The interior of the Royal Library was even more breathtaking than its facade. Soma followed Belkas across a polished marble floor so vast it felt like an open plaza, all under a vaulted ceiling that soared into the heavens, painted with constellations that shimmered with a soft, magical light. The air smelled of aged paper, lemon-scented polish, and a faint, electric hum of contained magic. Towering shelves of dark, rich mahogany stretched up into the gloom, creating canyons of literature. The only sounds were the reverent hush of quiet breathing and the distant, whisper-soft turning of a thousand pages.
"So," Belkas said cheerfully, his pleasant voice a stark contrast to the intimidating scale of the room, "you seem new in this duchy." He turned to look at Soma, an inquisitive but kind glint in his elven eyes.
Soma, still stunned by the sheer grandeur of the place, felt a jolt of anxiety. He didn't know how to respond, so he just gave an awkward, jerky nod.
Belkas didn't seem to notice, continuing his observation as they walked. "Matter of fact, you seem new to the URA entirely."
The acronym hit Soma like a physical blow. 'Fuck!!' his mind screamed, even as he forced a placid smile onto his face. 'Is this the URA? What the hell is URA? This is the first time I've heard this! And Evercrest... he said this was the Evercrest branch. Are we in a place called Evercrest?' He pieced it together in a frantic, silent rush of logic.
"Yes," Soma said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. "You're right. I'm not from this continent. I come from the far east."
"Ah, figures," Belkas replied, accepting the vague answer without question. "Well then, I officially welcome you to the United Realm of Averidane. You seem not to know much about our kingdom, heading out into it with such a bold spirit."
Soma just laughed weakly at the director's remark, a sound that felt brittle in his own ears.
"Ahh, to be young and bold," Belkas chuckled, shaking his head with fond amusement. "Well, in that case, I highly recommend you start by reading up on our basic knowledge. It will make your travels far easier. Come, follow me."
Soma nodded and fell into step behind him. As they walked through the labyrinthine aisles, Belkas gave him a condensed tour, pointing out wings of the library funded by various guilds and noble houses, telling stories of the library's founding after the Great War, and explaining how its collection was maintained by a magically linked system of scribes and archivists.
Finally, they arrived in a section that seemed even older and more solemn than the others. "Here we are," Belkas announced. "Our great history. Everything you need to know about the founding of the Realm, its laws, and its people. I would recommend one to start with, but it seems..." His voice trailed off as he looked across the hall.
Soma followed his gaze and saw a dwarf woman in librarian's robes waving a hand to get the director's attention.
"Oh, right," Soma said quickly. "Please, don't let me keep you. It was my honor to be toured by the director himself."
"No worries at all," Belkas said with a final, warm smile. "Enjoy the archives. We'll see you again, I'm sure." And with that, he turned and walked briskly toward the waiting dwarf.
Soma was left alone in a cavern of books. He looked around, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of history surrounding him. He tilted his head, looking at the titles written on the spines of the heavy, leather-bound tomes. The elegant, flowing script was completely alien, a series of strange, beautiful alphabets he'd never seen before. But he could read it. Perfectly.
'Thank you, Cecil,' he thought with a surge of gratitude. 'At least you gave me the knowledge to read this strange-ass language.'
His eyes scanned the titles: The Reign of the Sunstone Kings, A Treatise on Demonic Lineage, The Fall of the Western Warlords. And then he saw it. A thick but straightforward-looking volume.
Introduction to the United Realm of Averidane.
He carefully pulled the heavy book from the shelf. It felt solid, real, a key to this new world. He carried it over to a long, empty reading table made of dark oak, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he sat down. He opened the cover, the old pages releasing a puff of dusty air, and began to read.
Soma opened the heavy book. The first page wasn't text, but a beautifully illustrated, full-color map of the entire continent of Averidane. And the image hit him with the force of the airplane that had ended his first life.
It was the United States of America.
The shape was undeniable, a phantom limb he knew by heart. The familiar curve of the east coast, the jut of Florida, the great bite of the Gulf of Mexico—it was all there, albeit with slightly altered coastlines and mountain ranges that seemed sharper, more mythic. His eyes scanned the legend, confirming the names of the great houses and their territories. He located the northeastern corner, the territory shaded in blue, and read the label: Evercrest.
He flipped the page, his hands moving with a new urgency, until he found the chapter detailing the duchy he was in. The book described it in formal, flowing script:
House Evercrest, Dukes of the Granite Cape. It was one of the oldest and most traditional noble lines, known for its formidable maritime heritage, numerous and bustling port cities, and prestigious universities of magic and science. The text confirmed that the duchy's territory covered the lands analogous to New England, New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.
Soma leaned closer, studying the more detailed political map of the duchy presented on the next page. He saw how the great Duke of Evercrest delegated authority to lower nobles who governed the counties within his domain. He traced the borders that were ghosts of old state lines.
His finger rested on his current location. It was the heart of a territory labeled The Margrave of the Hudson Reach, a domain built along the vital river artery analogous to the state of New York.
The creeping feeling he'd had—the 1980s New York vibe—wasn't a lucky guess. He really was in New York. Or rather, what was left of it.
His eyes traveled north on the map to a vast, rugged territory of forests and tall peaks marked as the domain of The Margrave of the Green Mountains. To the south and east, along the familiar curve of the coastline analogous to Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, was the wealthy region belonging to The Earl of the Trident. West of that, in the space he recognized as Pennsylvania and New Jersey, was the industrious territory governed by The Earl of the Keystone.
