"Is that you, Mr. Black Cat?"
"He calls you Mr. Black Cat too?"
Standing behind him, Jenkins whispered.
"Nas don't an anything to ."
Mr. Black Cat explained, keeping his voice down, but the room's occupant had sharper ears.
"I heard a second voice. Is that a friend of yours?"
The voice was deep and refined, though the pronunciation was odd, as if the speaker wasn't accustod to the common language. In Jenkins's mind, it conjured the image of a charming, bespectacled middle-aged man with a captivating smile.
"Yes. My apologies for arriving unannounced. My friend was also unfortunate enough to end up here. His na is..."
"Herkly Pollo."
It was the author's pseudonym.
"Please, co in, Mr. Black Cat, Mr. Pollo."
Jenkins and Mr. Black Cat exchanged a glance. Mr. Black Cat then turned the doorknob, and they stepped inside, one after the other.
A young man with silky golden hair sat before the fireplace, a book in his hands. He was exceptionally handso, with skin as fair as milk and blue eyes that mirrored the flickering flas.
The curtains were open, and sunlight stread through the window, making his golden hair shimr as if it were glowing. But what truly captured one's attention were his beautiful, pointed ears.
"An elf?"
Jenkins thought, astonished.
"Hello. Please, have a seat."
The young elf lowered his book, nodding at them with a smile. But when his eyes landed on Jenkins, they froze, and he abruptly stood up.
"Excuse , is there sothing amiss with my attire?"
Jenkins asked, noticing the elf's peculiar stare.
"No, it's nothing..."
Despite his words, his gaze remained locked on Jenkins. Jenkins shot a look at Mr. Black Cat, silently urging him to say sothing, but Mr. Black Cat seed just as bewildered.
"Mr. Saramanda, this..."
"It's nothing, really."
He finally seed to realize how rude he was being. His hand, which had been resting on the back of his chair, rose to pinch his cheek. "Let's sit and talk," he said.
This was the first non-human being Jenkins had encountered since arriving in this mad world with whom he could actually converse. He knew that a part of this world's history was just as he'd imagined—a world of sword and sorcery.
Dragons and phoenixes soared through the skies, dwarves swung their pickaxes to expand their underground domains, and adventuring parties composed of various races traveled far and wide for rewards, occasionally even foiling plots that threatened the entire world.
Never before had he felt so close to that ancient history;
never before had the fantasy worlds from his mories felt so real, so near.
These two conflicting sensations, born from the mories of two different n, made Jenkins's head spin for a mont. But he quickly grounded himself. He had always known who he was, and he knew what he was searching for.
"So, this Mr. Pollo... did he arrive here recently as well?"
"Yes. He's a friend of mine from the city—incredibly powerful and reliable."
Mr. Black Cat offered the introduction, describing his genuine impression of the man he knew as Candle Mr.
"I suppose Pollo isn't his real surna, is it?"
"Oh, that's perfectly normal. In this day and age, it's a necessary precaution to avoid certain... troubles with the Orthodox Churches."
"I understand."
The elf nodded slowly, an expression on his face that said, 'Just as I thought.' Yet Jenkins couldn't shake the feeling that he'd misunderstood sothing crucial.
Chocolate perched quietly on the arm of Jenkins's chair, maintaining the perfect image of an adorable, well-behaved cat.
Just as Jenkins suspected, this elf—whose age likely spanned four digits—was not a being native to the material world.
He'd never spoken of his past to Mr. Black Cat before, but today he seed unusually talkative, revealing a few secrets.
According to Saramanda, he ca from a world called the Prosperous Forest. The entire world, he explained, was one vast forest, populated primarily by elves.
It wasn't that he was unwilling to share more, but that he was unable to. As he spoke of it, he cautiously gestured toward the sky:
"Even in a fragnted world like this, there are certain rules one must still obey."
Saramanda, however, had also entered this place through the old bookshop—the one that appears only in the material world. He explained that he had accidentally triggered a spatial-transfer ritual, which teleported him directly into the bookshop back in the year 1083. That was how he'd gotten trapped here.
"Then, have you attempted to leave? I would imagine a long-lived race such as yours would possess a greater knowledge of the mystic arts."
"Please, don't be so formal. By elven standards, I barely qualify as a young man."
He shook his head, though a closer look revealed he was studying the shape of Jenkins's face and ears.
"I have considered it. About three hundred years ago... forgive , the concept of ti is rather fluid here... at that ti, a group of human Benefactors, half-mad with desperation, attacked the bookshop and killed the owner."
"They succeeded?"
Both Jenkins and Mr. Black Cat were astonished.
"Yes, they succeeded."
Saramanda affird, his gaze drifting to Chocolate, who was still perched beside Jenkins. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he looked away.
"All their actions proved was that the owner was just an ordinary man... an ordinary man who could also resurrect himself. Getting out of here has nothing to do with him."
Jenkins and Mr. Black Cat gasped in unison.
"Of course, their actions were not without consequence. In the days that followed, the higher beings that prey on this place captured every last one of them. I assu they were killed. After that, no one else ever tried..."
He finished his story, then added, his words laden with aning:
"I think... you, ah, I an, *you*... might be able to think of sothing."
He wasn't wrong. A bold idea had just sparked in Jenkins's mind.
He hesitated for a mont, stroking the fur on Chocolate's neck. The cat narrowed its eyes and let out a soft ow.
"I do have an idea. But tell , in all these years, have the people here never tried to resist the predators from the sky?"
"Of course we have. Every ti the predators arrive, those of us who are still alive—and by that, I an alive in both body and soul—band together to face those ineffable higher beings."
"I imagine that no matter how vast the disparity between you, over such a long period of ti, surely you must have won at least once?"
A thrill of excitent ran through Jenkins.
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