Upon hearing that, the girl's expression changed. Concern spread across her face. She parted her lips slightly, then placed her tiny hand over her mouth before exclaiming:
"How awful! Are you alright?"
The young man waved his hand gently with a reassuring smile, as if to dispel her worry the way a breeze scatters fallen autumn leaves. Then he said in a warm tone:
"It was nothing more than a few scratches. No need to worry."
She fell silent for a moment, reflecting on his words. From the looks of him, it didn't seem like a minor incident. She sighed and said:
"Well, I'm glad you're okay. Still… it must've been quite the accident if you lost your shoes."
"Huh?"
The sound escaped him faintly. He looked down at his feet and saw that he was indeed barefoot—wearing only his dirty black socks. He blinked several times, searching quickly for an explanation. Only one came to mind: the harsh impacts with the ground must have been the cause. What puzzled him most was how he hadn't noticed until now. On the other side, although the girl wasn't fully convinced by his explanation and felt he was hiding much more than he'd revealed, she chose to let it go. Her gaze wandered across his clothes again. Then, in a dreamy voice tinged with quiet passion, she whispered:
"I hope to visit your country someday, just to see the clothes there. They must have beautiful designs."
The young man smiled once more, this time with a questioning look as he tilted his head slightly:
"Why are you so interested in clothing?"
Her cheeks flushed with a shy hue upon hearing the question. She took a step back, grasping the edge of her dress and lifting it slightly in a respectful gesture. Lowering her head, she replied in a formal tone, touched with a trace of embarrassment:
"Forgive me, sir. I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Emilia Joti Blamin, and I'm a seamstress from the town of Shilda."
In that moment, he understood her interest in the details of his attire. He gave a polite bow in return and said with a voice full of gentle warmth:
"A pleasure to meet you. My name is—"
He paused, as though the words had frozen on his lips. He drifted into thought, his eyes fixed on the ground as if searching for something lost. Emilia raised her eyebrows in silent wonder, questioning his hesitation. He looked up at her again, lost in her childlike gaze. Then, straightening himself, he took a deep breath, placed a hand on his chest, and said:
"My name is Ace, a traveler from a distant land."
After this introduction, he extended his hand toward her in a clear invitation to shake. Emilia stared at his outstretched hand for a few moments, as if she too had drifted off. Ace noticed the hesitation on her face and asked gently:
"Is something wrong?"
The girl closed her eyes briefly. The pause was short, but when she opened them again, they gleamed with a different spark. Her lips curved into a smile, and in a soft voice laced with warmth and secrecy, she said:
"No, it's nothing… I just remembered something."
Then, she reached out her small hand, as if building a silent bridge between them. They shook hands—her touch was warm, her skin a strange blend of softness and roughness, as though it bore both the traces of a pampered childhood and the mark of labor no small hand should yet endure.
They held each other's gaze for a few moments. In that instant, it felt as if everything around them had faded away—as if the world had stepped back to give them a moment of their own. But reality would not let them linger too long. From afar, a voice called out, snapping them back:
"Hey, you two! Are you planning to stand there all day or what?"
They both turned toward the sound, only to see something unexpected—the long line that had been slowly crawling ahead of them had completely vanished. Time seemed to have leapt forward while they were lost in that fleeting moment. Quickly, they moved toward the gate, where the guard was calling them. As they approached, Ace leaned slightly toward Emilia and asked in a hushed voice:
"Do I need a permit or something to enter the town?"
Emilia raised her head and looked into his eyes with calm assurance, as though trying to ease the tension in his voice. In a soft yet confident tone, she replied:
"No, you don't have to worry. The guards just check luggage to make sure visitors aren't carrying anything suspicious. As long as you're not hiding anything, you'll be fine."
Despite her reassuring tone, her words weren't enough to calm his nerves. He knew that if his bag were opened, its contents would raise questions. But even so, he had no choice but to move forward.
The town gate stood tall and imposing, crafted from dark wood and adorned with intricate carvings that seemed etched by expert hands long ago. Its appearance was majestic, commanding awe. Yet, despite its grandeur, Ace found himself less preoccupied with the gate itself and more captivated by the two guards standing before it. The resemblance between them was astonishingly uncanny, as if they were mirrored images, repeated before the eye without the slightest variation. Even the fine waves in their unkempt, orange hair appeared identical, as though they spent hours styling it into that peculiar form.
Their faces bore an expression of stern resolve, their green eyes sharp and observant. Freckles stretched across their cheeks like a bridge over their noses, enhancing the sense of eerie symmetry. They looked, quite simply, like matching portraits brought to life.
Their physiques defied the usual expectations of town sentries. Neither were they burly nor muscular—instead, they were slender. But their appearance did not suggest weakness; rather, it hinted at agility and a strength rooted in speed and precision. Their lean bodies were partially hidden behind simple metal armor.
In their grasp were long spears, nearly double their height, with gleaming metal tips that shone conspicuously. In their other hands, each held a thick book, its pages yellowed as though soaked in years of dust and age. The leather covers were adorned with mysterious inscriptions, symbols that seemed to belong to an unfamiliar language. Ace couldn't help but wonder—how could two guards, supposedly on duty and in a constant state of alertness, be carrying books to read? Or perhaps those books held a significance that went far beyond mere pastime or personal pleasure? Could their importance be intertwined with the very essence of their role?
The moment the two guards laid eyes on little Emilia, their expressions changed dramatically. It was as if a hidden enchantment had been cast—sternness vanished in an instant, replaced by wide, gleaming smiles. Their bright white teeth stood out vividly against their darker skin. One of them stepped forward with a playful wink in his sparkling eyes and said teasingly:
"Oh, Emilia! Every time I see you, I remember that there are still sweet girls in this world."
His words carried a curious blend of cheerfulness and admiration, subtly conveying a deeper message. It was a delicate thread, balancing jest and respect. His gaze was laced with a gentle hint of irony, as if to imply that the girl's presence was the very opposite of some other young woman's behavior. Yet, that lighthearted atmosphere shifted abruptly—as though an invisible thread had twisted—when their attention turned to the young man standing beside her. The warm smiles faded, replaced by wary, suspicious stares.
In a single moment, they resembled hunters scrutinizing a mysterious prey. Their eyes scanned him thoroughly—from his worn clothing, bearing the marks of a long journey, to the look in his eyes that seemed to tell an untold story.