The Watcher
His hair is ghostly, dipped in the wine of the gods
His eyes are a mystifying violet
So kind to his little gods but so cruel to his attackers
A black cross sits upon his head: a curse or a blessing from Chaos?
He is sometimes called the King of Blades, seven swords resting just behind him
He disappears in black and white, a scent of rain, dried fruits, and blood left behind
Transparent cloth connected to his back, floating around him
They float with or without the breath of the Anemoi
...
His origins are not known, just as mysterious as the being who calls him Nothing's Child
His eyes are constantly watching, constantly waiting
They watch over the original six, over the next and the half
His little gods may be little no more but he shall protect them until the end of time
They say he was first consort to the youngest Titan, devoured before the six
The youngest will say nothing and the King will keep quiet
Even to his little gods, he is unknown
They call King of Blades
They call him Nothing's Child
They call him the Watcher
...
His name, Nnamdi-Aakil, may not be written within the Olympians' history
He may not be remembered by many
But he will still be here, constantly watching, constantly waiting
Never lessen his abilities, those kind violet eyes will soon turn cold
And you will be along the banks of the Styx
And the Watcher will be satisfied
