She was unmistakably Lam, judging by her tattered yet familiar clothes. Raizel had forgotten the finer details of her appearance, but there was no mistaking her now.
She sat hunched over, sobbing quietly, her whole body trembling with despair. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, and she looked utterly defeated.
Passersby cast sympathetic glances at her, as if seeing yet another unfortunate beggar of wilderness.
Despite all the the sympathy, no one was kind enough to get close to comfort her.
But to everyone's surprise, the white haired handsome warrior in simple commoner clothes stepped forward.
He approached her gently and called out in a soft, almost resonating voice:
"Lam."
The moment the familiar voice reached her ears, a jolt of electricity seemed to coarse through Lam's entire body. Her breath caught, and she slowly lifted her head.
Her teary eyes widened as they met the gaze of the young mage—just as she had hoped.
"Sir M—"
