Chapter Six: Mother in the Large Chest

Jormungandr—a name of profound significance to Zohan. It was the beginning of his life and the foundation upon which he stood in this world.

Eighteen years ago, the moment Zohan opened his eyes, he saw Jormungandr.

He had never seen such a beautiful and elegant woman. She wrapped him in a blanket and held him close, bestowing a sense of security upon the terrified and timid infant. He could still remember how warm she felt, like a mother bird tucking her chick into the softest down in her nest, allowing the little bird to poke its head out, curious and brave enough to face a strange and dangerous world.

"You are Zohan; I am Jormungandr."

She gave him his name.

She taught him language, and upon discovering his extraordinary talent for linguistics and conceptual understanding, her expression of joy and fulfillment mirrored that of a true mother. To Zohan, though his soul was that of an adult and his feelings for her were not purely those of a child, she was indeed both mentor and mother. There was worship, respect, reverence, and even a hint of ambiguous affection.

And so—having spent some time in Red Hazel Town without receiving any word from his teacher, seeing this young girl who claimed to be "Jormungandr" stirred ripples in his heart, along with a cascade of doubt, curiosity, and speculation.

What was her relationship to his teacher?

Zohan studied the girl’s features once more and suddenly found them familiar. Her brows and eyes resembled his teacher's. Her eyebrows were delicate and well-defined, sweeping upward like swords, and her eyes were liquid and reflective—though his teacher’s eyes lacked that faint, ghostly blue hue. He instinctively shifted into his professional medical gaze, analyzing the bone structure beneath her skin.

"Why do you keep staring at me?" the girl asked, curious as to why the youth seemed more interested in her than in the blood-pig. Surely the blood-pig was the treasure; it could bring people back to life! She sensed no malice in him, only a feeling she couldn't quite describe. She continued to tilt her head, meeting his gaze, hoping he would look at her blood-pig again.

Zohan had already reached a conclusion. If she were older, she would look even more like Jormungandr—very similar, but not identical. This meant it was highly unlikely that his teacher had suffered sudden amnesia and reverted to youth. If his teacher really had become this, Zohan wouldn't know what to do; he supposed he would just have to keep her by his side, reversing their roles so that he might take care of her.

Yet, they looked so much alike that there must be a connection—perhaps a blood relation. Zohan found it hard to believe; could clues about his teacher really be found so easily?

Two years had passed, and he missed her dearly. While immersed in magical research on the Isle of Ye-Lantis, he hadn't felt the weight of time, but since leaving, the years of her absence felt agonizingly long, far exceeding two years.

"You said your name is Jormungandr. Who gave you that name?" Zohan asked, his gaze falling upon her lips, which were gradually regaining their natural, delicate crimson hue. Her lips were the most striking resemblance to his teacher; those soft, supple corners were almost identical. In the sixteen years he had spent with Jormungandr, her appearance had never changed. Her lips were like a flower plucked from time itself, eternally beautiful and alluring.

"Mother... but you can call me Yeye. Mother always calls me Yeye."

As the girl spoke, her expression dimmed, and she turned to look at Celiade on the bed.

"Yeye, Yeye, Yeye"—the phantom sound of a tragic melody began to assault Zohan’s mind. He pressed his temples. "Yeye, that’s a lovely name. I’ll call you Yeye, then... your mother..."

Yeye interrupted him: "Hurry and fix... um, repair my blood-pig."

Zohan suppressed his urgent need to confirm the clues about his teacher and turned to look at Celiade, whom he had left splayed open on