Scarlett hadn’t expected Yamina to be an excellent cook. The woman seemed to have so little interest in most things that didn’t relate to magic or research—to the point where she apparently went days without eating because of it—and was already such a master of both that it felt almost unfair for her to be skilled at something as grounded and ordinary as cooking as well.

That assumption proved wrong the moment the Senior Wizard produced a veritable feast for them all.

It showed that you couldn’t really tell what hobbies or other hidden depths a person might hide until you spent time with them and saw what they were like in their everyday life.

Yamina, for one, proved fascinating to observe in the kitchen, conjuring an array of what seemed to be custom implements looking vaguely like something you might find in an ordinary kitchen, but just slightly adjusted with magic.

The wizard moved between tasks with ease, braising a cut of meat in a shallow iron vessel while reducing a sauce on one side and spicing an entirely separate dish on the other, all the while chatting with Kat and Rosa, who had both taken an eager interest in her methods and offered to help with the simpler work — stirring, chopping, and keeping things from burning.

Scarlett looked on as what had begun as slightly suspicious-looking cuts and bundles pulled from Yamina’s spatial storage became genuinely appetising dishes that wouldn’t have looked out of place on the table back at the Freybrook mansion. A warm, inviting smell spread through the chamber, tugging at all of them.

Yamina had Fynn and Shin clear the clutter into the corners and set up a single long table in the centre, accompanied by a mismatched assortment of seating, as all of them settled in.

Even Carnwedain sat with them, positioned at the far end of the table on a flat slab of dark metal. The knight looked out of place, not only because of his size and armour, but also because he’d declined to actually eat. In fact, he hadn’t eaten once throughout their travels together. Still, he didn’t appear to mind watching the rest of them partake in the feast.

When Scarlett tried her first bite—a braised cut of meat whose origin she hadn’t asked about, glazed with something sweet like honey but faintly smoky—she had a brief, uncharitable thought that it was a waste that Yamina had become a wizard and not a proper chef.

That was stupid, of course. Without Yamina, she never would have been able to deal with Fate, and there was no telling where she might have found herself now. But the food was just that good. It could legitimately contend with—maybe even surpass—what she was usually served back home.

She clearly wasn’t the only one thinking it. Yamina received praise from all around the table with a quiet, pleased smile. To Scarlett’s surprise, even Nol’viz tried the food, picking up a small piece of pork with a fork and letting it disappear beneath her mask as her trio of lavender eyes blinked once in unison.

Like Carnwedain and Slate, the Cabal girl didn’t really need to eat — at least not normal food. She had devoured the flesh of some of the monsters they’d encountered in dungeons, but this was the first time she’d tried properly cooked food in front of them.

From the looks of things, she thoroughly enjoyed it. In fact, she quickly proved a more voracious eater than even Fynn, which had Scarlett intervening before the girl worked through all the remaining dishes on her own.

While eating, they spent the time talking and catching up on what had happened. Scarlett’s companions gave a lighter, more colourful account of their encounter with Olgolzkreh—how they’d obtained his heart and what the dungeon runs afterwards had been like—while Yamina listened and offered her own account of what she’d been up to in the Forgotten Tower since their departure. Mainly, she had been cleaning up the unstable arcane residue left behind by the ritual carried out here, though there had apparently been a few mishaps in the process, including instances where she had been flung into spontaneously formed interstitial spaces that, based on Yamina’s description, sounded far from tame.

Once they had all finished and taken a moment to enjoy a good meal—except Nol’viz, who entirely unabashedly asked Yamina if she could cook more, to the wizard’s visible amusement—Yamina led them to a new chamber. It was dominated by a single circular array inscribed at its centre, surrounded by a ring of coloured glass vessels and metal instruments that Yamina explained were a blend of stabilisers, catalysts, and prepared mana sources. She instructed Scarlett to stand at its heart.

“What does this do?” Scarlett asked, studying the glyphs etched into the ground around her and trying to parse their meaning with the legacy’s help. Some were Zuverian and straightforward enough to read, but a good number were modern equivalents she couldn’t place immediately. The array was also complex enough that she doubted she could fully work out its construction without help.

