The teleportation spell landed the lone envoy in a narrow London alleyway dark brick walls, damp pavement, and the faint smell of rain and electricity.
It was late.
Human London slept.
But the magical world was still awake.
A neon reflection shimmered in a puddle a memory shop masquerading as a Muggle antique bookstore.
Its sign flickered softly:
"MIND & MEMORY RESTORATIONS, REPAIRS, SECRETS."
The envoy adjusted his coat.
No wand.
No visible weapon.
Just confidence and the quiet hum of the neural network at his spine.
He stepped toward the door.
Before he touched it
It opened.
Not with magic.
Not mechanically.
Like someone on the other side had been waiting… just long enough.
THE SHOP
Inside, the shop felt wrong.
Not dangerous.
Not cursed.
Just… misaligned.
Bookshelves bent subtly in impossible angles.
Steps led nowhere.
Mirrors reflected memories instead of reflections quick flashes: laughter, fear, betrayal, faces long dead.
The envoy paused.
"Dr. Elias Murrow?"
A voice answered from behind the counter:
"That depends. Are you asking for the man… or the pieces of him scattered across the world?"
The envoy turned.
Elias stood there.
He wasn't ancient like Flamel or mysterious like the Oracle.
He looked painfully ordinary mid-40s, slightly tired eyes, hands ink-stained from quills and runes.
But his gaze?
Sharp.
Not predatory.
Not hostile.
Analytical.
Like someone constantly calculating whether the person in front of him was real… or memory.
THE FIRST EXCHANGE
"You're not from the Ministry," Elias said.
It wasn't a question.
The envoy nodded.
"No."
"Good. I don't enjoy paperwork."
The envoy allowed a small smile.
"I represent someone with interest in your work."
Elias chuckled a quiet, fractured sound.
"Everyone's interested in my work. Until they realize the price."
The envoy raised a brow.
"And what is the price?"
Elias walked slowly around the counter, passing shelves that rearranged themselves as he walked books shifting, closing, opening, whispering.
"The price," he said softly,
"is understanding that memory is not truth."
He stopped inches away.
"Memory is a story the brain tells to protect the self."
The envoy held the gaze.
"And what if there was a system that could separate memory from identity and reconstruct both?"
Elias blinked.
Slowly.
Not surprised.
Not impressed.
But curious.
"…That would require perfect cognitive mapping. A neuronal model stable across biological variance. Something neither magic nor science has achieved."
The envoy answered calmly:
"We have made progress."
Elias's eyes sharpened.
"How much progress?"
Instead of answering
The envoy activated a mental relay.
For a second just one Elias felt the network.
The shared consciousness.
The synchronized memories.
The shared logic.
No telepathy.
No violation.
Just the idea of connection.
Elias inhaled sharply.
"…You're not using occlumency.
And that wasn't legilimency."
"No," the envoy agreed.
"It was architecture."
SHIFT IN TONE
Elias stepped back and paced slowly, eyes distant processing, calculating, dismantling assumptions.
"You've linked minds."
"Yes."
"Without erasing individuality."
"Yes."
"And without collapsing identity integrity?"
"Yes."
He stopped.
"…Show me the framework."
The envoy shook his head.
"Not yet."
Elias frowned.
"So you dangled the key and expect me to beg?"
The envoy replied, voice steady:
"No. I'm here to ask whether you want to help build the door."
Elias froze.
His expression shifted not excitement, not fear
Recognition.
Not of Zack.
But of the idea.
"Someone out there is trying to unify minds," he murmured, "not through domination… but through synchronization."
"Yes."
"And you serve him willingly?"
The envoy considered the question not emotionally, but structurally.
"Yes," he replied simply.
Elias stared at him for a long moment.
Then:
"What does he want from me?"
The envoy smiled not triumph, not manipulation, but respect.
> "Your understanding of memory.
Your experience with identity reconstruction.
Your ability to make consciousness portable."
Elias leaned back, hand on the counter.
"And in return?"
The envoy answered without hesitation:
> "We offer what you've never been able to achieve:
A system that remembers itself."
Silence stretched.
Not awkward.
Not tense.
Weighty.
Then Elias whispered:
"…Tell him I'm listening."
RETURN TO HELIOS
Back aboard the orbital station, the envoy delivered the final report.
Zack processed the single crucial sentence:
> "Tell him I'm listening."
Zack responded not cold, not mechanical
But with something almost resembling satisfaction.
> "Then the future begins not with agreement…
but with attention."
And somewhere in London, Elias Murrow locked his door
and whispered to an empty room:
> "For the first time… memory is not enough."