The city did not sleep that night.
Fires burned in braziers along the stone streets, and music rolled through the air—drums, strings, voices rough with drink and defiance. The tavern squatted at the heart of it all, thick walls sweating heat, doors thrown wide as if daring the Dark Lords to look inside.
Calcore entered without armor.
Only scars, muscle, and presence.
The room felt it immediately.
Conversation slowed. Cups paused mid-air. Then someone laughed—loud, nervous—and the night exhaled again. Wine flowed. Ale followed. Women watched him openly, not coy, not shy—eyes measuring strength the way hunters measured prey.
Calcore drank.
Not to forget.
To burn.
A woman with dark hair sat beside him without asking, her thigh pressed against his, fingers tracing the scars on his forearm as if reading a map. Another leaned close from the other side, breath warm with spice and alcohol, whispering a story he didn't listen to.
He let them.
Not because he needed them.
Because he chose to.
Laughter rose. Someone climbed onto a table and sang a song about fallen lords and broken chains. A mug shattered against stone. Someone cheered. Someone else kissed Calcore's neck and tasted iron where old blood had once been.
For a few hours, the world was simple.
Drink.
Heat.
Bodies close enough to forget gods existed.
Later—much later—he lay back against rough wood, smoke curling above, women resting against him like trophies that breathed. He stared at the ceiling, listening to the tavern creak, feeling the dull ache of pleasure fading into clarity.
It was never enough.
Not the wine.
Not the touch.
Not the noise.
He stood before dawn, gently disentangling himself, ignoring the half-sleeping protests, the promises, the invitations to stay. Outside, the street was quiet again, ash drifting through cold air.
Calcore tightened his belt, took his sword, and walked away.
Behind him, the city would remember the night a barbarian drank like a king and left like a curse.
Ahead of him waited war, monsters, and lords who still believed pleasure could tame rebellion.
They would learn.
Even fire gets bored of warmth.
And Calcore was already hungry for something that bled.