“Far more than it has any right to,” Yamina answered from near the chamber entrance, where the others had gathered.

The only ones who weren’t present were Nol’viz and Carnwedain. Considering the sensitive details of what they might do, Scarlett had told them to stay behind.

Yamina’s spellbook lay open in her left hand, its pages occasionally turning on their own, while her other hand held a softly pulsing orb. “But its primary function shouldn’t be entirely unfamiliar to you. You remember your time in the Hall of Echoes?”

Scarlett looked up from the glyphs. “I do. Then this will draw me into Memories?”

“It’s a similar phenomenon, at the very least. Whether it’s the exact same is harder to say, but I imagine that distinction would be closer to pointless semantics to most people not versed in the relevant theory.”

“Are the Council members on the Rising Isle aware that you know how to do this?”

From Scarlett’s understanding, the memory magic underlying the Hall of Echoes—the more basic kind that preserved insights from previous generations of human wizards—was only partially understood even by the Isle’s current elders. And that was without touching on the far more powerful Memory phenomena Scarlett herself had experienced there.

Meanwhile, Yamina Ward, a mere ‘Senior Wizard’, was apparently reconstructing such forgotten magic on her own, all the while hiding away in an ancient tower that legends said hadn’t been entered in centuries.

Scarlett also seemed to recall the woman mentioning something about ‘borrowing’ a not-insignificant amount of extremely valuable resources from the Isle’s coffers at some point.

She almost felt bad for them.

A faint furrow crossed Yamina’s brow as she didn’t immediately answer Scarlett’s question, her attention fixed on the orb in her palm for a few seconds before she glanced at the spellbook. One of its pages flipped on its own, and a rune rose into the air above it, hanging there and turning slowly. Then the wizard’s expression loosened, and she looked over at Scarlett with a smile.

“I won’t tell if you don’t, Baroness.”

Scarlett chuckled quietly. “Very well.”

Yamina touched the suspended rune, and it shot forward, unfolding into a lattice of interwoven lines that expanded to encircle the array with Scarlett at its heart. The inscriptions beneath her feet flared to life in sequence.

“Now, prepare yourself,” Yamina said. “This process should hopefully answer some of your questions. In theory, you should still be able to communicate with us throughout, but we will not see what you do. Keep that in mind.”

Scarlett nodded. “I understand.”

So this would show her a vision of some sort.

She briefly met Rosa’s eyes, and then the others’. Then the air thickened with an almost palpable charge, and the world reformed.

It was a crowded tavern, a folksy melody threading through the noise of people clustered around tables laden with half-eaten trenchers and sloshing tankards, a thick haze of woodsmoke and spilled ale hanging over the whole place.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A group of older men by a nearby table laughed loudly as they slapped the back of a youth tilting his head back and trying to pour the contents of a tankard straight down his throat, rivulets of frothy drink streaming into the patchy excuse for a beard on his chin.

She watched with a quiet mix of interest and something that took her a moment to recognise as jealousy as the youth nearly choked, sputtering and setting the tankard down hard on the wood in front of him to the even louder laughter of the men around him. His cheeks were red and his eyes slightly glazed, but despite all that, he was smiling, laughing along with them.

It was a naive smile.

But it looked pleasant.

Being surrounded by one’s more experienced elders, who teased and encouraged you in the same breath. Not being aware of your own limits yet and still figuring out who you were.

Not already knowing more than everyone around you.

She wondered—

“Baroness, can you hear me?” a voice came from somewhere nearby.

Scarlett blinked, pulled half out of the scene that had been folding itself around her.

“Yamina?” she asked cautiously, searching for the source of the voice.

“I’m here,” it replied, sounding distant and close at the same time. “Did it work? Are you seeing anything?”

Scarlett frowned slightly, taking in her surroundings again.

The youth slurred something grateful as one of the older men pressed another tankard into his hands, tossing a mildly crude remark at the barmaid passing behind him. She repaid it with a firm smack to the back of his head before heading towards the counter without breaking stride.

“…I believe that it worked,” Scarlett said.

