The tavern reeked of stale ale and desperation.
Kaelen sat hunched over a chipped wooden table, his massive frame folded in on itself like a wounded animal. His scales, once a vibrant green that had gleamed in the light of countless dungeons, were now dull and cracked, covered in grime and old scars. His left arm—or rather, the empty space where it used to be—hung limply at his side, the stump wrapped in stained bandages that had not been changed in weeks. The fabric was crusted with dried blood and filth, a testament to his neglect.
The light from his eyes had drained completely. The fiery yellow that had once burned with confidence and courage was now a dim, lifeless amber. He stared into his mug, watching the amber liquid swirl. His reflection stared back at him, hollow and broken. He didn't recognize himself anymore. He didn't want to.
