We are Alive

As I stared at the barman, realization dawned on January's face. "I thought you didn't have memories of the past?" he asked, his voice a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

I shrugged, my eyes still fixed on Tusk, drinking in every detail of his familiar face. "Sometimes it's a name, sometimes it's faces, but once I get that small piece of information, part of my memories return to me."

A wave of sadness washed over me as I watched Tusk, the man who had been like a father to us. Suddenly, our gazes met, and Tusk froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. A single tear rolled down his weathered cheek, and I felt a lump form in my throat.

Tusk quickly called the barmaid over, handing her a bottle and whispering a few words to her. Then, he turned back to me, his face breaking into a smile that radiated warmth and gratitude. In that moment, I knew that he was just as overjoyed to see me as I was to see him.

Memories flooded back, each one a precious gem in the treasure trove of my past. I remembered the countless nights we spent huddled around the fireplace, listening to Tusk's stories of his days as a soldier. He taught us the value of loyalty, of standing up for what we believed in, even when the odds were stacked against us.

I remembered the way he would ruffle my hair when I did well in my training, the pride shining in his eyes. He was the one who had encouraged me to pursue my dreams, to never give up on myself, no matter how difficult the path may be.

As I sat there, lost in the memories of the man who had shaped my life in ways I was only beginning to understand, I felt a sense of belonging wash over me. This tavern, with its worn wooden floors and the laughter of its patrons, was more than just a place to eat and drink. It was a home, a sanctuary where we had found love and acceptance when the world had turned its back on us.

As the barmaid brought the bottle and two glasses, giving us a small bow before returning to her work, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia wash over me. January looked at the bottle with a hint of distaste. "The only reason why I hated this place," he muttered.

I took the bottle and observed it, surprised by the familiarity of its shape and label. "That's your favorite, by the way," January said, noticing my reaction.

I poured the white mixture into the glasses, and the aroma of peach quickly reached my nose. It was a scent that stirred something deep within me, a memory that had been buried beneath the layers of my forgotten past.

January sighed and took his glass. "For your return, man," he said, before quickly downing the contents and making a displeased face.

I followed suit, bringing the glass to my lips and letting the liquid flow over my tongue. To my surprise, it tasted great, almost like the best thing I had ever drunk. The flavor was a perfect balance of sweetness and tartness, with a smooth, velvety texture that left me wanting more.

As I savored the drink, I felt the warmth of the alcohol spreading through my body, a comforting sensation that seemed to chase away the chill of the tavern. It was almost like I had found a missing puzzle piece, a key that unlocked a part of myself that had been hidden away for so long.

I closed my eyes, letting the memories wash over me. I saw flashes of laughter and camaraderie, of nights spent gathered around this very table, sharing stories and dreams. I remembered the way Tusk would smile at me, his eyes twinkling with pride as he watched me grow into the man I was meant to be.

"Another one?" asked January while pouring more shots into the glasses.

I looked at him, surprise etched on my face. "I thought you hated it?"

January gave a small smile, a rare sight on his usually stoic features. "I hate alcohol, but if it means spending time with my friends - it's fine." He paused, his expression turning somber. "Besides, I am in a bad mood, maybe I should try this 'alcohol treatment' you always suggested."

He let out a brief laugh, but it was tinged with sadness. His eyes met mine, and I could see the weight of our shared experiences reflected in them. "For April, the real hero among all of us," he said, raising his glass.

We clinked our glasses together, the sound echoing through the tavern. The liquid burned as it went down my throat, but it was a welcome sensation, a reminder that I was alive and that I had people who cared about me.

We drank again, and then once more. With each shot, I could feel the warmth spreading through my body, the tension in my muscles slowly ebbing away. It was a temporary respite from the chaos that had become our lives, a moment of peace in a world that seemed determined to tear us apart.

As I sat there, surrounded by the people who had become my family, I couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over me. Even in the darkest of times, we had each other. We were a team, bound together by the trials we had faced and the love we shared.

I glanced over at January, watching as he poured another round of shots. There was a determination in his eyes, a fire that burned beneath the surface. I knew that he would stop at nothing to protect the people he cared about, to fight for what he believed in.

And in that moment, I realized that I would do the same. I may not have had all the answers, and my memories may have been lost to the void, but I knew one thing for certain - I would stand by my friends, no matter what the future held.

After several drinks, January's expression grew serious. He turned to me, his dark eyes searching my face with an intensity that made me shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Hey, do you remember anything about July?"

The question struck a chord, sending an uncomfortable ripple through my consciousness. April had asked me the same thing back in the prison cell, his gentle voice filled with similar concern. I shook my head, the familiar frustration of my missing memories gnawing at me like a persistent wound. "No, I can't remember that part, neither can I remember July." The admission tasted bitter, despite the sweetness of the peach liquor still lingering on my tongue.

January opened his mouth, something important clearly on the tip of his tongue. His fingers tightened around his glass, and for a moment, I thought he would finally share whatever weight he was carrying. But then his expression shifted, softening into something more guarded, and he raised his glass instead. "Well, then let's drink for him and hope that we will find him soon too."

We clinked glasses and downed another shot. The peach liquor had lost its bite, sliding down smooth and sweet, warming my chest and dulling the edges of my troubled thoughts.

