"Master! Master!" A village man called.
Scaramouche stood confused, he looked down and saw he was still himself. He just lacked his regular hat, where was it?
"MASTER! IT'S IMPORTANT, PLEASE!"
Scaramouche's body acts on its own, and he places a kind hand on the male's shoulder.
"Explain, dear one. I shall listen."
"T-there's a god killer on the beach!" He says, eyes trembling in fear as his lips shudder.
"God killer? Oh my... how terrible, warn everyone to stay here. I'll take a look at the situation myself," Scaramouche says softly, surprising himself.
He could never be this kind! It must be an act! But he couldn't control himself... was this really what he was like in the past?
Or was this a dream?
Scaramouche trudged down the muddy path to the beach, his feet littered with bits of sand and rocks. Laying in the water is a girl.
As the villager said, she was saturated in the blood of the gods. In her arms was a lance, and her body was decorated with silver armor.
He hesitated, flecks of the golden sun hit her face just right and Scaramouche's other self saw her eyebrows contort in pain.
She was suffering, and his past self couldn't just stand there and watch.
The boy picked her up, careful not to touch her wounds. And now, through all the blood and silver he could see beautiful h/l h/c locks and a sweet face doing it's best to rest peacefully.
How could he abandon someone suffering in their own ways? He could tell she had been through a lot and it would haunt him forever is he just left her there.
So, he moved her up to his cottage in the hill and took good care of her injuries.
He sat for a while and decided to wait until she woke up.
