Ronan led Molli'er up the hillside, passing through jungles, wheat fields, and a few small villages, until finally, beside a small river covered in dead leaves, they saw an ancient grey castle perched atop a low mountain cliff.
The closer he got to this place "in his memory," the clearer Ronan could sense an inexplicable throbbing deep in his soul.
Many strange yet familiar images kept surging from the depths of his mind, like old seashells buried beneath the sand, washed out by the waves. Ronan was constantly in a subtle state.
Seemingly catching on to the changes in Ronan's mood, Molli'er, who rarely did not engage in conversation, maintained a quiet state.
The two rode their horses up the mountain along a gravel path. While passing through a sparse thicket, Ronan smelled a faint scent of blood in the wind.
"It seems you've come back just at the right time..."
Molli'er grabbed the horse's reins, looked up, took a slight sniff, and said lazily to Ronan.
