Awen | Priestess of Light

Chapter 5: News and Alliance

Trust is earned when actions meet words

~Chris Butler

"Silly me. I think my memory was slowly retiring. For a split second, I thought you were someone I knew." The beggar chuckled and slightly scratched his temple. "Yet your eyes reminded me of Elizabeth, her sparkling blue oceanic eyes like the great wide sea. Just like yours. Indeed very calm but scary whenever she gets angry. May I know your name, young lord?"

Lysander raised a brow, cut his gaze from two armored guards who were retreating away, and transferred it to the beggar who was caressing the purr of his sleeping floppy-white cat beside him.

He didn't know if the old man was playing tricks on him, mentioning very familiar names. Surprisingly, his parent's given names. Perhaps the old man wasn't a beggar but a paid assassin hired to kill him. It happened many times before though, it might happen again.

However, there was something on the old man despite having a God-like body and that scar that kept sending a different impression to him.

Perhaps this was entirely a mere coincidence he thought, besides there were thousands of people in the continent with the same names. So instead, he considered everything and decided to play along. But ensured his hand at the threatening distance on his knife behind him. If he had proved the old man was an assassin. Lysander could strike as quickly as possible.

"Let me guess. They are the Braveheart."

The beggar lifted his surprised gray eyes to look at Lysanders who refused to answer his question and had an unreadable expression towards him.

"Do you read minds?"

Lysanders' eyes narrowed. "Yes. And I could tell, you wanted to lure me because you think I'm an easy prey that can be manipulated. Unfortunately, I could clearly see your plans, old man from Mourodowey."

There was a long paused between them before the beggar laughed heartily, his huge voice filled the peaceful scenery, even the sleeping cat shut opened his green eyes to looked at his owner. Yet the begar voice seemed to entwine in the wind and in Lysander's eyes, the bright sun seemed to shine more brightly and the Acacia tree was also dancing.

He didn't understand or perhaps the heat from the blazing sun has something to do with his eyes, cause every time he will look at the beggar there was strange light bathing over him, and there was a voice inside his head that kept saying. Trust him

"Believe whatever you want, young lord. I can't force you to believe in me, anyway." The beggar scoped his cat, gently. Then continue to brush his purr. "Maybe my accent sounds so western basically because I stayed there for a very long time but I can assure you I am raised at the Arena of Pheonicious and luckily, had the chance to teach some brute in that place. I can name a few students of mine if you wanted to know since you've been there yourself."

The begar smiled innocently but Lysander's face tightened. Maybe it was true, but it should be a very terrible long time since his accent was articulately perfect. Considering he stayed at Pheonicious for eight long years yet his poor accent can't even match the accent from a natural born child residing there.

Yet despite all these the beggar responds strengthen his suspicion, his hand automatically grabbed for his knife, and a grim smile crossed his face. However, that small voice spoke and distracted him once again.

Trust him.

"You are far away from your homeland, old man. That's intriguing indeed, why lived like a beggar in this foreign land when you were a former master at the Arena?"