The evening air had begun to cool by the time Saphryn retraced his steps. He had wandered through several streets without any particular destination and, almost without realizing it, found himself once again in front of the small bookshop where the old man had been sweeping earlier.
This time, the door stood open.
Inside were only four bookshelves, a reading table, and a staircase leading to the upper floor. It was neither a library nor a prestigious bookstore—just one of those quiet places that survived thanks to a handful of loyal customers.
The old man looked up as soon as Saphryn crossed the threshold.
"Good evening."
"Good evening."
The bookseller leaned the broom against the wall.
"Looking for a book?"
"Perhaps. I haven't decided yet."
The old man nodded calmly.
"Those are usually the best kind of customers."
Saphryn wandered slowly between the shelves. There were books on history, poetry, philosophy, ancient maps, and travel journals. Many bore the marks of having passed through countless hands.
As Saphryn examined their worn spines, the old man spoke again.
"You don't look like a scholar."
Saphryn pulled out a volume and opened it at random.
"Because I'm not."
"You don't look like a merchant, either."
"No."
The bookseller smiled faintly.
"And yet you spent nearly an hour in the public library."
Saphryn looked up.
"You seem quite observant."
"Running a bookshop teaches you to observe people before they observe the books."
For a while, neither of them spoke.
The silence was comfortable.
At last, the bookseller picked up a small book bound in dark leather and placed it on the table.
"You were looking for books about the ancient races, weren't you?"
Saphryn regarded him with quiet curiosity.
"How do you know?"
"The librarian and I have known each other for thirty years."
That explained a great deal.
The old man slid the book toward him.
"It isn't especially valuable, but it was written by someone who truly traveled beyond the human kingdoms."
Saphryn opened the first few pages.
The author described customs, languages, and cities with remarkable precision.
It didn't read like a collection of rumors.
"How much is it?"
The old man slowly shook his head.
"Take it."
Saphryn remained silent for a few moments.
"Books have value."
"So does seeing someone read them."
Saphryn placed a few coins on the table.
The bookseller gently pushed them back.
"I wasn't negotiating."
After a brief pause, Saphryn put the coins away.
"Then... thank you."
The old man gave a small wave of his hand.
"Come back when you've finished it."
"I will."
Saphryn left the bookshop with the book tucked beneath his arm.
Once the door closed behind him, the old man remained standing, staring out at the empty street.
His expression grew thoughtful.
He opened an old drawer behind the counter and withdrew a faded photograph, yellowed by the passage of time.
It showed several people gathered before a castle.
Among them stood a man with white hair and strikingly refined features. His clothing was unmistakably that of a noble, yet his crimson eyes and prominent fangs left no doubt that he was not human.
The old man studied the picture for several moments.
It wasn't the face.
Nor the hair.
Nor the clothing.
It was Saphryn's presence that had awakened the memory.
He had encountered something like it only once in his entire life.
Carefully folding the photograph, he returned it to the drawer.
"...What are you?"
Outside the bookshop, completely unaware of the question, Saphryn continued toward the Gray Oak Inn as the first lanterns of the evening flickered to life throughout Valdoren.
By the time night had fully settled over Valdoren, Saphryn arrived back at the Gray Oak Inn.
As he opened the door, the warmth of the hearth and the murmur of conversation replaced the cool evening air. Several tables were occupied by merchants and mercenaries enjoying their supper while discussing the day's events.
Edric raised a hand the moment he spotted him.
"Over here!"
Saphryn walked over to the table.
Lyra had already finished eating and was leafing through a small book, though she looked up with a smile as he approached.
"You came back."
"I said I'd try."
Edric pushed a bowl toward him.
"Good. The stew's still hot."
"Thank you."
As they ate, the conversation flowed easily.
Edric spoke about the merchants he'd done business with that day, about how several nobles were delaying purchases because of the uncertainty hanging over the city, and about the rumors that had already begun to spread.
Lyra, however, seemed interested in something else.
"Did you find what you were looking for at the library?"
Saphryn set his spoon down.
"Not yet."
A faint smile crossed his face.
"But I found a few questions worth asking."
She smiled.
"Do you always answer like that?"
Saphryn returned the smile.
"Only when it's true."
Lyra let out a soft laugh.
Edric shook his head.
"I still can't tell when you're being completely serious."
"Most of the time."
The three of them shared a quiet laugh.
It was the first time since meeting on the road that the conversation felt entirely natural.
They weren't talking about monsters.
Or murders.
Or mercenaries.
They were simply sharing a meal.
After dinner, Saphryn went upstairs to his room.
It was modest.
A bed.
A wooden table.
A single chair.
And a window overlooking the rooftops of Valdoren.
He placed the book the bookseller had given him on the table and began to read.
The opening chapters described the ancient trade routes between humans, dwarves, and elves.
Farther on came passages about vampire territories.
The author refused to portray them as mere monsters.
"Vampires possess cities every bit as refined as our own, though built upon different ideals. They value the age of a bloodline as highly as humans value wealth."
Saphryn continued reading.
"Many human nobles believe vampires exist only for war. That is false. Most seek stability, for a prosperous realm ensures a steady supply of both resources and blood. War is usually their last resort, not their first."
Those words matched what his mother had told him when he was a child.
He closed the book for a moment.
He no longer remembered her face clearly.
Only fragments remained.
A gentle voice.
A hand running through his hair.
And crimson eyes that had never once filled him with fear.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Saphryn?"
It was Lyra.
"Come in."
She opened the door just enough to step inside.
"I hope I'm not disturbing you."
"Not at all."
She was carrying a small cloth bag.
"My father always buys too much bread whenever we travel."
She placed it on the table.
"He asked me to bring you some for tomorrow."
Saphryn looked at the bag, then at Lyra.
"Tell him I'll thank him in person tomorrow."
She nodded, but didn't leave immediately.
Her eyes drifted toward the open book.
"Saphryn..."
"Yes?"
She hesitated for several seconds.
Saphryn waited patiently.
"Why do you travel alone?"
Silence lingered between them.
At last, Saphryn turned his gaze toward the window.
"Because the road I follow belongs to me alone."
There was no sadness in his voice.
Only quiet certainty.
Lyra understood she wouldn't receive a deeper answer.
She smiled softly.
"Good night, Saphryn."
"Good night, Lyra."
The door closed gently behind her.
Saphryn reopened his book and returned to reading.