Chapter 203 Rosie's Past of Being Chased
The moment Amelia's gaze locked with Lon's, something in her eyes shifted. Her pupils tightened—a subtle contraction only someone watching closely would notice—and her breath caught for a moment.
Her reaction was fleeting, no instinct, survival took over before the moment could linger. Whatever flare of alarm had risen in her subconscious was buried beneath a mask of composure as flawless as carved stone.
She met his assessing stare with a cool, unyielding expression. There was no hint of recognition, no flicker of emotion beyond the faint irritation of someone whose sleep had been interrupted. Even that she smoothed away, out of courtesy.
"Sorry, sir. I'm just a little tired this morning."
Her voice was even, almost lazy, as she looked directly at him. "I haven't taken riding lessons before."
"I see," Lon replied, his tone unchanged, the faint curve of a polite smile still at his lips. "That's fine. I simply wanted to know. If you haven't had prior experience, don't worry—I'll give you individual guidance during class."
The words hung between them like a thread pulled taut. "Individual guidance." Amelia's expression didn't shift.
"Then I'll be in your care," she said, her voice level but courteous.
Lon adjusted his glasses with a graceful motion, his voice warm. "It's no trouble. It's my responsibility to ensure every student receives proper instruction."
It was, in truth, a silent duel—one only the two of them understood. Beneath the polite exchange, every word was a move, every glance a test. Lon's eyes, sharp behind the lenses, stayed fixed on her, searching for the smallest tremor in her composure.
He found none. Amelia's lashes barely lifted, her tone languid, the picture of someone who had just woken and was meeting a stranger for the first time. Either she was hiding it too well… or she truly didn't know him.
When Lon finished his brief introduction, Donny addressed the class. "Now that you've met Mr. Ramos, you can collect your new riding gear. Once you've changed, head to the arena."
He turned to Lon. "Mr. Ramos, you can head to the stables. The assistants are already there."
"Of course, Mr. Dickson." Lon's smile was polite, his nod precise.
But before leaving, he glanced back—deliberately or not—toward the corner where Amelia sat. She didn't raise her head, yet she felt it. That gaze cut through the chatter and movement of the room, landing squarely on her.
She kept her eyes down, lashes still, but when the door closed behind him, she drew in a deep breath.
She hadn't expected Lon to come here.
Two years ago, when she had still been Rosie, the youngest heir of the Demon Hunter bloodline had found her. He had discovered her existence not through chance, but through the pull of her power.
Back then, her life—both the one people saw and the one she kept hidden—had drawn a dangerous kind of attention. The more humans admired her, desired her, the more her soul power swelled.
The Demon Hunter clan possessed an artifact passed down through generations, "The Soultrace Matrix". Its core algorithm could locate and analyze the energy signature of a Rose Dryad. The stronger the surge of soul power, the sharper the coordinates it displayed—sometimes precise enough to track her in real time.
The first time Lon found her was because of an accident.
She was living in Novaria then. One evening, just after eight, a fire broke out on the sixth floor of a department store. Hundreds were trapped. She had been sitting by the window in a café on the first floor, reading.
The alarm blared. Panic swept through the building. Security and police rushed to evacuate the crowd. People fled in confusion, pushing toward the exits.
She was the only one who, upon hearing what had happened, ran toward the sealed stairwell leading to the sixth floor. One kick shattered the maintenance lock.
The moment the door swung open, smoke rolled out in choking waves, swallowing the light. Visibility was almost nothing. Firelight glared in her eyes. The trapped crowd huddled together, voices breaking into screams and coughs.
That was the first time she had used her soul power at such intensity.
She walled off the smoke, slowed the spread of the flames, aided the firefighters in extinguishing the blaze. She cooled the bodies of the burned, steadied the hearts of the unconscious.
By the time the fire was out, she was drained, her strength strained to the limit. She leaned against the wall, catching her breath.
She was about to slip away when she saw him.
Lon stood across the wreckage, advancing one deliberate step at a time. His eyes were cold. "You're a Rose Dryad."
It wasn't a question—it was a verdict. His second sentence was the same. "You caused this fire."
Lon's features were sharply cut, his posture unyielding, the embodiment of a righteous enforcer. His gaze held pity for the injured, but also a raw, unflinching hatred for her. His third sentence was colder still. "You deserve to die."
In his mind, a Rose Dryad was selfish, predatory, feeding on humanity to grow stronger. She would never willingly sacrifice her power to save humans. So when he sensed a Rose Dryad unleashing high-level soul energy in a burning building that had nearly claimed hundreds of lives, the conclusion was inevitable—she had started the fire to kill and feed.
The Demon Hunter arsenal included a weapon known as the Wraithbane Nail. If driven into her body, it would destroy the core of her soul instantly, erasing her from every world and every record of existence.
That night, she had nothing left to fight with. She had saved lives until her power was almost gone. And yet she nearly fell beneath the strike of Lon's Wraithbane Nail.
It took every shred of strength to escape the edge of death. But that night was not an ending—it was the beginning of the hunt.
Lon knew she was powerful. And by the creed of his kind, the stronger the Rose Dryad, the greater the urgency to destroy her. If one so strong turned to malice, the disaster could be catastrophic.
He had seen her face. He began to hunt her. They clashed more than once, and each time she slipped away by the narrowest margin.
His relentless pursuit became a shadow over her life.
She wanted no part of it.
A year ago, she vanished into the mountains. Months ago, she shed Rosie's body, moved through the human world unseen, and finally took root in Amelia's form—a rebirth, a chance at a life untouched by the past.
She had found peace. She had love, friendship, the bond of her brothers—things she had never held in her previous life. She cherished them.
And now Lon was here, at her school.
He hadn't come for the job. He had come for her.
She didn't know how he had found her trail. But she knew one thing—Lon didn't yet realize Amelia was Rosie.