The Age of Serenity

1

Dear Yvette

Forgive me. I have to start by saying, I never intended to become what I am. The day my parents explained the meaning of the mark on my back, I was excited. What little boy wouldn't be? The Oracle is the hero of every tale we were told as children, the right hand of the Kings of the Valour Ages. Riding in on a white steed and speaking with a voice of Gods. And my parents to their credit had faith in my ability to be like the Oracle's in the story.

"you'll be a hero, Gwyn,' My mother told me, holding my cheek in her hand. My mother always trembled when I was young, and Father always joked it was because she was born in the Summer Cities of the Hylia. I mention it now because I recall that at that moment, her hand was very steady. So sure was she in her words, that even the foreign chill of Nirvan could not sway her. On my shortlist of regrets, failing to meet her expectations ranks high.

'A hero? Let us hope not! Let us hope our son and his King reign over the age of peace and plenty!' Father had boomed, chuckling. He always craved peace, in the world, in our city, in our home. My brothers and I learned young to resolve issues with words, not weapons, though it seems not all of us remember that lesson. They both looked at me with such love, such pride in the red veins tracing the Great Tree in my skin. All I can recall is blood charging through my veins, and my heart soaring through the clouds.

I was always restless as a child, much more so than my brothers. Remi, my eldest brother, spent all his time in the training fields, throwing his sword against straw dummies. Tall and athletic, dark and handsome, everyone either wanted Remi or wanted to be Remi. Of course, while the greater world knew him as the shining eldest son of the Merchant Prince Elio, I knew him only as a hulking tyrant, lurking in the corners of my nightmares. Countless days were spent fleeing the brutal swing of his practice sword or dodging the sweeping arc of a thrown javelin. What his issue with me then was, I to this day have no idea, but in the years since then, many things have come to pass, driving the wedge between us home.

My second elder brother, Elio, named for our Father, was far more likable. Lean and quiet, Elio spent most of his time in the massive library in the house, or wandering the woods, studying plants. We were far closer in our childhood, and far closer in the ending of our lives, and little and less has drawn us away from each other between. Elio was then and always has been a true and honest person.

But in those days, perhaps less so, and the events that transpired that day, was chiefly to blame for all interactions with my brothers there onward.

When first told of my new title, my brother Remi was at first skeptical. This was to be expected, and I had brought Father along just to ensure they heard it from him. Then, of course, Remi was furious and demanded that I let him go in my place.

'It's only fair!' He'd shouted, his pleasant features twisted in rage. 'I'm the oldest.'

That never made sense to me, or my parents, but to his credit, Remi has maintained that I somehow stole the title from him. I often wonder if he might have been better than me, or at least in what ways he might be different, but in most cases, it doesn't matter. The Goddess never chose him, he never crossed her mind.

'I can't send you in his place,' Father had told him, patting his head dismissively. 'Gwyn will go, and there is nothing else to say.'

My Father had a way of speaking, that often left things open-ended, left room for the conversation to spark in his wake. I think he did it on purpose, he always encouraged us to have debates, in hopes of sparking curiosity. It worked well on Elio and myself, but in Remi, it only stoked the flames of an already growing ego.