Suddenly, Ymir reached for his arm and stared straight at Bai Yu. Two chains shackled his hands.
But there was no panic or fear in Bai Yu's eyes. He merely looked at Ymir in confusion.
Ymir slowly walked toward him. Her eyes were still lifeless, but Bai Yu could see the confusion and bewilderment in them, as though she wanted to understand something.
She slowly came to a stop before Bai Yu, cradled his head in one hand, and pressed her forehead against his. Threads of golden electricity began dancing between their foreheads.
Memories began appearing before Ymir and Bai Yu, one scene after another. But Ymir did not understand why, although she could see these images, they were unlike other people's memories, which drifted like duckweed. These were welded to Bai Yu's soul.
Every scene she saw, every memory of his, was deeply engraved on Bai Yu's soul. She could observe them, but she could not alter them.
Still, she only paused briefly before the world before her began to change.
A world of towering buildings appeared before her. Structure after structure rose from the ground, leaving her a little overwhelmed. Behind her, however, Bai Yu gently rested a hand on her shoulder, wearing the same faint smile he always had in his previous life.
But he said nothing, nor did he show the slightest anger at having his memories pried into.
Ymir said nothing either. The scenes before her raced past like a speeding train. She watched an ordinary boy go through his days without much thought: going to school, coming home, going to sleep, and so on.
The bustling world around him seemed absent from his eyes, yet he remained a part of it. Gray was a color too.
The boy liked reading. He liked reading alone,