HFfC: CH 6: A Realm of Knowledge

The interior of the Royal Library was even more breathtaking than its facade. Soma followed Belkas across a polished marble floor so vast it felt like an open plaza, all under a vaulted ceiling that soared into the heavens, painted with constellations that shimmered with a soft, magical light. The air smelled of aged paper, lemon-scented polish, and a faint, electric hum of contained magic. Towering shelves of dark, rich mahogany stretched up into the gloom, creating canyons of literature. The only sounds were the reverent hush of quiet breathing and the distant, whisper-soft turning of a thousand pages.

"So," Belkas said cheerfully, his pleasant voice a stark contrast to the intimidating scale of the room, "you seem new in this duchy." He turned to look at Soma, an inquisitive but kind glint in his elven eyes.

Soma, still stunned by the sheer grandeur of the place, felt a jolt of anxiety. He didn't know how to respond, so he just gave an awkward, jerky nod.

Belkas didn't seem to notice, continuing his observation as they walked. "Matter of fact, you seem new to the URA entirely."

The acronym hit Soma like a physical blow. 'Fuck!!' his mind screamed, even as he forced a placid smile onto his face. 'Is this the URA? What the hell is URA? This is the first time I've heard this! And Evercrest... he said this was the Evercrest branch. Are we in a place called Evercrest?' He pieced it together in a frantic, silent rush of logic.

"Yes," Soma said, hoping his voice sounded steadier than he felt. "You're right. I'm not from this continent. I come from the far east."

"Ah, figures," Belkas replied, accepting the vague answer without question. "Well then, I officially welcome you to the United Realm of Averidane. You seem not to know much about our kingdom, heading out into it with such a bold spirit."

Soma just laughed weakly at the director's remark, a sound that felt brittle in his own ears.

"Ahh, to be young and bold," Belkas chuckled, shaking his head with fond amusement. "Well, in that case, I highly recommend you start by reading up on our basic knowledge. It will make your travels far easier. Come, follow me."

Soma nodded and fell into step behind him. As they walked through the labyrinthine aisles, Belkas gave him a condensed tour, pointing out wings of the library funded by various guilds and noble houses, telling stories of the library's founding after the Great War, and explaining how its collection was maintained by a magically linked system of scribes and archivists.

Finally, they arrived in a section that seemed even older and more solemn than the others. "Here we are," Belkas announced. "Our great history. Everything you need to know about the founding of the Realm, its laws, and its people. I would recommend one to start with, but it seems..." His voice trailed off as he looked across the hall.

Soma followed his gaze and saw a dwarf woman in librarian's robes waving a hand to get the director's attention.

"Oh, right," Soma said quickly. "Please, don't let me keep you. It was my honor to be toured by the director himself."

"No worries at all," Belkas said with a final, warm smile. "Enjoy the archives. We'll see you again, I'm sure." And with that, he turned and walked briskly toward the waiting dwarf.

Soma was left alone in a cavern of books. He looked around, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of history surrounding him. He tilted his head, looking at the titles written on the spines of the heavy, leather-bound tomes. The elegant, flowing script was completely alien, a series of strange, beautiful alphabets he'd never seen before. But he could read it. Perfectly.

'Thank you, Cecil,' he thought with a surge of gratitude. 'At least you gave me the knowledge to read this strange-ass language.'

His eyes scanned the titles: The Reign of the Sunstone Kings, A Treatise on Demonic Lineage, The Fall of the Western Warlords. And then he saw it. A thick but straightforward-looking volume.

Introduction to the United Realm of Averidane.

He carefully pulled the heavy book from the shelf. It felt solid, real, a key to this new world. He carried it over to a long, empty reading table made of dark oak, the chair scraping softly against the floor as he sat down. He opened the cover, the old pages releasing a puff of dusty air, and began to read.

Soma opened the heavy book. The first page wasn't text, but a beautifully illustrated, full-color map of the entire continent of Averidane. And the image hit him with the force of the airplane that had ended his first life.

It was the United States of America.

