Year unknown, Month unknown, Somewhere on a secluded mountain
Outside of the window the snowstorm was raging and the howls of hungry wolves were ringing across the great valley.
In a small wooden house there was a man, sitting in front of the fireplace, watching the flames dance in the darkness of the night.
The light in the house wasn't enough to brighten the man, much less the room, and all it could be seen was a bed in a very poor shape, a strange leather backpack, a table and a chair, where the man was sitting.
There were no other house objects in sights, and, strange enough, this wasn't one of that person concern.
In the past people would call him handsome, smart, strong willed and ... happy. Now all that could be seen was a man without a goal, without friends, without a home to call his own or family, a man whose only thing who made him truly happy was taken away from him.
Forever.
Despite now living in the most isolated place in the world, in an hostile environment, he could not escape the guilt, anger and despair that haunted him, day and night, and found himself unable to put an end to his sufferings, in spite of numerous attempts.
Now he was trying to live his life as humbly as possible, estranged from his own feelings, as if he were another person, a shadow of the man he once was.
A strand of obsidian hair was obstructing the view of most of the pale face, barely lighted by the small fireplace, and callused hands were wiping very carefully, almost maniacally, a sword with a finely decorated handle with the aid of a rag.
From his eyes it could be seen the intense concentration he was using to carry out that task.
If a person had seen this scene they would have thought of a dangerous and violent person as in a movie where a psychopath cleans his bloody weapon with an wicked smile.
But it was not so.
It was a sort of ritual for the man, something he systematically did every day to never forget his past, his mistakes, the people he lost.
Suddenly others howls could be heard and the man noticed that they were getting closer and closer to the wooden house.
A flicker of anger flashed on his eyes, deforming his pale visage.
"What are those pieces of fur doing in my territory? Wasn't last time terrifying enough or do they want to be beaten to death again?"
His thoughts flew to his first days of exile, where in the wild nature of the mountain he had to establish the order of the strongest, exterminating multiple indigenous species. He had pitied the wolf pack as they were among the weakest (and weren't dangerous for his survival), but hearing them now, the repentance on the decision made that day emerged in full force.
The man got up from his chair with a grim face and stood in front of the cracked window were in the distance a small and soft light could be seen frantically moving in the middle of the snowstorm.
His anger faded completely as if what he had felt just before was nothing but a dream.
It was like a mirage in the middle of the desert, like bread in times of famines, like hope in moments of despair. It had been a really long time since the man had felt such a feeling; the heat was spreading from the center of his chest to the tips of his fingers, his cobalt eyes couldn't stop looking at the peculiar scene that was taking place outside.
Well, we could say that an event like this wouldn't happen often, and...
"Why the hell is that light coming this way?"
From his voice there was shock and agitation; the man had not foreseen that a similar occurrence could happen.
He slowly moved away from the window without ever losing sight of the light that shone in the night which was becoming considerably bigger as time passed.
Putting his thoughts in order, he decided to wait and see what would happen. Perhaps it was just a joke of fate, a stupid coincidence and nothing else.
Time began to flow very slowly in the expectation of what would happen soon after, in the expectation of an event that can change life, for better or worse.
The howls could be heard from a short distance and after a moment even the creaking of snow under the steps of a running person.
The steps halted and the growlings were stronger and stronger.
Suddenly the figure knocked at the door as if the devil were on his heels and with a desperate and trembling voice said:
"Please open the door! Please... Help ... The door ... Please ..."
The wolves were now circling around the wooden house, menacing the safety of the person outside and the man inside.
Angry and exasperated, te man toke his sword and with a quick gesture opened the door, seized the person and threw him into the house without the slightest delicacy.
He then looked at the wolves outside who, seeing him, did not dare to attack, even less move.
The sword he wielded had sparks of electricity running through it and with a trembling hand he horizontally slashed through the air, creating small lightnings before him.
The wolves whimpered seeing the brute force of the man they had in front of them and being totally scared they slowly began to withdraw.
The man had no intention of letting them go without doing anything and to prevent their escape he pointed his sword towards the sky making the clouds darker and more threatening.
With a look of disdain he pointed his sword at the wolves, making much bigger and more imposing lightning bolts than the previouses one, sprang from the clouds and went to strike with a terrifying force leaving behind them only burned bodies.
Looking again at the dead bodies he then turned around and stared at the person who was trying to stand up.
"Who are you?"
Chills shook the person from head to toe and did not respond, probably from shock.
A strand of blonde hair fell out of the person's hood.
The man was as if bewitched by that small strand of hair, but he immediately recovered without letting out anything of the turmoil of emotions that he was feeling at that precise instant and then he asked again with a more imposing voice:
"WHO ARE YOU?"
With a scared voice, the person finally answered:
"I-I'm ..."