It was raining outside, the sky dark and the day late. Sayda’s head ached, and he was tired of listening to his people spout out at the mouth about matters long ago settled. They spent too much time talking, not enough on actions. His people’s ways have changed over the years.

Maybe too much had changed while he was lost in the other world. He eyed the four old men, now leaders of his clan, as they debated their next course of action. Before he had left, there was no time for talk, only action. They have become lazy, he thought, without emotion.

It really wasn’t his problem. Not anymore. His position in the clan had long ago been lost to him, his right to command gone with it. His gaze returned to the storm outside, the rain making a racket on the balcony as it splashed on the metal frame. Too, did he miss his clan’s old home, now ancient home. How many years had he been gone? He’d forgotten to count.

None of it mattered, mortal time, living, not while his mind had been clouded by rage and lust for vengeance.

What had changed? Sayda’s mind wondered from the path that he’d followed for the past hundred or so years. His rage had cooled, his desire for the death of those that had caused his pain was lessening. Still did he want them dead and by his hands alone, but, as his hands were tied at this moment, the fire in his gut cooled. Before, he would have been pulling at the reins trying to make their movements faster, to take action, but now, he was calm and collected.

Maybe he was getting old. His emotions were gone, gone with his family, turned to dust over the years. He hated it, his anger that had sustained him through the ages, now gone. Things had become complicated, lie after lie from those that sought to pull his chains, making him act according to their plans. He hated it and wanted out.

He could never get out, not with his vengeance still unfulfilled. Would his wife forgive him for his dissent? He closed his eyes against that thought. He knew well enough that his wife would never have wanted him to make his life a path of vengeance. She would have told him long ago to move on and let her lay in silent death, with their young son.

A ball of anger built in his gut as his thoughts turned to his family, but was quickly dispersed when he heard the old men arguing yet again. He rolled his eyes and again peered outside.

The rain was heavier, obscuring the street without. He decided he needed fresh air, even if it was wet air. Silently, he stood and left the room. The old men didn’t notice him, such were his abilities. Once outside, he tipped his head back, allowing the water to hit his face above his mask, cooling the ache in his head.

He was tired. Tired of the war that was never won. Tired of leading people that didn’t obey his orders until it suited them. He wanted something less stressing.

A movement on the street below caught his attention and he froze, easily blending into the shadows. Under the fickle light of a streetlight, a lone figure, hunched over, made its way to an empty doorway, out of the rain. It was a tiny figure, a woman, if he guessed right. She crouched out of the rain, hugging her knees to her chest. Her head was covered by a hood, but stands of hair peeked out, soaked by the rain.

She looked as lonely as he felt. He leaned against the rail of the balcony, watching her cower away from the rain. Strangely, he felt a connection with her. So alone in the harsh weather of the world.

Before he could act rashly, there was a knock on the door behind him, drawing his attention back to his clan and his duties.