“Excellent. Then pay close attention from here. Oh, and do try not to get too drawn in. I did say this process wasn’t dangerous, but it may prove rather embarrassing for me regardless. I would appreciate it very much if you could respect our standing as allies and overlook anything...let’s say unbecoming.”

Scarlett was quiet for a moment, reorienting herself within the scene as she turned the wizard’s words over. Her perspective shifted, and she suddenly realised what Yamina had meant.

A girl idled near the tavern’s entrance, clad in simple travelling robes and looking no older than fourteen or fifteen. Her hair was deep purple, cropped short in a practical cut, a pair of thin-framed glasses resting on the bridge of her nose as her eyes fixed on the youth who had already made a start on his second tankard.

Her gaze lingered, then drifted across the tavern, passing over each face in turn. She recognised none of them, yet she could still tell plenty about each.

The minstrel near the centre was someone who had spent much of their youth in the Luicean Isles, nursing hopes of joining the Velvet Dancers. The old man dozing in front of the fireplace was a retired Shielder who had lost his leg to a cockatrice and still fought the phantom pain of it in his sleep. The man behind the bar was a father of three who loved his children and wife above everything else and wanted nothing more than to see them settled and well.

Scarlett’s gaze followed the girl’s across the room, the silent impressions surfacing and dissolving in her mind like half-remembered dreams.

“Is this how the world appears to you, Yamina?” she asked, surprised by how much the girl seemed to know about total strangers.

“It was, once upon a time,” Yamina’s voice answered. “Don’t mind it too much. It was simply a consequence of peering too closely into Fate. It wasn’t usually this pronounced.”

“I see.” Scarlett’s gaze continued drifting through the tavern before settling back on the slim figure of the purple-haired teenager.

Her eyes had returned to the drinking youth.

“You were rather endearing when you were young,” Scarlett said.

There was a brief pause.

“Pardon?”

“Were you envious of that youth? For being able to drink so freely and without consequence? For not knowing what tomorrow would bring him?”

“...Baroness, I can’t help but feel you are focusing on the wrong things.”

Scarlett’s mouth curved into a faint smile. “Merely stating an observation.”

She knew Yamina had a sense of humour, but the woman had never struck her as someone prone to self-consciousness. It was curious, seeing a younger version of her like this.

“I think you’ll find there are far more interesting things to observe here than my own youthful indiscretions,” Yamina’s voice returned, with a note that came close to dry. “I would personally prefer it if you focused on those.”

“If you say so.” Scarlett glanced around. “I presume you were not in this establishment by accident. What brought you here?”

“You will see soon enough.”

Something caught Yamina’s attention. She finally pulled her gaze from the youth, eyes landing on a corner of the room. There, at a small table, sat an unremarkable figure nursing a tankard beside a trencher of dark bread and an open book laid flat on the wood.

Yamina watched them.

She had not noticed them until now.

She knew nothing about them.

She crossed the room, weaving past a cluster of rowdy men and a barmaid balancing a full tray overhead, then stopped at the table, pulled out the opposite chair, and sat down without invitation.

“The Gentleman, is it?” she said with airy confidence. “You are a difficult one to track down.”

Scarlett stilled. She looked at the person sitting across from the young Yamina. “That is not—”

The person raised their head and regarded her with a mild, knowing smile. “I’m afraid you have me confused, young miss. I’m no gentleman. In fact, many have called me the opposite.”

He was a man dressed in a simple brown vest over a white wool shirt. Bald, with soft, slightly sagging features, the faint shadow of stubble interrupted by a small mole just above his right lip. Yamina felt as though she had seen his sort of face dozens of times in crowded markets, only to forget it shortly after.

A scowl touched her brow. “You’re not The Gentleman?”

That was impossible. She had been certain this time. He couldn’t have slipped past her.

Scarlett stared at the bald man, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“So you truly met with The Other,” she said.

A few moments passed before the response came. “Perhaps I did.”

The man studied Yamina, his smile settling into something quieter as he took a slow drink from his tankard and set his book aside. “You have me confused with someone else, but that’s alright. Fate can be fickle like that. One moment it pulls your life down a predetermined path, the next it stutters and leaves you standing before a door that shouldn’t be there. A right nuisance for something that’s supposed to be unyielding, isn’t it?”

