When Santila passed by the jagged dark spiers, for the first time she didn't marvel at the magic runes etched on them, or stop and watch for a long time.

For the first time, she didn't throw a prank spell at a group of drow patrols riding underground lizards, and watch them look embarrassed when their mounts overturned them.

She even passed an elegant little shop shrouded in brilliant enchanted fire, selling perfumes, soft silk garments, magical trinkets, and other wondrous little things, without casting a longing glance.

At this moment, the dull pain coming from her forehead and back of her head seemed to remind her at all times not to forget that strange figure.

Compared with him, what are these? She rubbed the bruise on her forehead in confusion.

Santila occasionally saw surface humans or half-elves in the market.

A few of them are warriors, but like most drow elves of the same class, she regards these merchants as parasites and will never do business with them.

She had never been so close to a surface dweller, let alone had a long conversation with him.

There is no doubt that this battle mage from the surface world, if you ignore his eyes and just look at his appearance, is a very young half-elf.

Even if calculated in human lifespan, he is about the same age as her, or older than her.

The half-elf towered over her by a head, and he appeared to be taller and stronger than most drow males.

Of course, this strong does not refer to brainless creatures like orcs and ogres, which are all covered in big muscles.

There are many humans with strong physiques, and their muscle outlines are more exaggerated than those of battle mages, but in Santila's opinion, there are very few who are as uniform and strong as him.

When she loses her balance and falls on top of the other person.

She could clearly feel the small muscles in the other person's chest and abdomen that were clearly exercised, as well as the steady and powerful heartbeat.

This inevitably made her heart beat faster.

Who would have thought that what she would receive was a violent blow to her forehead, and the intense pain of the back of her head hitting the ground after she fell to the ground, which made her almost faint.

However these are not important.

In Santila's mind, what really impressed her was those eyes, which were deep and bright, like the brightest black stones on the altar of the blood sacrifice ceremony.

The most important thing is that when she pretended to be sad and recounted her experience in order to escape her predicament, she saw in those deep black eyes a kind of pity that she had almost forgotten.

Does he feel sorry for me?

Santila couldn't believe what she saw, and she even wondered if she had seen it wrong.

It is hard to imagine that a cunning half-elf would make a mistake because of an emotion that is despised by the drow.

She frowned in confusion, and there was a sudden pain on her forehead that was hit by the half-elf, making the picture in her mind inexplicably become a little clearer.

She still remembered that he still had messy black hair and a slightly pale complexion that shone in the candlelight of the stone room.

In any case, the battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr looks strong, intelligent, and... compassionate.

There was no room for compassion in the ancient city of Orens, and she subconsciously believed that what allowed most races to coexist peacefully was not fear, but compassion.

She suddenly began to appreciate this quality that she had long forgotten and despised, even if he belonged to an inferior race.

Moreover, he is also an experienced adventurer and can definitely tell her more about Waterdeep City and Skull Port.

Perhaps it would be more pleasant to find a way to keep him by your side.

Santila absentmindedly fiddled with a strand of white hair hanging on her chest, and before she knew it, she had returned to her room.

She sat in front of the desk, threw away a few burned candle ends, lit a new candle, and began to read books and scrolls.

Tomorrow is her long-awaited coming-of-age ceremony, and she needs to carefully match the spells she has learned in order to quickly complete her hunting ceremony.

However, what depressed her was that despite her best efforts, she was still unable to focus her craved attention on spell learning as usual, and the details of her contact with the battle mage kept replaying in her mind.

She recalled the first time she saw him when she sneaked into the secret room where the half-elf was being held.

He sat quietly at his desk, diligently chewing on mountains of books and scrolls like a gray dwarf digging for mithril.

That serious and focused look actually attracted her a little bit.

Especially his eyes full of pity always come back to her mind, like a continuous melody with a long aftertaste.

A long sigh.

Santila pushed aside all the scrolls she had planned to read.

She stood up from the chair and threw away the drow cloak she was wearing.

Then he threw himself on the bed and planned to rest for a while.

She needed to rest to face the day that was about to begin.

She hugged the silk pillow, but sleep could not come to her.

Suddenly, she looked startled and jumped up from the bed.

A figure stood in front of her silently like a ghost.

Even after so many years, his unexpected appearance still made her feel exhausted.

