Azel stood frozen for the briefest moment, blinking once to make sure what he was seeing was real.
This… was truly her?
The Saintess's mother, in the original game, was supposed to be pale, weakened, her beauty dimmed by the slow advance of illness.
She would spend her days at a stall, coughing into a rag, pushing through the pain so she could sell enough to buy bread.
That was the trigger for the Saintess's arc.
Heal the mother, the daughter joins the path of sainthood.
Simple.
But the woman before him was nothing like that image.
She was vibrant.
Blonde hair gleaming like wheat under sunlight, blue eyes clear and lively, skin without the faintest shadow of sickness.
Not even the faint rasp of a cough.
She stood behind her stall selling neatly folded clothes, every movement practiced and graceful.
That… wasn't supposed to happen.
Azel coughed lightly to cover his hesitation and decided to adapt.
