The people seem to think me a prophesied hero. Some sort of mythical figure, here to save them all.
Could it be me? Truly?
I think not, and yet so many others disagree.
I bear no memory of a past, of a life before this life.
I know not from where I came. Perhaps that is compensated by the possibility that I can know where I am going.
People want to know their future, but if they actually did know, they would wish otherwise.
I have no identity before this. I was found, alone, with a blade through my heart.
They say this is how they know I am him. All I know is that I carry the weapon of my murderer, and with it I am to save the world.
I have to wonder if anyone has been faced with a task similar, and simply refused it.
Can I say no?
Who am I if I do? This single purpose defines me. I know nothing before seeing the marble arches and the golden beams, and the sword that killed me.
And her face.
The other, who is tasked as I am. To save the world.