When my mother passed away, I could not let her stories die. I started studying every Japanese myth I could find, and desired to learn the myths of other countries and ancient civilizations as well. My uncle saw this fervor as an unhealthy addiction and tried to push me to a more logical study. He forced me into the study of archeology in hopes that my craze would end. Little did he know, he only fueled my passion more.
By the time I was to start my college education, I had a passion for both archeology and myhtology. My uncle still had high hopes that I would fillfull his dream of becoming a professor. I trully was not sure whether I would accomplish his dream, but I desired to know more of the world around me. So, at the age of eighteen I left home and started studying at a local college.
And I studied for eight years in college and earned my PhD in archeology and a minor in education. Nothing trully changed in those eight, long years. I would only visit my uncle during the holidays and spent most of my time studying ferverishly. I wanted to know as much as I could in little time. But that is not to say I never spent time with my uncle. After all, he meant the world to me. It was in the summer I would spent the majority of my time studying with my uncle and uncovering this strange artifact he had uncovered years ago.
The artifact was a strange wooden spoon, said to have come from an ancient civilization. It was the same artifact that a crazed man in my youth tried to take from my uncle. But each summer, I would discover nothing new about it. Just that it was around the medeval period of England and was perhaps used in festivals due to the carvings. But my uncle thought otherwise. He believed the carvings on the spoon would hint out to a more amazing discovery. Yet, I could never figure out this amazing discovery. And when I had received my PhD, I decided to leave it alone and settle down in a teaching carrier.
For three years, I happily taught archeology for a few youth. For three years, I spent some seasons on excavation sites helping fellow arcehologists. For three years, I spent my summers in an apartment complex away from my uncle, only visiting once every other week. But by the fourth year, someone broke into my uncle's mansion, stole the wooden spoon, and killed my uncle. Someone who I learned would be my greatest adversary in the future and someone I would chase down for five years of my life.
To be continued...
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