Yamina’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

He spread his hands. The din of the tavern fell silent. “That would be the penultimate question. The one that comes just before the last. It wouldn’t be right of me to answer it without any preamble. I don’t even know yet why you’ve come looking.”

“I didn’t come looking for you,” Yamina said. “I came to find The Gentleman. You being here instead suggests you arranged this deliberately.”

His smile turned sly. “It does, doesn’t it?”

She watched him, saying nothing.

“Why did you want to meet The Gentleman at that point?” Scarlett asked.

Yamina had told her before that she’d tried to meet The Gentleman, only to find that the man seemed intent on avoiding her.

“Back then, I still didn’t know with certainty how to bring about Fate’s breaking,” Yamina answered. “I knew The Gentleman had some connection to Fate. I thought he might be able to help.”

“But you had never heard of The Other before this?”

“I had not.”

“Then was this your only encounter with him?”

“Yes.”

The man leaned forward over the table, and a gold coin appeared between his fingers, walking idly back and forth across his knuckles. One face showed a robed scholar, rendered in fine detail. “Say, young miss. You wouldn’t happen to be a betting lass?”

“I have never bet once in my life,” Yamina said.

“No? Wise.”

The coin stilled on top of his index finger, tipped to show its other face. A one-eyed jester with a crooked hat and a smile that had too many teeth.

“But sometimes,” he said with an unhurried air, “placing a wager to move something along is the only way to get where you want to go. Nary a breathing soul escapes that particular truth. One of all realms’ many, many unfortunate constants.”

Yamina’s eyes dropped to the coin, then rose back to his face before drifting out across the tavern around them.

No one was moving.

“Are you a demon?” she asked, turning back to him.

“A demon?” he repeated. “Jumping to conclusions now, are we?”

Her expression didn’t shift, but something wound tight in her chest.

She was scared.

It was a novel sensation, and she didn’t like it at all.

“A Vile?” she ventured.

The man smiled in a way that sent something cold crawling down her back.

“Viles broker deals and make sport of souls. I’m no miser scratching after debts or looking to devour anything.”

“Then what are you?”

He closed the coin into his fist in one smooth motion, then flipped it into the air. The gold caught the amber light of the hearthfire as it turned over several times and landed on the wood with a soft ring, rolling in a short arc before settling into a slow, wobbling spin.

When it finally went still, the scholar’s face looked up at Yamina.

The man considered her for a moment. Then his smile softened into something more ordinary, and whatever had been crawling down her spine quietly withdrew.

“You can call me Aurelian, if you’d like,” he said. He leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming an absent, arrhythmic pattern against the table. “I am a proprietor of sorts.”

Scarlett’s features darkened as she watched the shift in him. How easily and completely he went from one face to another.

“Two-faced is what he is,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

“That as well,” the man said.

Yamina frowned. “What?”

He gave an unbothered chuckle. “Never mind that. It isn’t quite for your ears yet, young miss. Though I imagine you’ll get there eventually.”

Scarlett watched him closely.

“You can hear me,” she said.

He had heard her. Without a doubt.

“...Are you talking to us?” Yamina’s voice drifted in from somewhere outside the scene.

Scarlett didn’t answer her. She waited for The Other to respond, but he didn’t. He simply kept his gaze on the younger Yamina, his smile unchanged.

The man turned and reached for a worn leather satchel hanging from the back of his chair. Yamina hadn’t noticed it until now, and for all she could tell, it was entirely unremarkable — plain, battered, giving off no trace of mana whatsoever. Which made it all the stranger when he drew from it a spellbook with dark binding reinforced by etched sigils, purple thread running in looping strokes along the spine, and she felt something unmistakably and profoundly potent radiating from it.

An intense, almost embarrassing surge of want moved through her the moment she saw it. The kind that surprised her with its own force.

“I have here something that seems particularly well-suited to a young woman of your talents,” he said, setting the spellbook down on the table between them. “What do you say to making a small wager with me over it?”