He definitely did this on purpose, she thought bitterly.

Santila quickly put on an expression that she had practiced countless times in front of the mirror.

This is a careless smile and a cynical look.

The life of a drow is full of complicated intrigues, but to Santila, nothing is more complicated than her feelings for her drow father.

She worshiped and resented, loved and feared, hated and longed for her father. It was hard to imagine that these different emotions could exist at the same time.

Moreover, what made her even more distressed was that none of her feelings received even a little response.

At least, the half-elf she met today, whom she had never met before, could feel pity for her, but he would never.

The chief mage of Ancient Orens City was a complete mystery to her.

Khadrof Pumour is her biological father, but the drow are a matriarchal society.

The Chief Archmage violated tradition and asked her to forcibly leave the first family, Tux, and become a homeless person like him.

Then he ridiculously left her to be raised by the first family.

For this, she paid the heaviest price in her life.

Every time I see him.

She seemed to hear the screams protesting betrayal, betrayal, murder and other evil deeds intertwined with the vicious howls of the high-ranking priests of the Spider Queen who led the drow society.

These sounds have been echoing in her mind and will always have a place, especially the screams of the dying children on the surface.

Before her death, her mother told her that there was a mysterious city hidden deep underground in Waterdeep. As long as they found the Wandering Temple, many drow elves who longed to return to the surface could be saved.

Therefore, deep in her heart, she has always hidden a dream of venturing to the surface.

Santila quickly came to her senses and began to think about why Khadrov Pumol wanted to see her now?

She hasn't heard from him in three years.

Although his servants would pay the Tuckers family's support and education from time to time, and make sure her purse was always full when she occasionally went to the market.

But in Santila's view, this kind of private meeting could only mean trouble.

But what did she do?

Or, to be more precise, was her troublemaking behavior discovered and reported again?

She began to think seriously about what deviant behavior she had committed recently, and which priestess of Lolth had been offended by her mischief spell, so that he had to take action himself.

Then, she thought of a new possibility.

After the blood sacrifice, she will become a true drow.

Maybe he thought she was noteworthy.

So, she raised her head casually and looked at him.

He looked just like he remembered, an old drow male. The color of his eyes was so pale that it was almost impossible to describe, and it looked disturbing.

In Santila's impression, his life span exceeded ten centuries.

It is said that as the chief mage, he watched the demise of his family without any action.

She was convinced of this.

Because he personally killed her mother in order to get her away from the Tux family.

"We meet again."

The chief mage's voice was so soft that she had to listen quietly.

"indeed."

Santila replied playfully, "It's just that the way you meet is still so unique. Sometimes I also wonder if you were often worried about your mistress when you were young, so your appearance is always so disturbing.

Caught off guard.”

She stared closely into his eyes and, to her disappointment, could see nothing.

"Save these words to seduce the guards at the door."

The Archmage said calmly, "As you imagine, I am here for your blood sacrifice. Now, I will stay here until the ceremony begins, because you have too many things to learn, and the preparation time is too long.

Too short."

"I've been preparing. I have plenty of time." She said coldly, suppressing the resentment in her heart.

"Innocent child, becoming a drow is far more than just participating in a barbaric massacre."

The archmage said gloomily, "If my guess is correct, Jonara Tux must be good at this."

Santila heard these meaningful words, and she didn't want to face this reality.

She couldn't believe Aunt Jonara would betray her.

The magical godmother raised her and gave her the care and pampering that most young drow could only dream of receiving.

In addition to her biological mother, she not only gave her life, but also gave her ten years of warmth, safety and even love.

It was Aunt Jonara's indulgence that made her the most free and unrestrained drow in Ancient Orens City.

"You're doubting my judgment."

There was a hint of coldness in the Archmage's calm eyes, "Don't you really think that it was a great adventure? Very good, I am beginning to despair of your judgment."

"So?" Santila said almost desperately.

If it was really like what he said, then the battle mage from the Kingdom of Cormyr...she didn't dare to think about it anymore.

"Stupid kid, I don't want any harm to you."

The Archmage raised his eyelids, looked at his daughter who looked disappointed, and said gently:

"I will give you a magic item that will allow you to kill your prey with ease, thus fulfilling the literal requirements of the ritual. After all, you never paid much attention to Rose's eighth leg, did you?
Chapter completed!