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The gray mist clashed sharply with the valley's birdsong and blooming flowers.
It gave Ambrose a sense of illusion and corruption, an oddly familiar sensation, almost as if he were looking at himself.
Yet the shape condensing from the mist was someone he had not seen in a very long time.
Chestnut hair tied into a long ponytail. Sun-bronzed skin. Long, athletic legs. Bright, lively eyes… The hazy memory in Ambrose's mind suddenly cleared up the moment he saw that face.
"Alina?" Ambrose said uncertainly.
Alina gave him a charming smile. "It's been a long time. What should I call you now? Which name are you using these days?"
Ambrose gave a wry smile. "Didn't you always call me a shameless bastard? Alina, what are you doing here? And what exactly have you… turned into?"
Alina didn't seem bothered by the question at all. She replied casually, "Does that matter to you? I remember you saying you'd never refuse any woman, no matter what race she was."
Ambrose fell silent for a moment, then laughed. "That's true. I really did say that."
He had said those exact words once before. The very next day, their adventuring party had encountered a hag.
But Alina...
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