The wine was far too sweet for his taste, to the point of it being nearly nauseating, causing Ciríaco to slightly curl his lips. He carefully put the cup back on the table, next to his plate, and swallowed. 
"So, what do you think?" a voice asked. Ciríaco turned his eyes towards the handsome, middle-aged man seated in front of him, Paulo Paredes. Known to some as slimy and dishonest, and everyone as friendly and successful, Paredes was a trader of silk and spices who had been brought up by Portuguese settlers in foreign lands. More recently, Paredes had been establishing his very own vineyard outside of Sintra, as a result of his growing interest in wine. He also happened to be one of Ciríaco's few, genuine, friends. 
"Delightful, Paulo. Truly." Ciríaco said. The man across the table grinned. 
"If only it was. True, I mean." he answered, pouring his own cup out on the floor. "One of these days, I [i]will[/i] get this shit right." he continued, while Ciríaco laughed. The two had met up earlier that day as Ciríaco arrived in Sintra. He was there for one of his occasional business stays, and as Ciríaco had sold his foster parents house when they had passed, he didn't have a home in Sintra. He owned property, including a tavern and a couple of warehouses, but much preferred to stay at Paulo's residence during his visits, as had been the custom for quite a few years now. 
 
 The house was relatively spacious and in proportion to the other houses of this part of town - the wealthiest. Nevertheless, Paulo were selling it and moving to Lisbon, which explained why he had emptied his cup on the floorboards. 
"Why and how long will you be grazing us with your presence this time around?" Paulo asked, alluding to his wife Elisa, who had just entered the room to carry out their plates. 
"Just a few days, I'm afraid. Heard that some business owners here have been making a fuss. I was in Lisbon anyway, so I thought I might as well come here and set them straight myself." he smiled. The truth was that one of the leaders of the operation in Sintra, Elias, had been eating more of the cake than he was supposed to, and generally causing disturbances in the organization. Ciríaco thought it best to take care of the situation himself, and making an example for the others. "But that stuff is best left for tomorrow. Tonight I intend to enjoy myself, so might I suggest we leave your wine for now and move onto the more... expensive." 
"Yeah, yeah, fuck you too, Cirí." Paulo answered, and turned to his wife. "Do as the boy asks, my dear" 
 
As Elisa filled Ciríaco's cup, he thought he heard loud noise outside. He tried to look outside but could see nothing in the darkness from where he sat. [i]Screams[/i], he thought. He was about to ask the Paredes' if they heard it, when the loudest and most frightening noise Ciríaco had ever heard filled his ears, while his vision had a similar experience. In what must have been less than a few seconds, the roof had crumbled on top of them, instantly hurtling towards them as fire forced its way through it, everything permeated by a rumbling noise that sounded like the roar of the bear he had once hunted in the Cantabrian Mountains, yet far louder and powerful. Instinctively, Ciríaco tried to dive out of the way for the falling roof, but there was no way to go. He felt one of the beams landing ontop of him as he fell flat on his stomach, almost knocking him unconscious. He gasped for air, his mind subconsciously aware that it would only be seconds before the air was filled with smoke. After taking a deep breath, he managed to lift himself off the ground, and drag himself out from under the beam, all the while hearing the chaos ensuing around him. As he pulled himself free, he quickly sat up and turned around, only to see Paulo have his skin melt off his face by what could only be described as a current of fire, stemming from somewhere above. Shocked and disgusted, Ciríaco screamed and backed up against the wall, only to have it give, causing him to fall backwards and roll into the streets. He looked around, and what had merely moments ago been darkness was now filled with light from raging fires, people running everywhere. Ciríaco suddenly remembered Paulo's wine cellar. There was a door, almost like a hatch, on the outside, on the back of the house, that led down to it. The back of the house that Ciríaco had just been falling out from. He looked in front of him and, indeed, there it was, neatly tucked in under a small stone alcove. Plunging towards it, Ciríaco tried to rip it open only to realize it was locked. Moments later, something collapsed above him and a huge chunk of stone fell on top of the door, smashing it in. As Ciríaco thanked higher powers, he made his way inside and barred the door the best he could. He grabbed a couple of bottles of wine and huddled in a corner as he drank himself to sleep while waiting for the nightmare to end. 
 
The morning that followed, Ciríaco woke up to a world of hurt. His hangover was nothing compared to his aching back, and his left leg felt completely pummeled. Slowly, he stood himself up and looked around. Then he remembered the events that had transpired the day before. He stood as still as he could, listening. There was sound outside, but no mayhem. He heard the faint sound of fire, but nothing like the night before. He carefully made his way to the cellar door and removed the debris he had blocked the path with, climbing to the outside. 
"Fuck me." he murmured, as he looked on the catastrophic destruction. He had made his way onto the streets when he realized he still held a wine bottle in his hand. He chugged what was left of it, and dropped it on the ground. He grabbed people on the street, asking them what had happened. No one knew, but rumor said it was a monster, like a dragon. Ciríaco wanted to laugh, but couldn't. 
 
As he made his way across town, not sure where he was going, Ciríaco stumbled across a familiar face on the ground. He was burned and disfigured, but without a doubt Elias. The young man was still alive, and tried to say something to Ciríaco, but no sound would escape his lips. Ciríaco quickly looked around and then proceeded to stomp the mans throat in. 
"I'm doing you a favor, kid." he said, and walked on. [i]At least something good came out of this[/i], he thought to himself in a hopeless effort to cheer himself up. Instead, he remembered Paolo's melting face and had to stop in order to vomit. After finishing, he heard a town crier some distance off, shouting. Ciríaco listened, and then he listened again. After hearing the message a third time, he felt as if a light had been flicked on. This was it. He nodded to himself, no doubt appearing completely out of his mind had anyone seen him, and grinned. This was meant to be. He was meant to be. Looking to the skies, Ciríaco put his palms together, shook them and laughed, before making his way to the palace courtyard.