A large man stumbled towards our table, his face flushed from drink but somehow familiar, like a half-remembered dream. January's eyes lit up with recognition, the tension from our previous conversation melting away.

"Hey there, Marcus!" January called out, his voice carrying the easy warmth of genuine friendship.

"Hey Marcus," I echoed, though I couldn't place where I knew him from. Another frustrating gap in my memory, another face that should mean more than it did.

Marcus bowed deeply, swaying slightly, his enthusiasm making up for his lack of coordination. "The legendary March and January, what an honor! Your exploits are still talked about here." He brought an empty glass, pouring himself a generous measure, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

We shared one more drink together, the warmth of camaraderie momentarily pushing aside my troubles. Then Marcus suddenly wandered off toward the stage area, joining the growing crowd of dancers moving to the tavern's music, his large frame surprisingly graceful as he disappeared into the sea of swaying bodies.

January's laugh pierced through my alcohol-induced fog, his normally rigid expression melting away as Marcus vanished into the sea of dancers. "He's a drunkard, but he's a good guy," he said, dabbing at moisture in the corner of his eye with his sleeve. "Reminds me of some of the regulars from back when we were kids, always ready with a story or a drink to share."

His unexpected lightness proved infectious, and I felt my own dark thoughts lifting despite everything that had happened recently. We clinked glasses and downed another shot together, the sweet peach liquor blazing a warm trail down my throat and spreading through my body like summer sunshine. The room began to tilt and weave around me, the tavern's ancient wooden beams performing an intricate dance in the flickering lamplight above.

Gripping the edge of the table, I pushed myself to my feet, my head spinning wildly as my chair scraped against the worn floorboards. "I'll be back in a minute," I managed to tell January, before attempting to navigate my way to the toilet, stumbling between patrons with all the grace of a newborn colt trying to find its legs.

When I finally made it back - or thought I had - January's chair was deserted, our half-empty glasses abandoned on the sticky tabletop like forgotten soldiers. The alcohol hit me even harder as I lurched through the crowded tavern searching for him, colliding with dancers and nearly sending a barmaid's tray of drinks flying. His voice suddenly cut through the cacophony, sharp and venomous in a way I'd rarely heard from him, and I followed the sound to find him squaring off against a cluster of men by the bar counter.

"It's still better this way! You and your freak friend are putting us all in danger!" One man jabbed his finger in the air, his face flushed crimson with drink and fury. "How do you think you'll be able to oppose the Emperor? He's like a god to mere humans like us! It's all Tusk and his stupid ideas and this stupid tavern he's looking after his idiotic brot-"

January's fist crashed into the man's jaw with a sound like splitting wood, sending him crumpling to the floor like a puppet with cut strings. His friends surged forward with raised fists and murder in their eyes, but my body was already moving before my mind could catch up. I launched myself beside January, falling into a familiar rhythm as we fought back-to-back, muscle memory from countless battles taking over.

We backed our way outside, the angry mob following us into the street like wasps pouring from a disturbed nest. Once in the open air, January and I unleashed our full capabilities, no longer hindered by the tavern's cramped confines. Bodies thudded against cobblestones one after another, the meaty sounds of combat echoing off the building walls until Tusk's commanding voice thundered above the fray.

"Stop! Stop that right now!" He thrust himself between us, his weathered face etched with worry, his eyes finding mine with desperate intensity. "They're stupid and drunk, they're young. Forgive them March, don't kill young guys, they don't deserve this! There's been enough death already!"

I let out a long breath and nodded, my chest heaving from exertion as the fight leaked out of me like water from a broken vessel. Our opponents scrambled to their feet and fled into the darkness, leaving nothing but scattered teeth and wounded pride scattered across the moonlit cobblestones like discarded coins.

I watched as Tusk sighed, his gaze shifting to January. "I thought you were the cold one in that family?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of concern and disappointment.

January remained silent, his eyes fixed on the ground. Tusk shook his head, his attention returning to me. After a moment, he spoke, his words filled with warmth and sincerity. "I am happy you are back, son. I was missing you and I was worried."

Before I could respond, Tusk pulled me into a tight embrace, his strong arms enveloping me. I felt a lump form in my throat as emotions welled up inside me. Even though my memories were still fragmented, I could feel the depth of Tusk's love for me. It was a feeling that transcended the gaps in my mind, a connection that ran deeper than mere recollection.

As Tusk released me from his hug, I blinked back the moisture that had gathered in my eyes. He looked at me with understanding, his weathered face softening. "Now is a bad time, a lot of customers and I need to look after the tavern. Visit me tomorrow at midday. Let's talk a bit, okay?"

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the gratitude and affection I felt for this man who had been like a father to us. Tusk turned to January, his tone turning stern. "And no more trouble today," he added, pointing first at me and then at January.

We both nodded, feeling like chastised children under Tusk's watchful gaze. He reached out and messed our hair with his large hands, a gesture that felt both familiar and comforting. With a final nod, Tusk turned and quickly made his way back into the tavern, leaving January and me alone outside.

We sat near the road, the silence between us heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The events of the day weighed on my mind, and I couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of something much larger. There were still so many unanswered questions, so many pieces of my past that remained shrouded in darkness.