…
March 7th, night-time.
The bookshop stood at the edge of Misty Street Market near the Redfern Street, wedged between a tailor's store and a tea house. Its wooden sign swayed gently in the wind, the painted letters— "Cael's Read and Mysteries"—faded with age. Light glowed from within, spilling onto the fogged street.
Sebastian paused at the entrance before entering as he hesitated for a moment. He felt something unsettling about it-but he ignored it anyway.
The shop was still open, though it was well past the usual hour.
He finally pushed the door open and entered inside. A bell chimed softly.
The air inside had a familiar bookish smell—tinged with wax, leather, and dust. Shelves rose tall on either side, crammed with various books that stretched toward the ceiling. There ware particular divided sections for each genre. It was like a labyrinth built from ink and paper.
At the counter, a gloomy old man with a grey coloured- top hat on his head and golden spectacles perched at the edge of his nose—looked up, his face reflected his years of experience.
"Are you perhaps, Mr Cael?" he asked, voice even. "I saw it written on the name board outside."
"Yes, I'm Cael the shopkeeper and owner of this bookstore. And I must remind you that you're late for a gentleman, mr customer" the shopkeeper Cael muttered, voice calm but not unkind.
"Isn't he kind of weird, his vibe is different from general shopkeepers…moreover I have never heard or seen this bookshop before. It must've started recently." Sebastian thought for a moment.
"I'm Sebastian Stormvale. I was searching for something specific," Sebastian replied, his tone polite, measured. He slipped his notebook from his coat pocket and unfolded the page with the scribbled title. "Do you perhaps have "Foundations of Esoterica" by someone named Mr. white?"
The shopkeeper's eyebrows twitched the moment Sebastian spoke the title aloud. His hand, which had been idly straightening a stack of parchments, stilled.
"What did you just say?" His voice lowered, heavy with suspicion. "Esoterica? A dangerous choice you've got there, young man. Books like that aren't for normal readers. In fact, no one has sever bought this book, I only have this book by pure coincidence- you can't even find it in the market" His sharp eyes narrowed as if trying to measure Sebastian's intent. "Tell me—how do you know of it?"
Sebastian clasped his hands calmly behind his back, his tone measured but not defensive. "By coincidence," he said. "Weeks ago, while sorting papers in the university archives, I found a half-torn parchment. The ink was nearly faded, but one thing remained clear and it was the name of this book." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "It lingered in my mind ever since. I thought of it as a mere scholar reference, nothing more… until I finally made a decision to find it tonight."
The shopkeeper studied him in silence, the lamplight casting long shadows across his lined face.
"That book isn't on public shelves. Wait here" He shuffled off into the back, lantern swaying.
Sebastian exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing over the nearby books. Their titles glimmered faintly in the lamplight—The Fifth Chronicle of History, The Principles of Alchemy, The Angels and the God . His hand lingered on that last one, but he did not pull it free.
The bell above the door chimed again.
Sebastian turned to look.
A man stepped inside, and the shop seemed to pause. His crimson hair caught the lamplight, his blue eyes sharp, scanning the surroundings. A suit of deep velvet, silver-thread embroidery glinting at the cuffs, gloves pale as snow. He looked like some runaway aristocrat who had just stepped out of a ballroom.
The shopkeeper's apprentice, a boy arranging volumes at the far end, nearly dropped a stack at the sight.
Sebastian's keenly observed. A noble? Here? At this hour?
The man—Reinhardt Van Astraelis—met his eyes for the briefest moment.
Both turned away almost at once, as if trying to hide their identities.
Reinhardt strolled down here and there, his gloved hand trailing over books like a bookworm. movements were confident, but his eyes carried a faint restlessness.
The silence was broken by a sound from the back room.
Wham!
A sharp crash.
The shopkeeper's voice rose, strained. "Who—! Who is there! Thieves!"
Sebastian's back tiffened. Reinhardt's hand instantly slipped to his coat, where a gun lay hidden beneath the fine fabric.
Wham!
Another crash followed.
Then came the sound of hurried footsteps, and the back door being slammed open.
Two men in rough balck coats pushed through, faces half-covered with masks. One held a knife, the other a sack that bulged with stolen books.
"Get out of the way!" one shouted, shoving the old shopkeeper aside.
The apprentice yelped, dropping an armful of volumes where two books of same appearance stood out the most.
Sebastian stepped forward without hesitation. His voice was calm, but it carried weight. "Put the books down. Those aren't yours."
The thief snarled. "Move assh*les! unless you want to get home crippled".
Reinhardt chuckled softly from the next aisle, his voice carrying with ease. "Threats that clumsy should be illegal. You'll embarrass proper criminals." He stepped into view, his noble attire gleaming under the lantern light.
The thieves froze for a heartbeat, startled. "You… you're a noble —"
"And you," Reinhardt cut him off, his tone mocking, "are trash spilling filth in a bookshop at midnight. How disappointing."
The thief with the knife lunged at Sebastian. His movements were fast but desperate. Sebastian sidestepped smoothly and dodged, then he grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it sharply. The knife clattered to the floor. With his other hand, Sebastian shoved him against the shelf, books tumbling down around them.
Meanwhile, the second thief tried to rush for the door with the goods in hand. Reinhardt moved with sudden speed, almost lazy in grace yet precise. He caught the man by the collar and slammed him onto a table stacked with old tomes. Wood cracked, paper flew, and the thief groaned. He was pinned under Reinhardt's boot.
"Careful," Reinhardt murmured, pressing down just enough to make the man squirm. "If you damage these books further, I might lose my temper."
Sebastian dragged his opponent back, forcing him to the floor. The thief struggled hard but Sebastian's grip was unyielding.
Reinhardt pressed his boot down hard on the thief's back and smirking.
