1 PROLOGUE

In a room overlooking the lagoon, the old painter made his last stroke as he furnished his painting. His left arm reached out high to the painting as his other arm grasped the wheel chair. The old painter almost fell to the ground if not for the young man beside him.

"You shouldn't push yourself too hard, sir," the young man remarked.

"I'd rather spend my time with my paintings than spend every waking hour crouching in my bed," the old man smiled at the young man. "You should cease the moment, if not you'll end up regretting it. You can't control the hands of time, Luke."

"But that doesn't mean you shouldn't rest, even the gods rest," Luke murmured.

And Time did come for the painter. He met his end days after he finished his last painting. It was a painting of three gentlemen. All graced upon by the stars with adoration. And with the stars, two of those gentlemen rested. Leaving their close and last confidant sailing the tides of life.

It was Luke that was left behind. It was him that mourned over his loss. It was him that stayed beside the painter's grave. It was him that stood beside him when he was still alive.

"You must have loved her so much to not let us tell her of your funeral," Luke murmured as he bent down to place the bouquet of white roses he brought for the painter. "But I'll be the one following your steps."