"fuuuuck..." a long sigh escaped the boy. "How do you lose a whole year of magic overnight?"
"What exactly did he say to get you out of 'mage studies'?" the ghost asked, trying to make sense of it.
"Kearlin... he said I was too handsome to be studying magic. But I know it was just an excuse to get me out of that dusty classroom."
The ghost chuckled softly.
"Bruno, I think he considers you an idiot... or at the very least, a bit dense. But the truth is... you're completely dense."
"Ehhh, what do you mean?!" Bruno protested, scratching the back of his neck. "Just because I'm not good with... emotions doesn't mean I'm dense."
He paused for a moment, searching for the right word.
"Maybe... just a little insensitive."
He made a face and gave up.
"Ah, whatever. Dense it is."
"Boy... did you say magic?" came a deep voice from an orc, dressed in religious robes. He approached slowly, trying to appear friendly. Behind him, an elf, a human, and a dwarf followed the same pace, forming an odd entourage that seemed anything but hostile.
Bruno raised his eyebrows.
"Yes?"
The orc nodded slowly, measuring each word.
"You know a lot of people are looking for strong teams. Groups... capable of facing dangers no one would dare touch alone."
The elf stepped forward, his soft voice contrasting with the orc's imposing presence:
"And whenever someone mentions magic... it always draws attention."
The human smiled faintly, trying to lighten the tense mood.
"No need to be nervous. We're not here to fight. Actually... we're hunting for talent."
The dwarf, arms crossed, snorted in disdain but said nothing to contradict them.
"And this kid looks more confused than talented."
Bruno frowned, unsure whether to laugh or draw his sword.
"And if I'm not interested?"
The orc took another step forward.
"Then, boy... maybe it's because you still don't know what you're letting slip by."
---
11 years and 8 months later
Bruno exhaled deeply, staring at the low fire flickering between the stones. The shadows danced across his serious face, and for a moment, it seemed he was speaking more to himself than to Anaalyn.
"Haaa... good times," he let out a brief laugh, without joy. "I remember those idiots well. We spent a year and nearly six months together... each one different, yet somehow, we made a great team."
Anaalyn's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she didn't interrupt.
"Gnor... an orc. Strong as a wall, but never dropped his sword without saying a prayer first." Bruno looked up to the sky, as if he could see him there. "He survived an entire bandit attack on a village just by praying. After that... he claimed he had a duty to spread the word of God."
A slight tremor crossed his voice, but he quickly composed himself.
"Mortin. A human swordsman." Bruno sighed, shaking his head. "Always exhausted. Thought sleeping would ruin training... but the body doesn't work that way. Dark circles under his eyes, but he never let go of his sword."
The fire crackled, filling the silence for a moment.
"Vanir, the elf archer." This time, an almost-smile slipped out. "Tried to be the group's optimist, the jokester... though most jokes fell flat. And sometimes... far too racist." Bruno's eyes darkened. "But in the end, he just wanted us to laugh."
Anaalyn bit her lips, the hammer still at her side, but each word weighed heavily.
"And Drogmar." Bruno finally spoke the name that hung in the air, staring at the dwarf. "The dwarf."
The silence fell like a weight. Anaalyn looked at him as if she had been punched in the chest.
Bruno lowered his voice, firm but filled with respect.
"Your father was the heart of our guild, Anaalyn. Not just a warrior... a leader. He didn't shout orders. He... showed us how to fight." A brief glance away, almost shy. "And when the debt came... he didn't flee. He stayed. Carried more weight than any of us could bear."
The dwarf clenched her fists until her knuckles whitened. Tears threatened to fall, but she held them back.
"I never raised a sword against him," Bruno said firmly. "I respected him more than myself-and that's not so hard."
The firelight illuminated his face, hard as stone.
"If he fell... it wasn't by my hands. It was because the world doesn't forgive those who choose to fight with honor."
Anaalyn, without realizing it, breathed in short gasps, the hammer trembling between her fingers.
"WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME?!" Anaalyn's voice echoed, filled with fury and pain.
Bruno didn't flinch. His gaze was steady, though tired.
"You were too young."
"YOU DON'T CHOOSE THIS! NOBODY CHOOSES THIS!" Her hammer shook-not from strength, but emotion.
He inhaled deeply, letting his sword lower slightly.
"I know..." he murmured. "But you're not the same girl you were back then. That's why I ask... do you want to know?"
The silence grew heavy.
Anaalyn's eyes roamed the makeshift room-the walls and hearth casting broken shadows. Fear. Anger. Sadness. But also... a spark of curiosity.
Her breath came out in shaky gasps.
"Yes."
---
The night rained ashes. The Iron Wolf Guild marched through walls of trees, the smell of iron and blood already soaked into their clothes.
"It was a mission that destroyed our group in seconds..." Bruno began, his voice low, almost a whisper. "What we didn't know... was that our guide was working for them."
Anaalyn frowned.
"They... those bastards."
Bruno's eyes hardened, reflecting the light.
"The real Iron Wolf Guild."
He paused, as if the memory itself weighed heavier than words.