The shape was undeniable, a phantom limb he knew by heart. The familiar curve of the east coast, the jut of Florida, the great bite of the Gulf of Mexico—it was all there, albeit with slightly altered coastlines and mountain ranges that seemed sharper, more mythic. His eyes scanned the legend, confirming the names of the great houses and their territories. He located the northeastern corner, the territory shaded in blue, and read the label: Evercrest.

He flipped the page, his hands moving with a new urgency, until he found the chapter detailing the duchy he was in. The book described it in formal, flowing script: 

House Evercrest, Dukes of the Granite Cape. It was one of the oldest and most traditional noble lines, known for its formidable maritime heritage, numerous and bustling port cities, and prestigious universities of magic and science. The text confirmed that the duchy's territory covered the lands analogous to New England, New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey.

Soma leaned closer, studying the more detailed political map of the duchy presented on the next page. He saw how the great Duke of Evercrest delegated authority to lower nobles who governed the counties within his domain. He traced the borders that were ghosts of old state lines.

His finger rested on his current location. It was the heart of a territory labeled The Margrave of the Hudson Reach, a domain built along the vital river artery analogous to the state of New York.

The creeping feeling he'd had—the 1980s New York vibe—wasn't a lucky guess. He really was in New York. Or rather, what was left of it.

His eyes traveled north on the map to a vast, rugged territory of forests and tall peaks marked as the domain of The Margrave of the Green Mountains. To the south and east, along the familiar curve of the coastline analogous to Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut, was the wealthy region belonging to The Earl of the Trident. West of that, in the space he recognized as Pennsylvania and New Jersey, was the industrious territory governed by The Earl of the Keystone.

He leaned back in his chair, the quiet of the library pressing in on him. He was in a fantastical, feudal version of the American Northeast, ruled by a Duke, Margraves, and Earls. The knowledge was a key, but it only unlocked a room filled with more unsettling questions.

…

Meanwhile, back at Café LeBlanc, Zero was holding down the fort alone. The quiet morning had given way to the midday rush outside, and the sounds of the bustling city bled into the café's serene atmosphere. As the lunch hour arrived, a trickle of potential customers began to find their way down the alley.

A pair of elegantly dressed elven women opened the door, their chatter dying as Zero looked up from polishing a glass. "Welcome!" he said with a warm, genuine smile. Their eyes flickered up to his forehead, and their own smiles vanished, replaced by masks of cold disdain. Without a word, they turned and left.

A few minutes later, a human merchant, stout and sweating, poked his head in, saw Zero, and quickly retreated as if he'd seen a venomous snake behind the counter.

With each rejection, Zero's smile remained. 'Just my luck,' he thought wryly, the sentiment a familiar echo from a past life. 'In a world of infinite possibilities, I roll the one race everyone treats like a walking plague.' But the thought lacked the bitter sting it once would have. He couldn't gain anything from complaining. This was the hand he was dealt, and he would play it.

His thoughts were severed by another ding from the bell. The door swung open, admitting a figure who seemed to take up the entire frame. He was a beastman, tall and broad-shouldered, with the distinct features of a white tiger. His hair was a shock of stark white streaked with black, and his eyes were a piercing, intelligent gold. A long, heavy coat was draped over his powerful frame, adding to his intimidating presence.

"Welcome," Zero said again, his practiced smile firmly in place as he braced for the inevitable.

The beastman's golden eyes swept the room and landed on Zero, lingering for a moment on the dark horns curling from his brow. Zero prepared himself for the silent retreat, the door swinging shut once more. But contrary to his every expectation, the beastman strode confidently into the café, his heavy boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor. He walked directly to the bar and slid onto one of the chairs with surprising grace.

"I don't see any menu or prices," the beastman said, his voice a low, rough rumble that seemed to vibrate in the air. "So, what do you have?"

Zero was silent for a beat, momentarily stunned. This was it. His first customer. The first one who hadn't walked out. He snapped out of it, his professionalism kicking in. "Ah, yes. For our meals, our café has a different specialty every day," he explained, his voice smooth and steady. "For today's special, it's a congee with quail eggs."

The beastman raised a thick eyebrow. "Congee? What is that?"

"It's a savory rice porridge from the east," Zero said. "It's warm, comforting, and very good."

"Okay," the beastman grunted, seeming to accept the simple explanation. "What about drinks?"

