The tiny old woman burst out laughing in the middle of sipping her wine.
Rita held her breath and refused to look at the deranged little old lady. She was convinced that Lightchaser's awful temper had been completely ruined by Wail.
But a second later, a scroll appeared in front of her—dangling from a silver thread. The thread led back to a small, wrinkled hand.
Rita followed the thread with her eyes, and at the end sat Wail, silver hair coiled neatly atop her head like a retired professor or doctor, all poised smiles and polite demeanor. She sat in a chair made for her size, tiny feet certainly not reaching the floor beneath the table.
Rita took the scroll. It was an S-level skill—exactly the kind of long-range attack she'd been dreaming about.
Her eyes lit up. "For me?"
Wail smiled. "Happy Flame Festival."
"Happy Flame Festival! May you live forever!" Rita chirped as she quickly learned the skill on the spot. No way was she giving it a second's chance to be snatched back.
