Chapter 5

Like what the scrap of soul had said, her body is currently too weak to even manage a whole spirit. Much less be sensitive about her surroundings and the fluctuations of their emotions.

She does not have any place in mind, but for now, she can only make do with the mountains and caves.

Anywhere no ordinary human would reach or accidentally pass by and where energy is abundant and clean enough will be good.

However, she didn't know that the witches already devised a different and better plan for her.

"We have prepared you a place already." Her brows knitted upon hearing the words. "There is no need to thank us. Consider this one of the many great deeds we shall do to repay you."

It disappeared after speaking and Amaryah breathed a sigh of relief. She finally felt a lot lighter, but upon digesting what the scrap of soul said, she was baffled.

"What the hell are you talking..."

She was absently moving before and could only feel the difficulty of maintaining her strength that she did not notice how her body was running to a certain direction on its own.

It was then that she realized how she let her guard down, and she was playing into the palms of the witches' hands again.

She was submitting to their hints and suggestions! What use was her knowledge now if her body can't keep up?

Upon bumping into something hard, she was brought back from her thoughts, yet she found herself lost again.

Unconsciously, she cocked her head to the left as the familiar smell of the wild mountains and incense wafted in the air. The scent was like a switch clicked to bring her back to a certain period of time.

When everything was still okay and everyday life was normal.

For a moment, she almost forgot that she's in the middle of the woods. She could see light green robes with the hems gently swaying as the person walked up a mountain path. She could see the firm hold of a hand carrying a silver sword.

She could see the tight black belt around the person's thin waist. She could even almost feel the piercing gaze the person was giving her on that first meeting again.

And it was as if she could hear the melodious songs that have always calmed her before.

She immediately snapped out of the hallucinations once she remembered it wasn't time for such reminiscence.

Amaryah was not often enveloped by the arms of the person who smelled so much like this. But from the very first time she collided with this chest, this scent has already stuck itself to her nose and mind that the probability of forgetting or mistaking it is zero.

She was dumbfounded at the sudden realizations with no time to reprimand the witches, or even to at least confirm if this was their doing and what they meant about this.

Cursing inside, she can only turn away and was just about to escape when a hand grabbed her sleeve.

"Amaryah," the deep and almost hoarse voice said, and she felt her heart thump loudly in her chest a couple times before it sank.

How lucky must she be to promptly meet an old friend after only minutes of awakening?

"Amaryah," he had called her again, much louder and clearer this time. It made her heart thump wildly because she isn't prepared for this sudden confrontation at all.

The tone of his voice was almost incomprehensible, but maybe it was just her.

For years, all Amaryah could remember was not his usual soft voice which was famous throughout Selaphiel. She could only hear his angry, raised tone when they last spoke, and his helpless shout back at the top of the volcano.

This certain voice calling her name both times with opposite emotions filled her mind for years. Sometimes even, it would distract her meditation and the witches would howl another round of curses at her for not focusing.

One small tug at her left sleeve brought her back to the present. She felt the soft caress of a cotton cloth on her wrist.

Her sleeve was rolled up to her elbow, revealing the bruises and scratches in her arm. The wound on her wrist already stopped bleeding, but it was still smeared with blood.

She glanced to see the man behind her wipe away the dried blood stains on her hand.

His eyes were focused on her injured hand, so she freely watched the person.

Like what she had suspected, it really is the Lord Lucian of Yaron Clan, the man said to have been blessed with an angelic voice by the gods within Mist Mountains.

The male version of the noble lady from the legend.

Yaron Clan is well-known for its music. Prodigies of both stringed and wind instruments reside in the Mist Mountains.

Among them, there was Yaron Lucian. He was said to possess a voice so beautiful and hypnotic that when he sings, the heavens and the gods would shower the mountains with more and more blessings of spiritual energy.

He is simply a genius. The pride of his clan and of Mist Mountains. The youngest to become lord in their generation.

Upon looking, Amaryah saw that he didn't seem to have much changes in his appearance. He still wore that arrogant hair tiara.

His bare face is still clean and handsome, and his robes are still neat and straight. Just like how Amaryah remembered him.

He only has a more serious air about him and seems gloomy, the kind that might snap at you at any moment. Very unlike the gentle and comforting leader that she sees in her memories and the descriptions he had before.

But who is she to know? It has been years. A decade.

"What happened? Are you being chased?" he asked, still busy about her wound.

Amaryah was a little relieved. At least, this was another thing that didn't change. His concern and his voice. A Lucian that she knows.