In the morning, he was standing on the road with his luggage. His aunt stood before him, holding his hands.
"Come to me whenever you can. Don't forget to write letters."
"I will."
He wiped the tears off her face and hugged her.
Then he got into the carriage before looking towards his friend's home. They had not come to send him off and their door was locked too.
Angela hadn't said anything about it. But he didn't wait, he just left in the carriage.
The carriage took him to the station.
As soon as he entered the railway station, he was met with a crowd, going on about.
He remembered Leorna telling him to come meet her near platform 8.
Just like she said, she was standing right under the platform number 8.
He walked to her and greeted her, "Hello, Miss Leonara."
Leonara smiled and waved her hand to him.
"Ready to leave?"
He nodded.
"We will leave shortly after some people arrive."
Jaeron just stood there, waiting for the people she said.
He sat on his big suitcase, an old, battered trunk, staring at the glistening railway tracks. The autumn wind bit his cheeks, rustling his hair.
His mind reeling with all the years of thoughts. How he wished he would grow up to be like the characters he had read about. It was like a dream for him, all of this normalcy had been shattered in a single day.
"Whatcha staring at, boy?"
The voice came from behind him, feminine and familiar to him. The voice which he heard a number of times, through all sorts of emotions.
He turned to look at the woman to whom the voice belonged and upon seeing her, his eyes turned wide as saucers and his jaw dropped to the floor.
It was Angela Torrell and she was dressed in a completely different attire from the ones he used to see her in daily.
She walked towards him with the grace of a high class noble, her long white gown catching soft light as it flowed around like a whisper of moon light. The stitching ran diagonally from her left shoulder to the hem of her gown. Over the gown, she wore a high collared robe of deep grey, its sleeves long and fitted, the fabric shifting like smoke when she moved.
Her boots clicked softly against the stone floor, polished leather rising to her knees. Her hair, the color of dark honey, was braided neatly down her back, bound by a silver clasp in the shape of a crescent moon. She carried herself with the kind of effortless confidence that made people step aside without a word.
In one gloved hand, she held a slim pipe, it's bowl glowing faintly blue as curls of smoke coiled into the air.
Men were staring at her, blatantly, enchanted by her beauty.
Just like Jaeron was, he was so much in daze that he failed to see his friend walking beside her.
"Jared?!"
"Hello darling."
Jared furrowed his brows at the greeting she gave him but he was too preocupied with the new development.
He looked at Jaeron who was just as confused as he was.
"What is happening here?|"
Leonara shook her head, and said, "As you know who this is, but let me introduce her again."
"She is the Witch of the Mundraken, Angela Torrell."
A witch?!!
Both Jared and Jaeron looked dumbfounded.