Chapter 84: The Tale
In front of the tavern entrance, his emotions became confused. The worn frame and its warm sign brought him a familiar yet distant sensation.
It was the only place of leisure in Miracle City.
A place where every citizen could shed their responsibilities and enjoy a proper moment for the peace of the soul.
Where the elderly repeated the same stories every time, with flushed faces and terrible beer breath.
Gabriel touched his bandages. He knew there would probably be many questions.
Finally, he pushed open the wooden door. The bell announcing his arrival.
The bustle decreased for just a few moments.
Several people looked up. Despite his evident limp, they recognized the distinctive bearing of the woodcutter.
Over the bandages, a silent mourning covered the dried blood. They were difficult wounds to heal.
Compassion and pity shone in their eyes.
One of the men immediately raised his mug.
"I’m buying the boy a beer!"
Voices began to mix into the noise.
"Well said!"
"He doesn’t pay today!"
"The boy needs it more than anyone!"
Gabriel understood the reason instantly. The latest news had spread like gunpowder through the city.
Everyone knew about the death of the resilient woodcutter’s mother.
He responded only with a small nod. He could not find the right words to reply.
He advanced between the tables until he occupied one of his usual spots. Soon a glass shone on his table.
The old tavern keeper had appeared with a huge glass of beer whose foam slightly overflowed the rim.
He lightly placed a rough hand on his shoulder. His eyes were understanding.
"Gabriel... I know how much you worked to prevent this from happening. At my age I’ve seen too much and told too little. But you will recover with time... I hope." He said with a tired smile.
With each word, the grip of his hand tightened.
Gabriel raised his gaze and pronounced: "Thank you."
In that environment he needed nothing more. Only honesty was required.
The tavern keeper gave a light pat on his shoulder before returning behind the bar.
Gabriel took the glass. The foam brushed his lips.
The bitter taste mixed with the aroma of cheap perfume. For a few minutes he remained completely silent.
Conversations continued around him.
With small gossip, discussions about harvests, and various complaints.
Jokes and mockery were the daily bread.
The tavern was still far from full. Only the most loyal customers occupied the tables.
Those who turned that place into a second home.
Gabriel barely paid attention, his mind drowned in ideas.
He needed a story. The last one.
A narration capable of definitively breaking that strange illusion.
*The Banquet of the Dead* had worked because it was authentic. He had not embellished the facts nor hidden the tragedy.
He had simply told a truth with eloquent skill.
He had already traced the path he had to follow.
The last story also had to be born from an experience. Without filters or adornments.
He was still ignorant of the reason for his selection. Why a Storyteller?
But there was no point in questioning it. He needed to fulfill his responsibility.
The bell rang again.
A man entered the tavern calmly. He was tall with broad shoulders.
He had a chin that seemed sculpted in marble. His clothes were simple, although too clean for a common worker.
He ordered a drink from the bartender. Then he scanned the room with his gaze.
He was looking for a seat through the warm tavern.
Finally, he walked next to Gabriel’s seat.
"May I?"
Gabriel made a slight affirmative gesture.
The stranger sat down. Neither spoke, sharing a satisfying silence.
Until the newcomer smiled.
"They say that in this tavern there is an exceptional storyteller."
Gabriel held the glass between his hands.
"Just a storyteller who strives to tell stories that embellish... this."
His gaze swept his surroundings. The tired faces and hands full of scars.
The stranger let out a laugh. It was frank.
"You’re wicked."
Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the stranger.
"Changing the sordid and condemned reality of ordinary men... You would be condemned by the gods." He said, leaning forward.
He ended up slowly shaking his head, scrutinizing Gabriel.
With those words, he set the glass down on the table.
The dry thud barely drew the attention of some customers.
"Gods? What kind of gods? I still haven’t met any." His voice sounded serene, observing him fixedly.
The stranger seemed to reflect. His expression changed from calm to seriousness.
