Son of a Legend, Heart of a Killer
Chrono Trigger
Michael Collins
Prologue—Reminiscence.
1023 A.D. Near Guardia Castle.
Crono and Marle sat together, alone in the night, on a peaceful hill overlooking Guardia Forest.
“It’s been awhile…since we could do this,” said Crono, in his smooth tenor voice. “We’re always so busy at the palace…”
“I know,” said Marle softly, leaning against her husband’s shoulder. Her long blond hair fell over his back. “All the commoners speak of being royalty as if were so great…but it’s a huge burden to wear. I almost wish we could just appoint a guy from Truce to come and run things. And give us more time to be alone.”
“Well, we could do that,” Crono joked. “We’re, what, in our forties now. Kain’s twenty-two now, we’ve spent nearly all of our lives doing things for other people. Whether it was saving the world, running the Guardia government, or raising Kain…we deserve a break, I think.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t that be great…” Her voice was laced with sadness. When she had been younger, she’d felt so much more free. Traveling with Crono and the others had been the greatest thing that had happened in her life, besides the birth of their son, Kain. Now…she was always pressed for time. She often felt like a caged animal.
Crono was silent for a moment. He had always been the most reticent of all the time travelers, even Magus. Marle had found out, after twenty years of marriage, that Crono was being so to hide his sentimentality. He had been a gem, but the world had turned him into a hard rock, and it had taken her love to bring out his true side. Her love—and the loyalty of seven others who had traveled to the end of the world with him.
“Thinking about old times again.” It wasn’t a question; Crono had lived with her long enough to know what she was thinking.
“Yeah…it seemed like a dream. And…it makes me wonder. Every night…when I go to sleep, I wonder…is what I’m doing really going to matter? We’ve been to the End of Time and back, met countless people. When I sit in the throne day after day, dealing with merchants, lawyers, politicians…will it matter in ten years? Fifty? One hundred? A million?”
“…Keep this up, and you can resign and become a poet,” joked Crono. He was half-serious, though; Her talent with words had exhibited itself many times during her reign as Queen. When he had first met her, she had seemed like any other girl, and she had probably thought the same of him. Now they both knew differently.
Crono sighed, thought for a moment, and said: “Well, it may not matter in a million years, or even a hundred. But it will matter to the merchant, the lawyer, and the politician. Your words change lives, Marle Triggara. Never forget that.”
“Now you’re the poet,” said Marle, smiling her special smile, the one only Crono saw. So many people saw the diplomatic half-smile that she gave to those who walked into her court. They saw her as a burden for their troubles, and nothing more. Sometimes Crono felt like he was the only one in the world who could appreciate her.
“Well, now we know where Kain gets it from, eh?” Kain had wanted to be a poet since he was a teenager, and had written hundreds of poems by the time he was twenty. Crono and Marle had read some of his poems before. They were beautiful, yet tortured. They were poems no one liked to read in these happy times; Poems about the fate of death, of the perception of reality, of the foolishness of false love. Kain had always had a problem with depression that neither father nor mother could help solve. They could only give comfort. The boy only seemed happy when he was writing, or when he was practicing his second favorite art, that of fighting. Although the boy had problems, his parents still loved him for what he was. Crono was glad that he had ability as a fighter; Marle was happy that he was very mature, more mature than she had been at that age. But he still had a lot of growing to do.
“You know…he looks just like you, now. He didn’t before…he was just a runt. But now…it’s astonishing.”
“Yeah, he looks just like me,” grunted Crono, grinning, “Except that he’s not wrinkled and stooped like I am.”
“Oh, you’re not wrinkled and stooped, you self-pity machine. But he really does look like you…except for his grey-black hair, and his fascination with dark clothing. And the fact that he’s three inches taller than you.”
Crono blushed; It had always been an object of embarassment to have his son tower over him, the Hero of Time. He’d learned to live with it. Marle continued.
“But your eyes have that same intensity. They have that look that says, ‘I’m gonna go out and snatch the world and hold it in my hand.’ That’s the look you had back then, and that’s the look I see in him now.”
Crono looked up at the stars. “Maybe…maybe one day, he may hold the world in his hands. And maybe he’ll do some good.”
“I hope so. Then he truly would be like you.”