wrong.
“Father Time…I thought we'd work together, after you picked me…” his smile slowly begins to fade. “But you’re the only one in Council to start…getting…uh…” I can hear him grinding his teeth over my words, but he begins to smile again, a little more forced than before.
“Old!? Hah!” Wrapping his arm over my shoulders, he swings his free hand out in a wide gesture over the horizon. “It’s a small detail in the grand scheme. Don’t worry about it!” I continue to worry about it. “There’s been a small change in plans, but regardless, you are almost ready for the Hands of Time…” At this I’m swung into his direction by his arm; he holds my shoulders by both hands, and faces me.
“Kronii…you’re going to be able to control time!”
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