Mr. Rynsarm’s voice bood as he argued with the old elf from three decades past, his face a mask of pure fury.
“The tragedy of mankind?” he retorted. “If I hadn’t been busy scraping together funds, if I’d had the ti to join you, I’d probably be buried here right alongside them!”
The old elf’s voice climbed even higher, just managing to cut through Mr. Rynsarm’s tirade.
“Are you truly human, Rynsarm? I’ve been reluctant to investigate you, but I’ve known for a long ti that you weren’t even born in this epoch! Your life spirit is incredibly strange. Can soone like you even be called human? Think about it, Rynsarm! What good could possibly co from ddling with legends of a Savior? Do you really believe you’re the one chosen by fate, or is there so great being I don’t know about supporting you from the shadows! Don’t be a fool, Rynsarm! We didn’t have many friends to begin with, and now, because of your greed, they're all buried here for eternity! Give it up!”
By the end, the elf's voice had risen to a pitch almost beyond human hearing, yet the old man standing before him remained completely unfazed.
“And what makes you so sure I was the one who orchestrated this venture?”
“Because I found this!”
With that, the elf in the mory opened his palm to the moonlight, allowing Jenkins to clearly see the ring nestled there.
“You never let anyone get a good look at the things you wear, but I recognize it. This is yours!”
“I don’t recognize this specific one, but the design is identical. It must be one of the ten rings!”
Jenkins was certain. He nodded to the lancholic old elf beside him. His host hid his expression, then raised his right hand and clenched his fist. The familiar white mist instantly shrouded them, and the voices of the two arguing n grew muffled before fading completely into its depths.
The lody of the music box grew clearer in his ears. As the dense fog dissipated, the old elf’s apartnt materialized around them once more. Jenkins instinctively glanced down at the music box, just in ti to see it click shut on its own.
“They truly couldn't see us, but why were we unable to speak? Would it have altered history?”
“Oh, no, no. As I said, this is rely a toy.”
The old elf patted the music box, which had ceased its operations, and then tapped his own head.
“When you enter a mory using the B-03-5-2996, the Music Box of mories, the figures within the recollection can’t see you, but they can sotis hear you. If that happens, it alters the owner’s mory of the event. It won’t kill anyone, but it’s an awfully troubleso affair... Speaking of which, was that Rynsarm’s ring you’re searching for?”
“I believe so. But how did he have those rings thirty years ago? I had assud he found them in the sa ancient tomb Miss Silver Flute discovered, but that tomb hadn't even surfaced three decades ago...”
Jenkins murmured, his brow furrowed as he considered the possibilities. Then, it struck him that the mory contained another startling piece of information. He looked up and asked:
“You ntioned a Savior...”
“Ah, that was just a rumor from thirty years ago. An Enchanter who had fled to Nolan brought with her a strange prophecy. She was a powerful diviner, and during one session, she received information about a Savior. But it was completely inaccurate. Rynsarm and the others who foolishly believed her prophecy t with disaster. If I hadn't been tied up with other matters, I might have been dragged into it myself.”
The old elf said, his expression clouded with lancholy.
“So, what happened then?”
“After? There was no 'after.' That group went to explore the ancient ruins in York Town and was nearly wiped out. What you saw was the aftermath. After that, no one believed in the prophecy. If you hadn't brought it up today, I would have all but forgotten it.”
He let out a sigh. Jenkins lifted his cup and took a sip, surprised to find the tea was still warm. Apparently, viewing the mory hadn't taken very long.
“By the way, those ancient ruins they explored thirty years ago are the very sa ones discovered earlier this year. Before an earthquake brought the structure to the surface, there was a hidden entrance. The Church just never found it, and the few people who knew of its existence kept quiet, wanting nothing more to do with the matter.”
“So what did the woman thirty years ago prophesy about the Savior?”
At this question, the old elf calmly continued tidying up the music box, but inwardly, he was trembling. He hesitated for a long mont before deciding to speak. After all, Jenkins would find out sooner or later, whether he told him or not.
“Do you recall when I visited your ho last? I ntioned that Rynsarm was quite interested in your first book. It wasn’t simple curiosity. He was just very fond of the title.”
“The Stranger’s Story Collection?”
Jenkins ventured.
“Precisely. The so-called Savior prophesied by that woman thirty years ago... was ‘The Stranger’!”
Ignoring the look of utter shock on Jenkins’s face, the old elf acted as if nothing of consequence had been said. He simply picked up the music box and prepared to put it away in his bedroom.
By the ti he returned, Jenkins had composed himself and was feeding his cat, which had just woken up. His expression was normal, but his mind still reeled with a shock he couldn’t quite shake.
“When I chose the title for my book, I deliberately tried to avoid anything that sounded supernatural. In the archives of the Church of Knowledge and Books, there’s no ability nad ‘The Stranger’.”
He remarked.
“Perhaps the archives in the Nolan diocese are incomplete,” the elf suggested. “Or perhaps the diviner from thirty years ago didn’t see the true future at all.”
The old elf clearly had no desire to continue the conversation, but Jenkins, seemingly forgetting all about the rings, kept pressing, trying to find out what had really happened thirty years ago.
Finally, growing weary of the persistence, the old elf relented. He promised to invite Rynsarm to his ho soti next week, allowing Jenkins to ask him directly about the events of three decades past.
“Next week? Since today is Sunday, how about this coming Monday?”
Jenkins proposed.
A look of astonishnt crossed the old elf’s face, but for so reason, he agreed without hesitation. Though Halama Rynsarm was an old friend, his fondness for Jenkins seed to run deeper.
“There must be sothing peculiar about my elven heritage!”
Jenkins reaffird his suspicion, eagerly anticipating the answers he hoped to find once he had prepared the potion.
Reviews
All reviews (0)