A real smile, not just a practiced one, touched Zero's lips. "I can personalize your drink if you'd like. Tell me what kind of flavors you enjoy, and I'll create something to accompany your meal."

The beastman seemed to consider this, his golden eyes studying Zero with an unreadable expression. "Alright," he rumbled finally. "Give me one portion of this congee. And you might as well personalize the drink."

"Alright," Zero said, his chest swelling with a feeling of pure, unadulterated triumph. "Coming right up."

Zero turned to the pot of congee Soma had left simmering gently on a magically warmed plate. He ladled a generous portion into a deep bowl, the creamy white porridge steaming with a rich, savory aroma. He meticulously placed three perfectly soft-boiled quail eggs on top, just as Soma had instructed, followed by a delicate sprinkle of chopped scallions and a single drop of sesame oil that spread across the surface in a shimmering, fragrant circle.

He placed the bowl on the counter in front of the beastman, but kept a hand near it. "Before you start," Zero said, his voice calm and even, "let's figure out your drink. It's part of the experience."

The white tiger beastman grunted, his golden eyes fixed on Zero with an unblinking intensity. "Get on with it."

"Right." Zero leaned against the back counter, adopting a relaxed but focused posture. "To start, do you have a preference for temperature? Something hot to match the meal, or something cold to offer a contrast?"

"Hot," the beastman rumbled, his voice low and definitive.

"Noted," Zero said, already mentally discarding several ideas. "And for flavor? Do you have a sweet tooth, or do you lean more toward bitter, sharp, or earthy tastes?"

The beastman was silent for a moment, considering the question seriously. "Bitter. And smoky."

"Smoky," Zero repeated, intrigued. He paused, his next question more deliberate. "Sometimes a flavor can bring back a good memory. Is there any taste from your past that reminds you of a happy time? A victory, a quiet moment, a home you remember?"

The question hung in the air, far more personal than the beastman likely expected. He didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped to the polished wood of the counter, a flicker of some distant thought in his eyes. "The smell of pine needles after a rain," he said, the words rough but clear. "And woodsmoke. From a campfire."

Zero absorbed this, a picture forming in his mind. A forest. A campfire. Solitude or quiet companionship. "I see," he said softly. "And for the drink itself, what about texture? Do you prefer something smooth and thin like a tea, or something thicker, with more body?"

"Smooth," the beastman answered without hesitation.

Zero nodded, his mind now racing, connecting the pieces. Hot, bitter, smoky, with notes of a damp forest, and a smooth texture. The congee was gentle, savory, and warm. A drink that was too aggressive would overpower it. But something with a clean, sharp, smoky finish could cut through the richness and reset the palate with each bite.

"I have an idea," Zero said, a spark of inspiration in his eyes. He turned to his collection of jars and brewers. "It won't be a coffee or a traditional tea. Something different. Give me a moment."

The white tiger beastman didn't reply. He simply watched, giving a slow, deliberate nod. It was a silent agreement, an expression of trust placed in the hands of the strange, horned man behind the counter.

His hands are already moving, selecting ingredients from the wall of jars behind him. "You can eat while it's hot," Zero said, "Please, enjoy. I have a great chef, so I can guarantee the quality."

The beastman paused, his spoon hovering over the bowl. "You're not the one who made it?"

"Oh, no," Zero replied with an easy smile, not looking up from his work. "I'm okay with cooking, but Soma... Soma is one of the best chefs you will ever encounter."

The beastman's golden eyes glanced toward the empty kitchen. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and finally dipped his spoon into the congee.

The moment it touched his tongue, his entire body went rigid. It was as if his tongue, which for his entire life had only known the simple, coarse flavors of roasted meat and trail rations, had been asleep and in an instant decided to wake up. A wave of complex, layered tastes washed over him—the deep, comforting savoriness of the rice, the rich creaminess of the egg yolk, the sharp, clean bite of the scallions. It was a flavor profile so perfectly balanced and utterly new that it felt borderline magical. He stared into the bowl, then back at Zero.

"Is your chef a mage?" he asked, his voice losing some of its gruffness, replaced by genuine bewilderment.

Zero, who was carefully grinding a dark, resinous bark with a mortar and pestle, smiled without looking up. A soft chuckle escaped him. "No, he's not," he said proudly. "He's just that good."

