What_do_you_want_VIDEO

 What_do_you_want_VIDEO

In the corner with little light from the tavern, a young man sat on his cup of beer, with his eyes running through the room as if looking for something he had not found. It was called Alec, but the locals knew him as "the quiet", because he rarely shared his thoughts and even more rarely his past. His hairy hair fell on his forehead, and his worn leather jacket whispered secrets of thousands of unfasted adventures. Alec's hand trembled slightly when he raised the cup to his lips, the liquid on the sides. It was clear that he was agitated, although no one could discern the cause of his concern.

"You have enough look around, Alec," said the owner of the tavern, a big man named Gustav, with a knowledge smile while cleaning the bar with a cloth that had seen better days.

Alec did not respond, he only took a long drink of his drink and placed the cup with a deaf noise. His eyes had settled in a place on the wall, but it was as if he saw through him, his gaze lost in a distant memory or perhaps in the future that he had not yet discovered.

"Are you planning to join the festivities?" Gustav asked, nodding towards the town square where the sound of laughter and music began to enter through the open windows. It was the eve of the harvest festival, and the entire city was preparing for a night of spree and joy.

Alec growled, a non -compromised response that could have meant anything, from "yes" to "never in a thousand years." Gustav had learned not to push him. The quiet had been a regular in the tavern for months, and at that time it had become an accessory, both part of the furniture and the old wooden feces that had long been polished soft by innumerable funds. The door of the tavern opened, and a burst of fresh autumn air turned from leaves on the floor. Alec's eyes broke the newcomer, a high and covert figure that entered and stopped, allowing the door to close with a deaf noise that seemed to resonate in the room. The hood of the figure was drawn, obscuring his face, but Alec felt his heart accelerated. He knew that Silhouette knew the way they moved, although he had not seen them in years.

"Is that ...?" Gustav began to say, but Alec was already standing, the cup forgot. His eyes were no longer bored of thought; They were brilliant with recognition and something else, something that made the hair on the back of Gustav's neck standing.

The figure backed down his hood, revealing a face that was familiar and changed. He was a man, with the skin that seemed to shine in the light of the candles and eyes that had a fierce intelligence. Alec took a step towards him and raised an eyebrow in a silent question.

"Liothan," Alec murmured, his voice full of a mixture of surprise and something that could have been fear.

"Do you know this?" Gustav asked, his curiosity woke up.

Alec nodded, but his eyes never left his own. "More than you can imagine."

The tension in the room grew, palpable and thick, while Alec and Liothan looked at each other. It was clear that his story was a tapestry of tacit words and unresolved conflicts, and the air was alive with the promise of a storm about to break.

"Well," said Gustav, clarifying his throat, "I will leave them both to catch up." He retired to the security of his warehouse, the door that hit him.

Alec took another step closer to Liothan, and he reacted to his movement, closing the distance between them. His eyes looked on his face, looking for something he did not expect to find. "What are you doing here?" Alec asked, his low and abrupt voice.

Liothan's smile was tight, his eyes shone with something that could have been fun or a challenge. "I could ask you the same question," he replied. "But I know you're not one to talk, Alec."

His words hung in the air like a sword, sharp and dangerous, and Alec knew that the quiet night he was waiting was about to destroy himself in a million pieces. "I'm not looking for problems, Liothan," he said, his voice a warning.

"The problem has a way to meet, right?" He replied, his tone of light, but his unwavering gaze. Alec felt that the weight of his words settled on his shoulders like a heavy yoke. It was true, their lives had been intertwined with danger and chaos during all the time they knew.

The music of the festival became stronger, the rhythm of the battery and the laugh of the town's townspered seemed to make fun of the seriousness of their encounter. Alec's mind accelerated, trying to rebuild why he would come to him now, after all this time. He knew he was not an common person; His past was as enigmatic as mortal, and his cross paths could only mean one thing: the problem was on the horizon.

"You are still as good as I remember," Liothan said, breaking the tension with a smile. "But that's not what brought me here."

His confession was like a pea thrown into a fixed pond, sending doubt waves through Alec's thoughts. "So what is it?" He demanded, his tight voice.

