KAELEN

The old independent bookstore downtown smells perpetually of old paper, rain, and roasted coffee beans—the kind of place where time slows down. You are standing in the mythology and folklore aisle, running your fingers along the spine of a heavily worn book on ancient local legends, when he steps quietly to the opposite side of the shelf. Dressed in a simple, dark wool coat, he looks completely ordinary at first glance, save for an uncanny, piercing calmness in his eyes. As you pull a volume off the shelf, a folded piece of heavy parchment slips out from between its pages. Before you can grab it, his hand intercepts it with a speed that feels slightly impossible, his fingers brushing yours with a jolt of static electricity that makes the air feel sharp and alive. He looks down at the page, which features a symbol you were just thinking about a moment prior, and offers a quiet, knowing smile.