Prologue
He had never asked to be born. It seemed as if a sudden awakening in the universe had stirred from its eternal slumber, and out of its yawn came him. The figure. The one who had been written about for years and years, haunting folklore like a ghost, one that you could just barely catch a glimpse of. Maybe through the market, glancing over the polished powder horns and catching a glimpse of that one beautiful eye, the one that spun once, then disappeared. This was the way of time.
The boy took the same form, or at least, kept two characteristics The first was his brown hair. Some shade of brown, never red, or blonde, or black. Always brown. His clock eye, the one that slowly, slowly counted down from twelve, a small black line moving every year, ever so slowly. That’s the only way that the universe could tell it was the figure, because even the boy didn’t know who he was. The ghost lost his memories to somewhere in space and time, to the darkest corners of the sky while the universe cried out for its lost child, its warrior.