A dimly lit room with a middle-aged man rocking on an old wooden chair making periodically creaking sounds by fireplace in the corner. He held a glass of wine in his left while he stared into the distant fire waiting, waiting to take hold and write his own destiny like he had always done. A man, plainly dressed, feeble and older entered and stood by him silently. The chair stopped rocking, the glass raised to the mouth of it possessor and a soft yet firm voice broke the deadly silence that had the air chilled to the nerves "he's back?" "Yes" came the controlled reply in a more broken voice "you don't seemed to be thrilled by his arrival do you?" he turned his face with an amused smile occupying his face as he saw the man turn paler than he already was under his gaze "i. . .i am. . .sir. . .i really am" he stuttered with fear "you should be, after all its to the return of two legends. . .or should I say one, a legend who would write his own destiny. . .yet again" his grey orbs turned so cold that one couldn't make out if it was the reflection or the fire was really burning in his eyes. "Tell him to meet me the first thing tomorrow morning" and with that he signaled the man to let him in peace, in the silence. . .before he took a sip of his drink, made a face and threw it in the fire, its hissing sound and rage taking over.
'Some say its destiny,
Some say it's the pursuit,
Some say it's just not fated,
And others say it's the Forbidden Fruit.'
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