The beastman said nothing more. He simply ate, each spoonful a new discovery. He ate quickly, efficiently, but with a reverence he had never before afforded a meal. By the time he had scraped the bowl clean, a profound sense of satisfaction had settled deep in his bones.

As he set the spoon down with a soft click, Zero slid a heavy, dark ceramic mug across the counter toward him. "And now, your drink."

The liquid inside was a deep, opaque black, with steam rising from the surface in slow, deliberate curls. The beastman leaned forward, inhaling the aroma. It was uncanny. The dominant scent was the sharp, clean bitterness of something like burnt wood, but woven through it was the unmistakable, earthy fragrance of a pine forest just after a heavy rain. It was the exact smell of his memories.

He lifted the heavy mug, its warmth seeping into his hands, and took a cautious sip.

The taste was a perfect echo of the aroma. A powerful, bitter wave washed over his palate first—the taste of smoked ironwood and dark-roasted herbs. But it didn't linger. It was immediately followed by a smooth, clean finish that left behind the subtle, refreshing aftertaste of pine and damp earth. It was everything he had described, but translated into a language of flavor he never knew existed. It wasn't just a drink; it was a memory distilled, a moment of quiet solitude by a campfire captured in a cup.

He closed his eyes, the gruff lines on his face softening for just a fraction of a second. He took another, longer drink, letting the warmth spread through his chest. After a long, profound silence, he finally lowered the mug and looked at Zero. His gaze was no longer just intense; it was filled with a deep, grudging respect.

"You listen well," the beastman rumbled. He pushed the empty congee bowl forward slightly. "How much for the meal?"

Zero let out a small, awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Well," he began, his professional demeanor cracking for the first time, "we're kind of new. As in, this is our first day opening. And I'm not from around here." He met the beastman's intense gaze with frank honesty. "It might sound strange, but I don't have any references for what the price should be."

The beastman was silent for a long moment, his golden eyes searching Zero's face, trying to discern if this was a trick. When he saw only earnest uncertainty, his gruff expression shattered. A deep, rumbling laugh erupted from his chest, a sound like stones tumbling downhill that filled the entire café.

"Hahahaha! I knew you were new," he boomed, "but this is truly fascinating! You open a business with no prices!"

Zero chuckled as well, the tension breaking. "You can see my problem, then. How about this? You can give us what you think the meal and the drink were worth."

The beastman's laughter subsided, and he looked down at the empty bowl and the half-empty mug. His expression turned serious once more. "You gave me the taste of comfort and a memory I thought was long gone," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I'm no rich merchant, but I know that's worth more than any fancy meal served in a royal court." He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, worn leather pouch. "So, I'm sorry to give you this, but it's all I can offer you today."

He placed several coins on the counter. They weren't the heavy silver Soles the dwarfs had left, but smaller, copper coins. It wasn't a large sum, but it was offered with a gravity that made it feel priceless.

"Thank you," Zero said, his voice soft with sincerity. "It's more than enough."

"Alright then, Mister...?" the beastman asked, pushing himself up from the chair.

"Zero," he replied. "Zero Ashworth. And you?"

The beastman paused, his hand on the strap of his coat. "I'm nothing but a mere, forgotten sailor," he said, his gaze distant. "But I'll be back. I'm curious about tomorrow's menu."

"I'll look forward to it," Zero said with a genuine smile. "Have a good day then... Captain."

The beastman stopped dead, his hand frozen halfway to the door. He turned his head just slightly, his golden eyes locking onto Zero's for a fraction of a second. He didn't smile, but the hard lines of his face seemed to soften. He gave a single, sharp nod, then turned and pushed the door open.

Ding.

The bell chimed as the door swung shut, leaving Zero alone in the quiet café with the warm scent of woodsmoke and the copper coins from his first, true customer.

Zero reached out and gathered the copper coins from the counter. They were warm from the beastman's pouch, worn smooth around the edges from years of circulation. He turned one over in his palm. On one side was a simple crest of a balanced scale, and on the other, the clear marking "1 Sol."