"I don’t think any of us have seen a true god. They are memories wrapped in mysticism, bliss, and justice. But given the circumstances... I doubt they are really as we remember them." He said, looking out the window and sighing silently.
Gabriel rested both arms on the table.
"Memories? Then perhaps they weren’t so incredible." He said, sketching sarcasm on his face.
Their conversation was interrupted by the tavern keeper’s arrival.
He brought two overflowing mugs. He placed them in front of both.
With a huge smile he announced:
"The house invites, gentlemen!"
He opened his arms widely, continuing:
"Be eager to spend an excellent day in the company of two foamy lovers!"
Laughter erupted immediately.
"Old idiot!"
"Always the same!"
"It always works..."
The tavern keeper responded with an exaggerated bow before returning to the bar. The atmosphere began to relax.
Conversations increased in volume.
The stranger raised his mug.
"I toast to the storytellers."
Gabriel imitated the gesture. The mugs clinked softly.
"Do they seem that important to you?"
The man nodded without hesitation.
"Much more than most imagine."
He took a long drink before continuing.
"In their voice there must exist the necessary eloquence to spread the flame of Prometheus."
Gabriel frowned slightly.
"Prometheus? Where have I heard that...?"
He repeated the name almost to himself. An unknown sensation ran through his memory.
It was a name that awakened some buried memories in his mind.
The stranger smiled. It was an enigmatic smile.
He slowly extended his hand.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Galius Prometheus. It is an honor."
Gabriel shook the hand naturally.
"Gabriel... Or the storyteller."
"I already knew! You are the only one who... can really tell adventure stories." He said, observing the bandages.
The conversation continued for a long time. About travelers and ancient popular legends.
Quickly the mugs began to multiply on the table. Both shared practically festive spirits under the effect of alcohol.
Time passed quickly.
An old man took out an instrument and another began to accompany him by hitting a table with his knuckles.
Then a flute appeared.
Music was born spontaneously. Without anyone directing the orchestra.
It happened as if by magic.
The tavern was completely alive.
Gabriel felt his face hot. The pain of his wounds was practically stifled, because the alcohol had turned that pain into a distant nuisance.
Breathing deeply, he jumped onto the table.
Conversations stopped almost instantly.
Several people began to applaud.
"The storyteller!"
"He’s going to start!"
"Silence!"
Gabriel had to balance himself for a second. The world moved a little more than usual.
He exaggeratedly cleared his throat.
"Ladies... and gentlemen!"
He slowly moved his head, looking for a woman. There was only one old lady by the bar.
He pointed at her immediately.
"Perfect! The young lady..."
The tavern exploded in laughter.
Even the old lady raised her thumb in approval.
Balancing himself, he placed one hand on his chest. The movement caused a stab through his bandaged ribs.
He made no grimace.
"Today I want to talk to you about an unconditional friend... The tiger."
His voice descended and rose in intensity.
The noise slowly began to disappear, with the desire to listen increasing.
Those present watched him with enthusiasm, waiting for his story.
Before the expectation, he placed his hand on his chest again.
The alcohol managed to blur any kind of shame.
*Tell me... Are you idealists?*
No one answered his question.
"Because you are about to become one. Whether because of the beer or the song of my voice..."
He crouched down and lifted an empty mug as if proclaiming his own creed.
From the back of the tavern someone immediately raised another mug.
"To the beer!"
The explosion of laughter was immediate.
Gabriel pointed at the culprit with absolute seriousness.
"Go to hell! There’s no tiger for you!" He said with a dramatic pause.
The laughter only got worse.
Even the old tavern keeper had to lean on the bar to keep from doubling over with laughter.
In that festive atmosphere, Gabriel breathed deeply.
At that moment he began to understand. He reflected on Galius’s words and the devotion he expressed.
For an instant he felt alive inside the game.
Perhaps that was the true power of a storyteller. They did not need to change the world... Only make people listen and forget the rest.
The tiger needed to be memorable. Containing part of his truth.
So that everyone who heard it would remember it.