It had been many years since he'd been home. Since he'd sat down with his brother in the evenings.

But yet he walked.

So long ago was the past. So much pain it held.

And so he walked, and walked, and walked into the sunset.

He was a farmer at heart. He had loved his crops, more than he loved his brother, more than he loved his god. He loved his wheat, and his barley, and his orchard, they were all he cared for. Not anymore.

His brother was dead, and so were his crops, everything near and dear to him, gone in the blink of the eyes.

Now he roamed the paths of the world searching for a new home, or companions to aid him in his new calling, he was not sure.

He slowly became a living legend, a passing rumor. Of a man who survived a god's wrath. And now he was going to kill that god.

It had been many years since he had been home since evenings were spent beside his brother under a quiet sky. Now there was only distance, but still, he walked. The past felt far away, yet its weight followed him, heavy and unrelenting, as he moved toward a horizon that never seemed to change.

He had once been a farmer, a man who lived for the land. He loved his wheat, his barley, his orchard more than anything else, more than blood, more than faith. But that life was gone. His brother was dead, his crops destroyed. Everything he had built lost in a single, merciless moment.

Now he wandered without direction, searching for something he could not name. Over time, stories began to follow him, of a man who survived what should have killed him, a man touched by something greater.

A man who had endured a god’s wrath.

And as the stories grew, so did his purpose. He was no longer walking to find a home.

He was walking to find a god.