In Pursuit of Kronos' Scythe (Completed)

I - When Kronos Lost His Scythe - Part II

Piotr Mikolaj

"Crap!" A boy brushed his tousled brown fringe away in frustration.

Throwing a hammer, a screwdriver, and a spanner onto the floor, he slumped against the wet wall. Now that he finally stopped working on the automaton in front of him, he could hear the dripping of water from the pipes above him. Tik, tik, tik. The water dropped on his head, flowed down his nose, and slipped into his lips. It tasted like algae, dust, and salt. He didn't even realize that he'd begun to sob. He had never felt so defeated.

"Why? Where were you when I cried for you? Why would you bring me to this world if you don't love me?" He had never felt so lonely.

Hugging his legs to his chest, he lamented over his fate. Why could the children of his age get to play outside, while he was locked on top of a tower, building machines? Why could they get to have bedside telling from their parents, while he could only talk to machines? Why could they get to watch cartoons, while he was forced to labour? He didn't want to live this life. He had been living in this tower since he was six. He could still remember the date -- the date which he believed would change his life for the better, but which turned out to be the ploy of the royalty to scrap away every bit of the remaining freedom that he had from him. 

His mind churned up the useless memory when the king's men visited him by his roadside squatter. They said the Oracle had led them to him. Their voice was flat and their eyes devoid of concern which they should, at human's instinct, show to a boy who lacked love. 

"You're going to have a good life." The soldiers sneered and hauled Piotr out of his squatter.

Piotr said nothing but followed them. He hoped living in the castle would be better than straying around in the wild, fearing the attacks of monsters.

He was wrong.

The Oracle told the king of Realm Tequiza that he could prosper if he got hold of a boy who had a dab hand in crafting automatons. The king of Tequiza loved automatons. The citizens of Tequiza loved automatons. Almost every daily chore in Tequiza was done by automatons; and Piotr, the boy named after the meaning of rock, was the creator. Even the trolls guarding him were made by him. The king had forced him to hand over the remote controls before he could deactivate them; the automatons had started to taunt at him ever since.

"I've suffered long." He looked at his calloused fingers, and a tear dropped onto his palm. His stomach squirmed in hunger. "When is the right time?"

Piotr tried to recall the scene of the night when he was abducted by the soldiers. Perhaps he'd missed some detail. He'd overheard the soldiers' conversation. The Oracle mentioned that he had to work with the king for a long tenure until Hephaestus gave him a quest. The soldiers didn't believe it and had even called the Oracle some names that were too ungraceful to Piotr's ears. The king frowned and barely nodded. Piotr couldn't blame their idiocy. Hephaestus, the Olympian worshipped by Tequiza, had never shown up. Well, not in front of them. Hephaestus visited Piotr twice a week, at times deep in the night when Piotr worked the hardest.

"When you build, think of how long it will last," the God of Fire reminded Piotr.

He always gave advice to Piotr, pointing out the flaws in the machines that Piotr created. He even promised to help Piotr escape from his prison, ten floors above ground. For ten years, Piotr had been asking Hephaestus when he would be released. For ten years, Hephaestus gave him the same answer, "The time will come soon." Soon? Define "soon". Piotr was tired of waiting. If even a god had given him a false promise, he could rely on no one but himself.

"I'm a strong boy." He clenched his fists as he held back his tears. The collar of his baggy shirt fell down one shoulder. "I'm the only navigator of my life."