I knew this is how it would end.

My hands trembled, as I pulled the tip of my spear out of his chest. The night falls into a snowy madness, his blood, radiantly staining the ground, as he turns back into the man, I've always called my brother.

I knelt before him, his eyes filled with sorrow, as he struggles to reach for my hands. Words are erased instantly from my voice, replaced by a silent scream emanating from deep within me, unheard by anyone else but me. My heart aches with a heavy burden of regret, pounding in a rhythm I've never experienced before, while I watched his life wither away. Tears instantly freeze as they flow uncontrollably, marking the fall of one of the greatest men I've ever known.

That is how I remember him, Lysander. Every day, every hour, a memory looped infinitely inside my mind, replaying his last moments with vivid lucidity. How could I forget? After everything we went through, it was my hand that ended his life.

I finish the tankard of ale, letting most of it spill over my long beard. It doesn't matter much to me; there's nothing left that I cared for, with the exception of the weight of my grief.

"You might want to take a break, Randall."

I stare at the owner of the tavern, Phillip, always trying to influence me to ease up from drinking. I ignored him, emptying my bombard, and sliding it across the counter towards him.

"Fill that one to the top this time."

The tavern's doors swing open with force, and a group of six men walk in. Quickly, I tightened my coat, their arrival letting in a blast of icy wind that snuffs out the flickering torches. Abruptly, they toss a dead animal onto the floor. Its fur was completely covered in blood, and its body was oddly distorted like it was beaten relentlessly.

One of the men walks forward, his hand resting over the hilt of his sword. "Where is Phillip? We're here to collect the bounty."

The strange man stomped his feet on the floor, shaking the snow covering his boots. With a firm step, he placed one boot firmly on the head of the deceased wolf. His gaze swept across the room, addressing everyone in the tavern with a direct question, "Does anybody here know him?"

Philip, the tavern owner, hung his rag, his attention shifting from the wooden cup he was cleaning to the man and the creature on the floor. He had set a bounty for the capture of a predator that had been killing his livestock during the night.

"I'm Philip. Is that the wolf you've brought for the bounty?"

The strange man grins while opening his arms wide and kicking the dead wolf.

"I have it right here. This bastard was a pain to kill."

In response, a laugh escapes me, undoubtedly fueled by the numerous drinks I've already had.

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The man turns his attention to me, "Something funny about what I said, old man?"

I take another sip of my ale, carelessly spilling more of it over myself. "Don't mind me. I just find every man who walks in here with a dead wolf a bit amusing."

A few of his companions laugh at my comment, which seems to enrage their leader. The man moves swiftly towards me with determination. He reaches out rapidly, aiming to snatch my cup, but his hand proves not to be as quick as mine.

"Do not touch my drink," I said, slowly gripping his hand with enough force to make him wince in pain.

"What's wrong with you!"

"You youngsters, can't take constructive criticism. All you do is enforce your way."

The man noticed my composed behavior. A man that has nothing to lose; one that has come across death itself many times.

Standing up from my chair, tankard in hand, I challenge him further. "Do you really think you've earned your coin by killing such a young pup?"

"What do you know old man? All I see is a corpse drowning in his filth!" He pulls a big knife, gripping it tightly.

I glanced at his weapon, then returned to my drink. "You better be ready to use that knife, or you'll be looking like a fool."

Two of his companions step up to him, placing their hands on his shoulder. "William, let it be. He's not worth the trouble."

"Well, gentlemen, you'll need to get along peacefully tonight. The storm will hit us hard, and I'm locking this place down," Phillip says.

William, visibly agitated, paces back and forth. "And stay here with this filthy old man? I'd rather take my chances out in the storm."

Philip places five more jacks of ale on the counter. "You've got two choices," he says, tossing a small bag of coins towards William. "First, take your coin and leave my tavern for good. Second, we all sit down and have a drink together until the storm passes. It's on the house."

William turns to his men for their input. "Well, what do you say?"

"We'll go for ale, boss."

With a resigned sigh, William concedes. "I suppose I can tolerate his company for one night."

His decision is met with a round of approval from his men. They make their way to the counter, each grabbing a jack of ale, ready to ride out the storm in the warmth of the tavern.

Philip, aware of my struggles, slides a second tankard of ale my way, a serene smile forming on his face.

"I don't usually condone this, but if keeping you a bit tipsy helps maintain peace, then so be it."

Gratefully, I lifted the bombard in a gesture of thanks. "I'll drink to your kindness. Thanks, Phil."

William takes a seat beside me at the bar, untying his bag and flipping a coin over the counter. "A peace offering." He says, glancing at me.

Studying him intently, I try to discern any hidden intentions he might have. However, he simply sits there, casually enjoying his drink.

"Ah! I could drink this stuff all day."

His comment amuses me, prompting me to lift my own overfilled tankard. I drink it down in one continuous gulp, not pausing for a breath.

"Ah! This is actually what I do all day," I say, slamming the empty bombard down on the counter.

William's laughter echoes in response to my remark. He gestures to Phil, encouraging him to pour another drink for me.

"Let's get this guy another drink, alright?"

Phil agrees, filling up my tankard and sliding it back across the counter to me.

"You look familiar, old man. Are you from Bortoli?"

"I am."

William's laughter continues, but he quickly covers his mouth as he realizes the gravity of what he's mentioned. "Damn. I've heard some terrible things about that place. Rumors say the entire village was slaughtered by a demon."

His laughter strikes a nerve in me. The massacre at Bortoli wasn't a matter to be taken lightly—it was a real tragedy.

"Your laughter is disrespectful to those who lost their lives in that massacre. You think you're tough because you killed a young wolf. But let me tell you, the village of Bortoli wasn't destroyed by a demon, despite what people say."

"If it wasn't a demon, then, what was it?"

I turn towards the curious man, my eyes fixed on him with piercing intensity. "A werewolf."