Empress watched her a moment longer before rising and padding past, her tail brushing Scarlett's legs as she slipped down the street. A few passers-by cast brief glances at the feline, then turned away with the detached air of people too wrapped in their own lives to care.

Scarlett followed, keeping sight of the flicking tail through the crowd.

She was certain this wasn't the Elystead she knew. Beyond the fashion of the people and the unfamiliar stonework, it was midday here — sun blazing high, heat lying on the air like at the height of summer. And beneath it all lingered a charge that prickled against her skin, not unlike how Freymeadow had been.

Which meant this was a Memory.

Almost without thinking, she reached inward towards the power of the Anomalous One and felt it stir, unshackled. That confirmed it. They weren't in the Material Realm.

The thought actually unsettled her more now than it once might have.

The Gentleman had once told her that Memories, for the Zuver, were simple reconstructions of the past, meant to preserve knowledge and nothing more. Their inhabitants were shallow and unthinking. But sometimes, their nature could be distorted, touched by something more, and the boundaries of the Memory could be stretched, blurred to no longer be a mere reflection.

For the longest time, Scarlett had only taken this explanation at face value. She had simply accepted that intent and weight from the past could bleed into these echoes, saved in some abstract format. But after what she had seen of Fate and Time, she had begun to wonder where such echoes truly came from.

A suspicion she had was that these Memories might be born from all the timelines Time had run through — all the worlds erased when he failed to win his wager with The Other. Echoes of realities that had never been allowed to fully exist.

It didn't have to be true. The Gentleman had never said as much, and she couldn't know whether those worlds were even recoverable to that degree. But the idea did fit. And the Anomalous One itself had supposedly once been erased, only to be brought back.

Which made seeing one of these Memories again slightly more disquieting than before. If she was right, then what she walked through now was not just an echo of history, but the husk of a world that had never lived. And if that were true, then Freymeadow—the Freymeadow where Arlene had been trapped at the end of her life—had been another discarded shard as well.

Her jaw tightened. That shouldn't be her focus now.

Empress disappeared into the press of bodies ahead, and Scarlett pushed after her, resisting the urge to snap at the strangers brushing her shoulders. She turned sharply down a narrow street just in time to glimpse a flick of tail vanish through a door left ajar.

When she reached it, she slowed, her gaze rising to the sign above.

Aurelian.

…That was all it said.

A simple bookshop, by the look of it, though the name suggested more.

She stepped inside.

The air shifted instantly. The street's din dulled to a faint hum, replaced by the musk of parchment and ink. Shelves stretched inward in narrow rows that faded into dimness, lined with books of every size.

At the back stood a small, empty desk.

Scarlett paused by the doorway, eyes adjusting. There were no patrons. No sign of Empress.

She moved forward cautiously, gaze sliding across stamped letters and worn spines, none of which stood out.

"Oh, is that a visitor I hear?"

The voice drifted from a back room beyond the desk. Scarlett stilled as footsteps crossed the floorboards.

A man emerged, dressed in simple linens, a small stack of books balanced in one arm. He was bald, his skin soft and sagging with age, a mole above his lip shadowed faintly by stubble.

Scarlett's eyes narrowed. "You—"

The Other raised an eyebrow, mouth curving into a polite smile. "Not the warmest greeting, but yes, I am mee. Welcome to my humble shop. Can I help you with something?"

Scarlett froze. Did he not recognise her? Was…this not the same being she had spoken to before?

"No?" he continued lightly, setting the books down with a quiet thud in the desk's drawer. "I suppose I can't blame you. You've had little time to process. Really, why that cat brought you here already is beyond me, Baroness. Has she never heard of pacing?"

Scarlett's eyes widened, then hardened again. "You are The Other."

He dusted his hands and looked up. "Actually, I go by Aurelian. Did you not see the sign outside?"

"…What?"

"I know, I know. A touch on-the-nose, isn't it? Naming the store after myself. But I am nothing if not consistent in theme. Though you wouldn't know that, of course."

He stepped around the desk. Scarlett drew back a fraction, which only seemed to amuse him as he drifted past to a nearby shelf, running a finger along the spines. "So, then…any reason you've come? Most of my stock's rather outdated for your tastes, but if you are looking for something specific, I might still find a match."

Scarlett's gaze followed him, wariness and confusion mixing with the sharp edge of anger. She hadn't been prepared for this — either for him, or whatever…mask this was.

"…Are you The Other or not?" she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder, smiling faintly again. "Would you be terribly offended if I said that was a pointless question? As I told you, I am Aurelian. What it says on the tin, so to speak. If you want answers from someone else, I'm afraid you are in the wrong place. But if it's books you're after…" He spread his hands. "…I'm your man."

Scarlett studied him in silence.

And here she'd thought that, after all this time, she had a face to the entity that had been toying with her. A frame, however incomplete, for the force that had shaped her path since she arrived in this world, only for whatever this version was to appear and leave her grasp of this being even more confused.

