It was a completely random encounter.
"Why do you look so troubled, young one?" The voice came from an elderly man who sat on a bench by the roadside.
He had red hair, ebony skin, and crimson eyes. He wore a dark robe, holding his walking stick very tightly as he looked at Adonis on that fateful day.
The old man had two horns, which should have made him a lower-middle-class member of society, yet he seemed a little too posh for that. Still, his appearance was the least suspicious thing about him.
It was the way he smiled.
Perhaps it was because Adonis was growing frustrated with planning, or because he was growing increasingly worried about his friends back in the Capital, but he couldn't help but feel uneasy when he looked into the man's eyes.
Still, he knew better than to act on how he felt.
Doing so would only make him appear suspicious, and that would taint his cover.