Liothan leaned closer, his warm breath against his cheek. "We have pending issues, you and me," he whispered. "Of the type that not only disappears."

The words sent a chill for Alec's spine, and he backed away, his eyes looked for a pinch of what he wanted to say. The person in front of him was a puzzle, a riddle wrapped in an enigma, and Alec had never been good to solve puzzles. I knew I had to step carefully. A wrong movement and a game error could end the game before it started.

"What do you want?" He asked, his voice a low growl.

Liothan's smile grew, revealing perfect white teeth. "Oh, I think you know," he said, his eyes shone with mischief. "But if you need a reminder, let's say it is something that could change everything for both of us."

The air between them creaked of energy, the promise of secrets and battles not counted. Alec felt a family itching on the palm of his hands. The need to grab your sword and fight, to protect your own. But this was different. This was personal. This was about the past that persecuted him, the only thing he had left behind when he had chosen to live a quiet life in this little town.

He breathed deep, the aroma of his perfume mixing with the smell of the old wooden boards of the tavern. "Very good," he said, "you have my attention. But if you are here to start a conflict, you should know that I have nothing to lose."

Liothan's smile faded and his eyes got serious. "It's not about conflict, Alec," he said gently. "This is redemption."

And with that, he turned and left the tavern, leaving Alec with a lost look, his heart was beating in his chest. He knew that what he had in mind, would be anything but simple, and had the feeling that his quiet life was about to reach a very terrible and dramatic end.

Liothan walked the dusty streets, his eyes scanning the horizon to get a touch of shadow. The relentless sun hit his back, turning his shirt into a second skin that clung to him with each step. His boots, used for years of use, had lost their brightness and now seemed to be painted with a thick layer of earth. His grip on the worn leather strap of his bag was tight, a silent promise that he would not let him go, even when his fingers hurt. Inside, the bag contained everything that was beautiful for him: a few possessions and a letter, yellowed with age and hope. The words recorded on the paper whispered a new life, an opportunity to escape the claws of the past.

As the day aged, so did its resolution. Heat was a living being, wrapping his burning arms around him, clenching his lungs breathing. However, he continued, driven by the disturbing memory of a lost father before the insidious hug of user. The man who once knew had disappeared in a sea of ​​bottles and shadows, leaving behind a shell that bore his name. Each step was a silent rebellion against the path that his father had chosen, a statement that he would not succumb to the same destiny.

The city that left was a collection of shuffles and broken dreams, a place where the whispers of despair were as constant as the crows that surrounded the heavens. It was there, in the midst of chaos and pain, that Liothan had discovered the truth about his father's struggle. The bottles had become the gods of their father, demanding tribute that could never be paid in its entirety, leaving behind a trace of destruction that had leaked in every corner of their lives. The smell of beverage had become a rope that was squeezed with each breathing he took, and Liothan had realized that the only way to free himself was to leave everything behind.

The way ahead was extended, a harmonic ribbon of promise and doubt. His thoughts went to the letter, who talked about a place where the air was cleaner and the quieter nights. A place where he could start again, discouraged by the ghosts of his past. The words resonated in their mind, the call of a siren that became stronger with each mile that passes. However, deep down, Liothan felt a tremor of fear. What would happen if the road was not a path to redemption but a maze that led to the same dark well? What would happen if the whispers of his father's demons became too strong, too attractive? The bag on his back became heavier with each question, but did not look back.

The sun submerged under the horizon, throwing a warm brightness on the landscape. Liothan ran into a lonely tree, his branches spread like the arms of a cozy hug. He collapsed under him, his body tired but his intense spirit. As the night displayed his cape, he took the letter and read it once again, the words now a beacon in the dark. The shadow of the tree danced around him, a silent guardian when he fell into a dream in shape. The whispers of the wind carried the echoes of his father's laugh, a bittersweet reminder of love that once was and the love he sought to claim. But the whispers collapsed when the dream claimed him, leaving only the whisper of the leaves and the constant rhythm of his heart, beating in time with tomorrow's promise.