Andrea had spent weeks wandering aimlessly, his steps heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. His tall, lanky frame sagged under the weight of his grief as he stumbled into the swampy, dim town. The air was thick with the stench of rotted wood and wet moss, and his weary gaze drifted over the shacks and cabins that seemed to groan beneath their own weight.
He ducked into a tattered tent, its interior dimly illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. The flickering light danced over the face of an old hag seated at the back. She raised her head, her sharp eyes locking onto his.
"What brings you to this dingy town?" she rasped before pausing to study his face more closely. A knowing smile crept across her weathered lips as she continued, "Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit." She gestured at a worn cushion on the ground. "Tell me your story."
Andrea sank down heavily, his voice breaking the tense silence. "I’ve been roaming for weeks, wandering aimlessly... until I stumbled upon this place." His words were heavy, laden with exhaustion.
"My village—" he began but faltered, the memory catching painfully in his throat. "—was burned to the ground by a band of nomads. I don’t even know if anyone else survived the massacre."
His fists clenched as grief, anger, and an odd flicker of relief swirled within him. Relief that he, at least, had survived. His trembling voice turned resolute as he declared, "The only thing I do know is this: one day, I will find the ones responsible. And when I do, I will have my revenge!"
As the last syllable left his lips, the old hag rose slowly from her seat, her shadow twisting unnaturally in the candlelight. Her eyes gleamed with an unearthly light as she exclaimed, "Shall you truly seek revenge? Beware, for such a path is treacherous—and it demands a price."
Her words struck a chord deep within Andrea, stirring the memories of his simple, peaceful life before the tragedy. Born and raised in a quiet village nestled in the shadow of rolling hills, Andrea’s days had been filled with the hum of his father’s mill and the aroma of his mother’s vegetable garden. Though not wealthy, his family’s modest existence had been fulfilling. He had always struggled with the physical labor his tall, lean frame demanded, but the village had been his sanctuary.
Then came the night that changed everything—the fire, the chaos, and the unthinkable loss. That night had shaped him, forging a will as sharp as the edge of a blade. And now, seated before the enigmatic hag, he could feel the weight of his choices bearing down on him.
Would revenge truly be his salvation, or would it become his undoing?
