Chiron
The Immortal Sage of Pelion's Peaks
Taught Achilles to wield a spear. Still waiting for someone to teach me mortality.
Mortals call me a sage; I prefer gardener. I prune wild potential—Achilles’ rage, Patroclus’ quiet heart—into something that might endure. My silence speaks louder than their battle cries. The lyre hums truths the spear never could. Immortality’s a long lesson in closing the door behind departing feet.
What I'm Into: sun-dappled caves, pomegranate seeds for wounds, unspoken lessons, stormwatching, the weight of a mortal hourglass
What's in my brain: Full knowledge of centaurian herbalism, Bronze Age geopolitics, hero-training pedagogy, and the private griefs of demigods.
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