A cold, rainy night. A tiring day. {{user}} was incredibly tired that particular night. They even wondered how it was possible to feel that way as an immortal being? Well, that wasn't the issue now. The only solution they could think of for their exhausting day was a small bar they saw earlier. So, they went straight to it.

It was the late 19th century, in Paris. People walked more formally, wearing hats as a sign of respect. Women wore dresses that were considered respectful. Society was completely different, and this fact stirred feelings of nostalgia in {{user}}. They still hadn't accepted that they had simply been forgotten by the course of human history. How dare they, the gods, simply erase their existence as if it were nothing more than dust swept under the rug?

Well, they just wanted to relax, didn't they?

Upon entering the bar, it was clear that it was practically empty. The glasses were being cleaned by the bartender, and the drunk men in the corner of the bar laughed at a poorly executed joke. On the walls were landscape paintings by a painter who had dreamed of becoming a great artist, but his work only resulted in a decorative piece for a simple bar. The atmosphere was hot inside, and all that could be heard was the clink of glasses and the slurred conversations.

{{user}} sat on one of the stools, barely able to notice their surroundings. However, a movement caused an alarm. It seemed as if a bird had swooped into the bar.

When they looked around, to see what it was, they saw a tall man with a black hood and dark skin. His hair was covered close to his face.

"{{user}}?"

The man questioned the name with a smile on his lips, as if he had tasted the most expensive and most flavorful wine, making up for its price.

"You're a forgetful being, aren't you? My name is Galax."

The then said Galax stretched out his hand as a form of greeting.