"Really now? Of all things to steal in the middle of the night… books?" His tone dripped with amusement. "Do you plan to sell dusty pages on a street corner? Pathetic."
Sebastian added dryly, straightening his coat,
"Or perhaps he hoped reading might make him smarter. Though judging by his aim with a knife, it's already too late."
Moments later, the shopkeeper Cael returned, holding a rusty revolver with shaking hands. He slipped away to the storage room when the thieves were threatening them.
Cael froze when he saw the scene—the thieves were subdued and the books were spared. His mouth worked soundlessly before he lowered the weapon.
Reinhardt lifted his boot, brushing his gloves clean as though nothing had happened. "Your shop attracts interesting guests," he remarked dryly.
Sebastian released his hold, letting the thief slump unconscious. His gaze shifted to Reinhardt again, but longer this time. "And you handle yourself well… for a man dressed for a ball."
Reinhardt smirked. "And you, for a man who speaks like a scholar but fights like a soldier."
The shopkeeper, still pale, hurried to bind the thieves with rope. "Thank you, both of you. If they'd escaped with those books—"
"Some things just shouldn't leave the shelves, they are good in the place they normally are. I've learned this as a university student," Sebastian said quietly.
Reinhardt's eyes flickered, intrigued by the words. "Hmm… whats so special about those books? Especially those dark green ones", he thought.
He turned to the counter, tapping his gloved fingers on the wooden desk. "Originally, I came here for a novel or just some normal books. But perhaps I'll get the same one as him."
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "What? No you shouldn't pry into someone else's business"
"Doesn't matter, because I'm just getting what I want ", Reinhardt a smirk.
"You sure are a stubborn fellow", Sebastian stated.
The shopkeeper hesitated. His gaze moved between the two young men, then he sighed. "You're both looking for knowledge that's… dangerous. The author is not fully known and the book seemed to be written in a weird "way" of consisting many languages, even I can't decipher it. Are you certain?"
Neither answered directly. Silence stretched, thick as the dust-laden air.
Finally, the old man fetched two dark green covered texts from beneath the counter. He set them down carefully. "You are lucky, I have exactly two copies of this."
Reinhardt tried to open and take a peek at the contents of the book- "Foundations of Esoterica". His blue eyes gleamed faintly.
The pages were a bit yellowish and brown while the cover was bound in dark green leather, worn smooth with age, its surface etched faintly with silver lines forming circles and symbols. The title—"Foundations of Esoterica"—was pressed deep into the spine, the letters so thin they looked as though they might vanish if touched too roughly. It had the kind of presence that made one instinctively lower their voice in its company.
Sebastian's hand brushed over the same title. His pulse quickened, though his face remained calm.
Sebastian asked quietly, "How much does it cost?"
Reinhardt's voice slid in before the answer: "He means in money, not lives, I hope."
The shopkeeper—Cael, as his nameplate declared—folded his arms across his chest. His expression was grave. "I can't sell it outright. Books like this aren't meant to stay on private shelves. You'll have to return it when the time comes. A rent, not a purchase. Two Elar for the month."
Sebastian blinked. "Two Elar? For a single book?" His thoughts slipped too quickly into words. "That's absurd. What could possibly be in it worth that much?"
In Ivansia kingdom, twelve Lire equaled one Elar. Twenty-four Lire, then—more than most average households could spare for a week's food. For students still dependent on their families, it was no small price.
He exhaled slowly, unwilling to look foolish. "Sorry but don't have that much money on me currently. I thought it wouldn't cost this much. Sh*t, I'll need to go home first and ask my parents to get some." He thought while he was feeling a bit embarrassed.
Before Sebastian could say anything out, Reinhardt chuckled under his breath, he had noticed Sebastian's situation. He reached into his coat and drew out coins with an ease that contrasted sharply against Sebastian's hesitation. "No need to make it difficult. I'll cover it." He placed four Elar on the counter, the metal clinking like a closing door.
Cael raised his brows at the excess but swept the coins into his till without argument.
Sebastian stiffened, he didn't wanted to owe anyone anything. He wanted to refuse—as any gentleman would—but in the end he pressed down the urge and gave a short nod. "…Thank you. I'll repay it as soon as I can."
Reinhardt's knowing smile lingered, as if repayment was the last thing on his mind.
The book, heavy and dark with its faded gilded lettering, slid into Sebastian's hands. Together with books they needed, they stepped out into the mist-bound street, the bell above the shop door chiming their departure.
A strange quiet filled the shop, as though the world itself had noticed this moment. Two paths crossing, threads weaving together.
…
Outside, the fog still lingered. The thieves had been turned over to the nearby police as Cael said and the shop had finally closed its doors.
Sebastian adjusted his coat, the book tucked neatly under his arm. He turned to leave—only to hear a voice behind him.
"Wait."
Reinhardt stepped forward, hands in his pockets, his noble bearing softened by the night air. "After all that, don't you think a drink is in order?"
Sebastian gave him a sharp look. "You invite strangers that easily?! Have some manners"
Reinhardt grinned faintly. "I do have manners as someone from the church and high society. Though it isn't important right now… We are the survivors of the same night. We should at least introduce each other as a grown up and drink is the best way to do so"
There was something disarming about his tone. Bold, playful, but not insincere. Sebastian studied him for a moment before finally giving a small nod. "Fine. One drink."
Reinhardt's smile widened. "Good. There's a place not far from here. I saw it on the way here. Nothing grand—just enough to clear the dust of old paper from our lungs."
They walked through the misted-foggy streets, silence lingering between them but not heavy. At the corner, lantern light spilled from a low-roofed tavern as the sound of laughter and the clink of glasses drifted into the air.
Reinhardt pushed the door open with a flourish. "After you, scholar."
Sebastian stepped inside first and Reinhardt followed him after.