"Many speak of them as a guild of warriors... legendary adventurers. But the truth? They were a band of criminals. Mercenaries without honor. Selling lives like coins, wiping out entire villages just to collect debts that no one owed... and taking any contract, no matter how vile. Slavery, trafficking, mass executions... everything was allowed, as long as the price was paid."
Anaalyn clenched her fists but stayed silent.
"And the worst," Bruno continued, bitterly, "wasn't just what they did. It was how they did it. They used people's hope, pretending to be saviors. Arrived as hired heroes... and when trust was given, when weapons were lowered, they bared their teeth."
He averted his gaze, recalling the ashes of that night.
"That's why the name: Iron Wolves. Always traveling in packs, always hungry. Always striking when the enemy was most vulnerable."
Bruno gripped the blade, knuckles whitening.
"I saw children taken as payment. Entire families reduced to ashes for failing to pay made-up tributes. Proud warriors... kneeling, begging for a less cruel fate." His voice faltered for a moment. "And I saw your father stand against it."
The silence fell heavy.
Anaalyn, without realizing, held her breath.
"They attacked us with no chance to defend ourselves," Bruno said, not looking at her, narrating more to himself than to Anaalyn. "It was fast, brutal. I barely survived... and your father, Drogmar, almost dead on my shoulders."
The air seemed heavier.
"I remember his words," Bruno closed his eyes, voice low and firm. "'Make them pay for our blood.'"
He exhaled deeply, as if still carrying the dwarf's weight on him.
"It wasn't pretty. Not poetic. No glory. Just fast. Blood, iron, and silence. That's it."
Bruno lifted his gaze to Anaalyn, trembling between anger and doubt.
"I already knew you. Knew your family. Your father knew that. He didn't need to say anything more."
Silence fell between them, heavy. The wind brought the smell of ash again, and for a moment, it seemed the entire forest listened to his confession.
Finally, he stood, his hand firm on the dwarf's shoulder.
"So I want you to know..." his deep voice echoed across the burned space. "Revenge without a path, without sense, without the compass of morality... that's called madness."
She rose, trying to comprehend, seeking some sense in his words.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, tense, confused.
"Because..." Bruno inhaled deeply, as if reliving each memory, "what I did... I must admit, it was more than madness. The Guild... before sunrise, over forty people... I killed. I wasn't even nineteen."
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the weight of his confession linger.
"When the sun rose, I wasn't even standing. My feet... they were so weak, and the guild all asleep. I came... and killed."
Anaalyn swallowed hard, unsure what to say.
"I still don't know why you're telling me this..."
"Because I don't want you stuck in this cat-and-mouse hunt," Bruno's voice low and firm. "I didn't kill them all. But that doesn't mean you have to finish the job."
The silence between them was heavy but not suffocating. It carried more than words ever could: pain, regret, understanding, and, curiously... something else. Something almost human enough to be undeniable.
Anaalyn still stood, eyes fixed on Bruno, trying to decipher the man who had killed so much yet spoke of morality, of limits. A mix of anger, respect, fear, and a strange curiosity churned in her chest.
Bruno lowered his hand from her shoulder slowly, but didn't pull away entirely. His gaze, red and tired, softened slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability.
"I know... you must hate me," he said, voice low, almost a whisper, without trying to justify his actions. "And yet... I don't want you to carry this alone."
Anaalyn felt the weight of those words, and for a moment, her fury gave way to understanding. She stepped forward hesitantly, her hand trembling slightly.
"No... I don't know if I can forgive you," she murmured, voice almost inaudible, but genuine. "But maybe... I can understand."
Bruno gave a slight nod, a minimal smile forming at the corners of his mouth-more a relief than joy.
"That's already more than most expect," he said, taking a step closer, the warmth of his presence starting to fill the space between them.
Anaalyn looked away for a moment, recalling all the pain and hatred she carried. But when she looked back, she found in Bruno's eyes something beyond danger or guilt... something that suggested care, attention, and perhaps... something like affection.
"You... don't have to do this alone, do you?" she asked.
"No," Bruno replied, the firmness in his voice mixed with unexpected gentleness. "Neither do I want to."
For several seconds, nothing was said. Just their breaths, the faint crackle of burnt branches beneath their feet, and the wind carrying ash through the air. Tension between anger, respect, and something more subtle hung in the space.
"You know..." Anaalyn began hesitantly, "I thought no one really cared about me. Or how I felt..."
Bruno tilted his head slightly, the red in his eyes softening, as if he understood every unspoken word.
"I do care," he said, with simple, devastating honesty. "And maybe... you should learn to trust someone again."
Anaalyn felt a warmth rush through her chest, a mix of relief and something she couldn't yet name. She breathed deeply, feeling for the first time that she wasn't entirely alone in this world of chaos and violence.
And without realizing it, their fingers touched-briefly, hesitantly-but enough to create a silent connection, a thin thread of closeness, understanding, and perhaps something more.
Bruno stepped closer, maintaining respectful distance, yet near enough that their breaths mingled.
"Step by step," he murmured, a minimal smile on his lips, "we can find the way, Anaalyn."
She lifted her eyes to him, a mixture of challenge and curiosity, a slight smile forming on her lips as well.
"So... let's walk together."