Was this still a Memory? Or had they slipped outside it entirely? Was this, or was this not, the same Other she had spoken with not even a few hours ago?

A thin breath escaped her, some of the tension bleeding from her shoulders. She didn't like it, but if she wanted to deal with him here, she might have to follow whatever rules he set. And here, that seemed to mean treating him as 'Aurelian'.

"I have a question about a certain book you may have sold," she said.

"And which would that be?"

"This."

She reached into her [Pouch of Holding] and drew out a grey, weathered leather volume.

Arlene's journal.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Aurelian turned, his gaze falling on it. He extended a hand.

After a pause, she placed the book in his palm. He turned it over, wetting his thumb briefly before opening and flipping through the pages, humming softly. "Yes… This does look familiar. I did sell this one."

"To whom?"

He looked up at her, smiling. "A woman. Now that I recall, she bore more than a passing resemblance to you."

Scarlett forced down the rush of emotion. "…Why her?"

"Because it seemed hers by right. All books have their owners, Baroness. And when I saw her, I saw a woman hollowed of purpose. This one called to her, offering new meaning." He paged deeper into the journal, his brows lifting as he reached the latter half. "Ah. She made her own additions. How quaint. Did she become a teacher?"

Reaching the final page, he lingered, gaze softening with something like approval, before closing it and nodding. "A kinder end than the one she appeared fated for when she stood in my shop."

"…Did you give her that journal knowing how it would change her?" Scarlett asked.

He shook his head. "As I said, I only gave her what suited. She chose it herself. I did offer her others." His eyes glinted faintly. "But this one called the loudest."

He held it back out to her. Scarlett stared at it a moment before accepting and returning it to her pouch. Then she drew another book — emerald-bound, gilt-edged, adorned with castles and dragons and heroes in delicate script.

Princess Regina's fairy-tale book.

Scarlett had held on to it since she'd taken it from the princess' quarters in Dawnlight Palace. She had compared it many times to Arlene's journal, but its origin had remained a mystery until she spoke with Yamina.

"What of this?" she asked. "Did you sell this one too?"

Aurelian considered it. "I did not."

"…This also tells the future. I know that you were the one to disperse those books."

"I am simply answering your question, Baroness. I have never seen that one before. In fact, if you check the colophon at the back—where the date of printing is listed—what does it say?"

She frowned, flipping past the opening illustration of a wistful princess gazing at a star-strewn sky until she reached the end. Her finger stopped on the neat lines of print.

August, 1136.

Almost eight years ago, going by this world's calendar. But she already knew that. What did it matter—?

She looked back at him. "…Because this Memory takes place in the past, will you not acknowledge selling a book from the future?"

His shoulders moved in a small shrug. "It would be terribly strange if I could recount events that haven't yet taken place, wouldn't it?"

He turned back to the shelves, selecting three books and tucking them under his arm. Walking back to the desk, he placed them neatly on it. "Now, any more questions?"

"Would you even answer them?"

"Unlikely," he admitted with a light chuckle. "As I said, it is somewhat early for you. But surely there is something else I can help you with."

"Such as?"

He spread his arms once more. "You are in a bookshop, Baroness. Care to buy a book?"

Scarlett eyed him warily. "…You wish for me to take one of your books."

"I would have you purchase it, but yes."

"Why?"

"Why not?"

"What do you stand to gain?"

"Beyond payment?" He tilted his head. "Very little. I'd make a poor proprietor if I demanded more of my customers than coin."

"You are no true proprietor."

"Now that is simply factually incorrect. But if you'd rather not, I won't try to force you. Nor could I." He brushed a speck of invisible dust from his sleeve. "Still…it would be a shame. I can already hear one of these books calling your name."

Scarlett's gaze slid to the stack on the desk. The worst part of dealing with this being was how little she truly understood him. She'd barely known he existed until recently.

Was he the sort who manipulated through hidden snares and traps? Or was his reach limited to nudges through systems and circumstance? Experience told her he shouldn't be trusted — yet much of what he'd done had also pushed her forward, strengthened her, and placed power in her hands. It was just his unclear motives that unsettled her.

Aurelian watched her as she stayed quiet.

"If you are suspicious," he said, "then let us make a wager. A wager of relevance. I wager that whichever book I give you will, in time, prove important to whatever path you decide to tread — relevant in a way you cannot yet see but will not regret. All you need do is accept and keep it. If, at the end, it proves useless or even harmful, you win, and may demand of me whatever you wish. If it proves relevant, I win, and all I gain is the satisfaction of being right and the tale of the wager well told." He lifted a brow. "What do you say?"

Scarlett gave him a skeptical look. "What reason do I have to trust you, or the terms you set?"

"What reason do you have not to?"

"Many."

While she said that, the truth was she suspected that a single 'demand' from him outweighed almost anything else she could earn. Even her most recent system quest had promised nothing more than a 'request', but with something like a demand, she could maybe return home if she wanted, meet her sister, free this world, or who knows what else.

But it still felt like striking a bargain with a devil.

