CHAPTER 159: MEETING

The gentle chime of the bell above the door sang a light, nostalgic tune as Elius stepped into the bookstore.

Inside, the air was warm, steeped in the subtle aroma of aged paper, sandalwood, and old memories. Dust particles danced in the sunlight filtering through high windows, bathing the wooden shelves and polished floor in a calm, golden hue. The place was quiet, save for the soft hum of a ceiling fan and the occasional rustle of a turning page.

Elius had changed again.

Gone were the white immortal cultivation robe from earlier. Now, he wore a casual button-up shirt of faded blue tucked slightly into light-brown slacks. His hair was slightly disheveled, his face dulled by a thin illusion spell to soften his jawline and reduce the signature glint in his eyes. He wore simple, clear-rimmed glasses—non-functional, purely aesthetic—and a messenger bag slung across his shoulder. To anyone who looked, he was just a well-mannered literature student browsing in his spare time.

He walked with a modest, respectful step between the shelves, trailing a finger lightly across the book spines. Some were cracked with age, others were newer, glossy with modern print. His eyes flicked occasionally to the counter, where Keisha stood chatting quietly with the owner—an older man with a rounded back and small spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.

She hadn’t noticed him yet. She was laughing gently, brushing her hair behind her ear as she responded to something the owner said about a misprinted batch of poetry books. She looked... peaceful. A calm glow in a storm-torn world.

Elius let a breath out slowly before stepping forward.

"Excuse me," he said quietly, voice just loud enough to carry but not sharp enough to interrupt rudely.

Both turned. Keisha blinked once as she looked at him—no flicker of recognition. She only saw a stranger.

"Yes?" she asked softly.

"I couldn’t help overhearing," Elius gestured lightly toward the counter. "You mentioned the reprint of Colburn’s Twilight Leaves anthology?"

Keisha tilted her head slightly, surprised. "You know that book?"

"I’ve read the earlier edition," Elius smiled. "Didn’t realize it had a reprint. Was it handled by the original publisher?"

"No," she replied, warming up. "A small local press picked it up after the original went under. They updated the typesetting but kept most of the layout. There’s a few minor changes in line spacing, which some purists complained about."

Elius gave a small, amused laugh. "Of course they did."

Keisha chuckled. "It’s in the classics section, left wall, second shelf from the bottom."

"Thank you," Elius nodded with sincere politeness, then pretended to browse away.

But after a minute, he circled back, this time holding another book. "Actually," he began, "if you don’t mind a question. I’m trying to expand my collection. I like quiet books. Reflective ones. The kind that don’t yell their themes at you."

Keisha folded her arms thoughtfully. "Quiet books, huh? You mean introspective, or just subtle in tone?"

"Both, maybe. Something that understands grief without being indulgent about it. Or stories where nothing explodes by page five."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "That narrows it down. Most popular stuff these days treats explosions like commas."

"Exactly," Elius said, lips twitching upward.

Keisha turned and began walking toward the right aisle. "Follow me. I’ve been meaning to recommend The Pale Winter’s Breath to someone. It’s a slow-burn, focused on isolation and memory. And Notes from the Fog—great psychological depth. The author lost his brother in the Nexus Riots, so there’s a lot buried between the lines."

Elius followed her quietly, letting her guide the conversation. Her voice was composed, and her words were precise—she spoke like someone who had spent years listening first before speaking. There was kindness in her tone, but also weariness. Not the type born from fatigue, but from enduring too much of the world’s cruelty for too long. Elius didn’t press. He let the stillness breathe between each line.

"Here," she said, kneeling and pulling out a modest hardcover. "This one’s underrated. Light Through the Hollow. I always keep it behind others because I like to think someone deserves to dig for it."

Elius smiled at that, crouching down beside her. "Books you have to find are usually the ones worth reading."

Keisha turned her head slightly to look at him. "I say that to everyone."

"But not everyone believes it."

She looked at him curiously for a moment longer than normal. But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed. She stood up and dusted her skirt off.

He rose too, clutching the book gently.

"You work here often?" he asked.

"Only part-time," she replied. "The owner’s a family friend. I help out whenever I can."

"Lucky store," Elius said quietly.

Keisha gave a soft, unreadable smile. "It’s quiet. People don’t shout in bookstores. That’s good enough for me."

Elius looked around again, letting the silence settle once more.

"Do you mind if I ask one more thing?" he said, holding the book in both hands.

"Go ahead."

"What’s your favorite book? Not the one you think is objectively best—but the one you revisit when the world feels too heavy."

Keisha thought long and hard. She leaned against the edge of the shelf, brow furrowing gently.

"The Eternal Orchard," she said at last. "It’s... a small novella. Barely sold any copies. The main character spends his life tending an orchard that only blooms when he remembers people he’s lost."

"That sounds... beautiful," Elius murmured.

"It is. Not in a grand way. Just... truthful."

"I’ll find it," Elius said.

She smiled again, but softer this time.

Something flickered in her eyes—a distant sadness, perhaps stirred by the conversation. But again, she tucked it away like an old bookmark returned to its page.

They spoke for several more minutes, about literature, prose, the lost art of handwritten annotations. They debated whether genre fiction deserved more respect. They laughed once when both accidentally quoted the same author at the same time. It was casual. Easy.

And through it all, Elius never mentioned Keith.

Not once.

The name never touched the air. He was just a stranger with thoughtful eyes and gentle curiosity. Just a polite man with a soft voice and an old soul hidden behind younger features. She would never know the storm that surged beneath his quiet tone.

But he knew everything now.

He could feel it.

As she turned to walk back behind the counter, he reached into his sleeve and flicked his finger—just once, subtly. A single spiritual thread, fine as spider-silk, floated invisibly through the air and attached itself to her wrist. It shimmered for a moment with faint blue light only he could see, before fading entirely into the weave of reality.

He now had a tether.

He closed the book in his hands.

"Thank you for the recommendation," Elius said, stepping toward the register.

"My pleasure," Keisha replied.

He paid in cash, tucking the receipt gently into his bag.

"I hope the book brings you some peace," she added.

"It already has," he replied quietly.

And then, with a small bow of his head and a polite smile, he turned away.

The chime above the door rang again as he stepped out into the evening light.

Behind him, the warmth of the bookstore faded.

Before him, the city breathed anew.