"I guess copper is 1 Sol and silver is 10 Sol," he muttered to himself, the kingdom's currency system slowly taking shape in his mind. "Do they have gold coins for 100 Sol, I wonder?"

He carefully counted the payment the beastman had left behind. Sixteen copper coins. Sixteen Sol.

A wide, heartfelt smile spread across Zero's face. He clutched the coins in his hand as if they were a treasure. In a way, they were. This was different from the dwarfs' payment. Linda and Henry were his neighbors; their patronage was an act of kindness, an obligation. But the beastman... he was a stranger, a true customer won over by their craft. This money felt earned.

With a renewed sense of purpose, he walked over to the cash register and dropped the sixteen coins into the slot. Just like before, they didn't clatter into a drawer but vanished in a soft shimmer of light. A moment later, the register's screen glowed.

[+16 Gacha Points Added]
[Current Balance: 46]

Zero looked at the new total, a determined glint in his eye. He had a long way to go, but now he had a path. A clear, tangible goal for him and Soma to work toward.

"Alright," he said to the empty café, his voice full of quiet resolve. "954 more for the next 11 gacha then."

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows down the alley, the flow of customers trickled to a stop. Zero had served several more people throughout the afternoon. Most were quiet, awkward transactions. A human student who nursed a single coffee for two hours, eyes glued to a textbook. A pair of dwarves who grumbled about the lack of ale but drank their tea without complaint. A few refused his offer of a personalized drink, their desire to minimize interaction with a "Taintedkind" clear. Zero could see why, but he didn't mind. The fact that they stayed, paid, and left without incident was a small victory in itself.

He was wiping down the counter, wondering when Soma would return, when the bell above the door finally chimed.

Soma stepped inside, a tired but triumphant smile on his face. He hung his work jacket on a nearby stand and stretched. "Hey boss," he said cheerfully. "How was the business?"

Zero gestured toward the front door with his cleaning rag. "Flip that sign, will you? It's almost dark. I don't think we'll be getting any more customers."

"Done." Soma flipped the sign to 'CLOSED'. "So, how did the congee do?"

"Good thing you didn't make a huge pot," Zero said, moving into the kitchen area to start on the growing pile of dishes. "Because there are leftovers."

"Damn," Soma muttered, his shoulders slumping. "I already made less than I wanted to, and it still didn't sell out."

"Calm down, it was our first day," Zero said patiently, turning on the enchanted tap.

Soma came into the kitchen to help, then immediately stopped. He pointed at the stack of clean, drying bowls Zero had just washed. "Hey, that's not where those go. The deep bowls go on the lower shelf, it's better for airflow."

"Shut up," Zero retorted without turning around. "I know what I'm doing."

"Clearly, you don't," Soma insisted, barging into the cramped kitchen space. He began moving the dishes Zero had just placed, rearranging them to his own exacting standards. As they both moved around the tiny, narrow kitchen—Zero washing, Soma drying and putting away—they kept bumping into each other. An elbow here, a hip check there.

"Ow, watch it," Zero grumbled.

"Maybe if you put things in the right place, I wouldn't have to be in your space," Soma shot back, reaching over him for a towel.

As Zero turned from the sink and Soma moved to put the last bowl away, they misjudged the space entirely and bumped squarely into each other, foreheads connecting with a solid thwack.

In that single instant, the world dissolved.

For Zero, it was a dizzying, overwhelming flood. The awe of the grand library, the weight of the history book in his hands, the disorienting shock of seeing the ghost of America on a map, the quiet, intelligent voice of Director Belkas—all of Soma's experiences poured into his mind not as a story, but as a memory he had lived himself.

For Soma, the transfer was just as violent. He felt the sting of a dozen customers' disgust, the quiet pride of serving the white tiger beastman, the feel of the warm copper coins, the awkwardness of explaining he had no prices. He lived Zero's entire day in a single, heart-stopping second.

They both stumbled back, clutching their heads, eyes wide with shock. They stared at each other for a silent, disbelieving moment, processing the torrent of shared experience.

Then, at the exact same time, they both yelled.

"You didn't put fixed prices on the meals and drinks?!" Soma shouted, aghast at the sheer business insanity.

"You became chummy with the director of the Royal Library?!" Zero roared, bewildered by his clone's impossible social success.