He leaned back in his chair, the quiet of the library pressing in on him. He was in a fantastical, feudal version of the American Northeast, ruled by a Duke, Margraves, and Earls. The knowledge was a key, but it only unlocked a room filled with more unsettling questions.
…
Meanwhile, back at Café LeBlanc, Zero was holding down the fort alone. The quiet morning had given way to the midday rush outside, and the sounds of the bustling city bled into the café's serene atmosphere. As the lunch hour arrived, a trickle of potential customers began to find their way down the alley.
A pair of elegantly dressed elven women opened the door, their chatter dying as Zero looked up from polishing a glass. "Welcome!" he said with a warm, genuine smile. Their eyes flickered up to his forehead, and their own smiles vanished, replaced by masks of cold disdain. Without a word, they turned and left.
A few minutes later, a human merchant, stout and sweating, poked his head in, saw Zero, and quickly retreated as if he'd seen a venomous snake behind the counter.
With each rejection, Zero's smile remained. 'Just my luck,' he thought wryly, the sentiment a familiar echo from a past life. 'In a world of infinite possibilities, I roll the one race everyone treats like a walking plague.' But the thought lacked the bitter sting it once would have. He couldn't gain anything from complaining. This was the hand he was dealt, and he would play it.
His thoughts were severed by another ding from the bell. The door swung open, admitting a figure who seemed to take up the entire frame. He was a beastman, tall and broad-shouldered, with the distinct features of a white tiger. His hair was a shock of stark white streaked with black, and his eyes were a piercing, intelligent gold. A long, heavy coat was draped over his powerful frame, adding to his intimidating presence.
"Welcome," Zero said again, his practiced smile firmly in place as he braced for the inevitable.
The beastman's golden eyes swept the room and landed on Zero, lingering for a moment on the dark horns curling from his brow. Zero prepared himself for the silent retreat, the door swinging shut once more. But contrary to his every expectation, the beastman strode confidently into the café, his heavy boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor. He walked directly to the bar and slid onto one of the chairs with surprising grace.
"I don't see any menu or prices," the beastman said, his voice a low, rough rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air. "So, what do you have?"
Zero was silent for a beat, momentarily stunned. This was it. His first customer. The first one who hadn't walked out. He snapped out of it, his professionalism kicking in. "Ah, yes. For our meals, our café has a different specialty every day," he explained, his voice smooth and steady. "For today's special, it's a congee with quail eggs."
The beastman raised a thick eyebrow. "Congee? What is that?"
"It's a savory rice porridge from the east," Zero said. "It's warm, comforting, and very good."
"Okay," the beastman grunted, seeming to accept the simple explanation. "What about drinks?"
A real smile, not just a practiced one, touched Zero's lips. "I can personalize your drink if you'd like. Tell me what kind of flavors you enjoy, and I'll create something to accompany your meal."
The beastman seemed to consider this, his golden eyes studying Zero with an unreadable expression. "Alright," he rumbled finally. "Give me one portion of this congee. And you might as well personalize the drink."
"Alright," Zero said, his chest swelling with a feeling of pure, unadulterated triumph. "Coming right up."
Zero turned to the pot of congee Soma had left simmering gently on a magically warmed plate. He ladled a generous portion into a deep bowl, the creamy white porridge steaming with a rich, savory aroma. He meticulously placed three perfectly soft-boiled quail eggs on top, just as Soma had instructed, followed by a delicate sprinkle of chopped scallions and a single drop of sesame oil that spread across the surface in a shimmering, fragrant circle.
He placed the bowl on the counter in front of the beastman, but kept a hand near it. "Before you start," Zero said, his voice calm and even, "let's figure out your drink. It's part of the experience."
The white tiger beastman grunted, his golden eyes fixed on Zero with an unblinking intensity. "Get on with it."
"Right." Zero leaned against the back counter, adopting a relaxed but focused posture. "To start, do you have a preference for temperature? Something hot to match the meal, or something cold to offer a contrast?"
"Hot," the beastman rumbled, his voice low and definitive.
"Noted," Zero said, already mentally discarding several ideas. "And for flavor? Do you have a sweet tooth, or do you lean more toward bitter, sharp, or earthy tastes?"
The beastman was silent for a moment, considering the question seriously. "Bitter. And smoky."
"Smoky," Zero repeated, intrigued. He paused, his next question more deliberate. "Sometimes a flavor can bring back a good memory. Is there any taste from your past that reminds you of a happy time? A victory, a quiet moment, a home you remember?"
The question hung in the air, far more personal than the beastman likely expected. He didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped to the polished wood of the counter, a flicker of some distant thought in his eyes. "The smell of pine needles after a rain," he said, the words rough but clear. "And woodsmoke. From a campfire."
Zero absorbed this, a picture forming in his mind. A forest. A campfire. Solitude or quiet companionship. "I see," he said softly. "And for the drink itself, what about texture? Do you prefer something smooth and thin like a tea, or something thicker, with more body?"
"Smooth," the beastman answered without hesitation.
Zero nodded, his mind now racing, connecting the pieces. Hot, bitter, smoky, with notes of a damp forest, and a smooth texture. The congee was gentle, savory, and warm. A drink that was too aggressive would overpower it. But something with a clean, sharp, smoky finish could cut through the richness and reset the palate with each bite.
"I have an idea," Zero said, a spark of inspiration in his eyes. He turned to his collection of jars and brewers. "It won't be a coffee or a traditional tea. Something different. Give me a moment."
The white tiger beastman didn't reply. He simply watched, giving a slow, deliberate nod. It was a silent agreement, an expression of trust placed in the hands of the strange, horned man behind the counter.
**A/N**
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**A/N**