The man in black pressed his back to the wall, leaving a trail of blood on it.

“You can no longer transform, can you?” - he said, gasping.

“I’ll die if I did. The toll it takes on the body is too high, and I can hardly even walk.”

“You would’ve killed me if you could.” - the man in black said, looking at his wounds.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it? One can take that. It’s the rage that kills you. It’s so seductive and makes you feel indestructible, but it rots your body on the inside. Your muscles hurt, the bones start breaking…”

Two broken men sat staring at each other. One had a broken body because he felt too much, the other because he felt too little.

“May you forgive at least the children?” - the old man asked.

“I’m not God to give forgiveness.”

“No, but you play one.”

They were just kids. They could be taken to the Black House. They can be shown better. Why is it always they that suffer for their parents’ mistakes? But they still had the glowing yellow eyes of the wolves. And their parents didn’t spare the girl with the red hood. So he gripped his sword tight, and when he was done, he could feel no emotion left in the village.

The men in black never rushed. They never stopped. But now, when his work was done, he could finally have some rest. He walked out of the house, sat on the ground, and put the silver sword next to him. He was tired, oh so tired.

He needed rest. His body ached so much. His vision was blurry, and his limbs numb. Maybe it was the end of the line, but it was a fitting end. And just as he was about to close his eyes for the last time, the moon shone on a woman in a bright white dress watching him from the trees.