Simply declining cost her nothing.

With that said…

She did actually believe he was an entity of his word. The danger with his wagers probably didn't lie in dishonesty but in how he stacked the odds, just as he had with his wager against Time. He would not offer her a book without reason. If he claimed it would be relevant and help her, then her benefitting must, somehow, benefit him as well. Though that much already felt obvious; otherwise, why bring her into this world at all?

At least…that was assuming this 'Aurelian' played by the same rules as The Other.

The question, then, was whether whatever benefit this book might give her would still be worth it even if she didn't win the wager. It sounded like a win-win scenario for her, but that was what made her cautious.

She weighed for a while before eventually speaking. "I would require one amendment."

He smiled faintly. "Yes?"

"I will be the sole arbiter of whether the book proves relevant. My spoken word alone shall suffice, unchallenged by any external force or coercion."

"That seems terribly lopsided, don't you think?"

"It does. But do you not trust me to be honest?"

"Believe it or not, I don't." His arms folded as he studied her with a skeptical expression. However, after a pause, he lowered his head. "But I can accept that. On one minor condition."

"And that is?"

"You may not declare it irrelevant until a certain time has passed."

"How long?"

"Oh, let us say…three months, as an ordinary soul might reckon it."

"An ordinary soul?"

"An ordinary imperial citizen of Freybrook, shall we say. I'm not too fond of wordplay and hair-splitting, but I trust you understand my intent without us becoming mired in pedantry."

Scarlett held his gaze. "And how would this wager be enforced?"

"By plain honesty and mutual honour, naturally. We are not demons or barbarians."

"…Very well."

"Excellent."

He turned to the desk, gesturing with one hand. "Then I'll let you choose. Take whichever calls to you."

Scarlett stepped closer, examining the three volumes there.

The first was bound in dove-grey linen, secured with a silver clasp. Its title, stamped on the front: 'The Kept Hours'.

The second was thinner, its edges dyed a deep red that shimmered when tilted. The spine read 'Vellum & Vermilion'. It felt pliant, almost more like a sheaf of parchment than a proper book.

The third was plain, almost crude, its front marked only by blocky letters: 'A List of Ordinary Days'. Its pages were rough-cut and uneven, the edges fraying.

She took her time considering each. Then her hand drifted back to the dove-grey volume. A faint trace of rosewater clung to it. Faded and old, like a memory she could almost, but not quite, place.

"This one," she said.

"How appropriate," Aurelian replied. "We are, all of us, only what we do with our hours, after all."

Scarlett lifted the book, but when she pressed at the clasp, it did not yield. She turned a sharp look on him.

"Ah." He smiled. "I should have mentioned — this one is peculiar. It will only refuse to open to the hand and eye it was meant for. You may need help."

Her brow furrowed. "…Will anyone do?"

"Perhaps." He moved to gather the other two volumes.

A sharp meow split the following silence. Scarlett looked down to see Empress pressed against her boots, glaring at Aurelian with an expression that looked far too much like disdain for a cat.

"Rude," he remarked mildly, "but not entirely unwarranted. Still, considering I never invited you, I'd say you've little right to complain about a few diversions and missed turns."

Empress hissed.

Aurelian blinked. "I genuinely hope you wouldn't. These books have done nothing to deserve that. You aren't so base a brute…are you?"

The cat didn't look away.

"…I would like to rescind the remark." His gaze flicked back to Scarlett. "It would be best if you left now, Baroness. For both our sakes."

Scarlett studied him one last time. "…Before I go, I have another question."

"Another?"

"'Aurelian'. Why that name?"

She had wondered about it many times while reading through Arlene's journal.

He fell silent, regarding her with unreadable eyes. "What do you think? Do you believe there is any particular meaning behind it?"

"…I do not know. The only familiarity I have with the name is that of an emperor." Her gaze sharpened. "A Roman emperor."

Her history was rusty, so that was about all she could remember. But the fact that it belonged to her old world was what stood out.

"Curious," he said, smiling almost cryptically. "Personally, not the connection I would have drawn, but perhaps."

Scarlett took the evasion of a real answer for what it was. She placed the clasped book into her pouch. "How much does it cost?"

"Well, since you clearly felt conflicted about agreeing to the wager but did so despite that, you can consider it a gift. An apology for placing you in an uncomfortable position."

"…Great." She turned from him. "And when the wager is done? How will I find you?"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I'll see to that."

So he wasn't giving her a simple way to find him. She clicked her tongue.

Another brush at her calf drew her eyes down to Empress pressing close, tail curled around her legs, still glaring daggers at Aurelian. She loosed another low, warning meow, like half a threat and half a promise.

Scarlett considered the cat for a moment. For all Empress' open dislike of the man, she had still brought Scarlett here. Clearly, the cat thought there was something to gain from this meeting, and that was also part of why Scarlett chose to trust the low risk of this wager.

Empress released one final meow, sharp and final. The bookshop dissolved in a whirl of colours, and the Memory collapsed.

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