The question remained unanswered.
What happened to Arthur?
The bookseller had clearly heard it.
Yet he pretended otherwise.
A merchant walked past the stall.
The old man greeted him.
Someone purchased a book.
The old man completed the sale.
Anything.
Everything.
As long as it wasn't answering the question.
Haruto watched.
Waited.
Then eventually sighed.
"...you're not going to tell me."
"No."
At least he was honest.
"Why?"
The bookseller adjusted a stack of books.
"Because knowing the ending before the story ruins the journey."
"That's a terrible excuse."
"I know."
The old man didn't even try defending it.
Which somehow made it worse.
Belial nodded.
"HE LEARNED THAT FROM ARTHUR."
The bookseller pointed accusingly.
"That is absolutely true."
Haruto felt a headache forming.
The two of them together would be unbearable.
A realization struck him.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Elias"
"Elias?"
"THATS A FAKE NAME"
He was silent.
Then,suddenly..
The bookseller laughed.
A loud, genuine laugh.
Then refused to answer.
Which was basically an answer.
The old man stood from his chair.
"Come."
Haruto blinked.
"Where?"
"My shop."
Haruto looked around.
"We're already at your shop."
"No."
The bookseller pointed toward the stall.
"This is where I sell books."
Then pointed deeper into the city.
"My shop is where I keep them."
That sounded concerning.
Very concerning.
Belial immediately jumped down.
"I LOVE SECRET LOCATIONS."
The bookseller sighed.
"I hate goats."
"I HEARD THAT."
"Good."
The old man began walking.
Haruto followed.
Mostly because Arthur's trail had led him this far.
Partly because he was curious.
And a little because he had absolutely nothing else to do.
The deeper parts of Ardent felt different.
Less crowded.
Older.
The roads narrowed.
Buildings grew taller.
Stone replaced wood.
History seemed to cling to every wall.
Eventually they reached a quiet district.
Few people walked here.
The noise of the markets felt distant.
Muted.
The bookseller stopped before an ordinary-looking building.
Three stories.
Stone walls.
Wooden shutters.
Nothing remarkable.
Yet something about it felt important.
The old man unlocked the door.
Then pushed it open.
Haruto stepped inside.
And froze.
Books.
Everywhere.
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling.
Ladders leaned against towering bookcases.
Maps covered entire walls.
Scrolls occupied wooden cabinets.
Thousands.
Maybe tens of thousands.
The smell of paper filled the air.
Dust.
Ink.
Age.
Knowledge.
It felt less like a shop.
More like a memory.
A place built specifically to prevent things from being forgotten.
The realization hit harder than expected.
Because for the first time—
Haruto understood why Arthur had trusted this man.
The bookseller noticed his expression.
Then smiled faintly.
"Impressive?"
"...a little."
"A little?"
Belial spun in a circle.
"THERE ARE SO MANY THINGS TO EAT."
The bookseller immediately grabbed the goat.
"No."
The struggle that followed lasted several minutes.
Haruto ignored it.
His attention had drifted elsewhere.
Toward a small table near the window.
Something rested there.
Covered by cloth.
The bookseller followed his gaze.
Then sighed.
"Of course."
The old man walked over.
Pulled away the cloth.
And revealed a sketchbook.
Haruto froze.
The cover was worn.
Edges frayed.
Corners damaged by time.
Yet it had been preserved carefully.
Protected.
Respected.
The bookseller rested a hand upon it.
Quietly.
"This was Arthur's."
Silence.
Haruto stared.
The sketchbook seemed almost ordinary.
Yet his pulse quickened anyway.
Arthur's.
Not a clue.
Not a message.
Not a relic.
Something personal.
Something human.
The bookseller carefully opened the first page.
Inside was a drawing.
A city.
Ardent.
Years younger.
Different.
Yet recognizable.
The details were incredible.
Every building.
Every street.
Every shadow.
Haruto stepped closer.
The lines felt alive.
The city practically breathed from the page.
The next drawing showed mountains.
The one after that—
a forest.
Then a river.
Then ruins.
Then stars.
Page after page.
Sketch after sketch.
Entire journeys captured in ink.
Belial eventually stopped fighting.
The goat peered over.
"...wow."
For once—
he sounded sincere.
Haruto slowly turned another page.
Then another.
Then another.
Each drawing captured something beautiful.
Not powerful.
Not important.
Beautiful.
A flower growing between stones.
A traveler sleeping beneath a tree.
Children playing in the rain.
Tiny moments.
The sort people usually forgot.
Arthur hadn't.
Haruto smiled slightly.
Without realizing it.
The bookseller noticed.
Again.
Always.
"You understand."
The words weren't a question.
Haruto stared at the sketches.
Then nodded.
Slowly.
"...yeah."
Because he did.
For reasons he couldn't explain.
The desire to preserve something.
To capture a moment before it disappeared.
To leave proof.
Proof that something existed.
Proof that it mattered.
Proof that someone was here.
Arthur hadn't drawn because he wanted fame.
He drew because he was afraid of forgetting.
Or perhaps—
being forgotten.
Haruto turned another page.
Then froze.
A folded piece of paper slipped from between the sheets.
The room fell silent.
The bookseller's expression changed immediately.
Surprise.
Actual surprise.
For the first time.
"...that's not supposed to be there."
Haruto slowly picked it up.
The paper looked newer than everything else.
Much newer.
Not decades old.
Years old.
The bookseller frowned.
Then frowned harder.
Belial tilted his head.
"OH."
Nobody liked that reaction.
"What?"
The goat stared at the folded paper.
Then looked toward the window.
Toward the distant horizon.
Toward somewhere very far away.
And for the first time since entering Ardent—
Belial looked worried.
Actually worried.
"...I think Arthur left another message."
The room became very quiet.
Because Arthur had been dead.
Gone.
Missing.
Whatever had happened to him—
it wasn't recent.
And yet somehow—
another message had just appeared.
As if the story wasn't finished with them yet.m