He gave a knowing grunt. "Then you're far from home indeed. But…" He turned slowly, the heavy hem of his cloak whispering over the dusty stone floor, "…if you want to read our script, I can help."
Mae perked up slightly—until he added, "That'll cost you."
She squinted. "How much?"
He held up three fingers. "Three glints."
"Three glints?!" she nearly shouted. "That's more than a week's worth of meals!"
He gave her a curious look. "Are you expecting an entire education in three glints?"
"No," she snapped, "but are you offering a crash course or something?"
"A what?"
She sighed. "A shortcut. A spell. A magical language download into my brain?"
The man blinked slowly. "No. But I do have something faster than learning."
Now she was very much on edge. "I don't like the sound of that."
He shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you're just looking for answers—specific ones—I can give you information directly. That'll cost five glints."
Mae groaned. "Why is asking questions more expensive?"
"Because knowing the answer without effort is dangerous," he said smoothly.
She folded her arms. "Fine. What exactly are you offering for three glints?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he reached into the folds of his cloak and began rummaging through what sounded like an entire drawer of random trinkets. The search took so long that Mae began tapping her foot. When he finally pulled out something and held it up, she blinked at the object in confusion.
It was a uniglass—a single, circular lens attached to a delicate copper handle.
She stared at it. "You know I'm not blind, right? I don't need glasses—I just can't understand your squiggly alphabet!"
The man gave a long-suffering sigh and stepped forward, holding up the uniglass.
"Wear it," he said flatly.
Mae frowned, suspicious. "You're not trying to scam me, are you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted the uniglass to her eye and, with an unexpected gentleness, hooked the edge behind her ear and adjusted it until the lens sat directly over her right eye.
Before she could protest, he opened a book and held it in front of her face.
"Read."
She looked.
The letters—those indecipherable, coiling symbols—twisted before her eyes. They shimmered, glowed faintly, then suddenly rearranged themselves, snapping into crisp, clear words she could actually understand.
Mae gasped.
"...The Kingdom of Elareth, founded in the Year of First Flame, remains the oldest—" she began reading aloud, utterly stunned. "I can read it. I can actually read this."
The man allowed himself a faint smile. "Of course. That's a lens etched with rune-translation glyphs. An old invention. Most nobles have forgotten they even exist."
Mae tore her eyes from the page and stared at him. "So… I'm literate now?"
He shook his head. "You're not literate. The lens is. You're just borrowing its intelligence."
She frowned. "How long does it last?"
He shrugged. "Until you take it off."
Mae blinked, then looked down at the book again, reading line after line with growing awe.
Finally, she thought. A way to understand this world properly.
And all it had cost her... was three glints and a slightly bruised ego.
When she finally dropped the three glints into the man's palm, he nodded once—and then, right before her eyes, vanished.
No puff of smoke. No swirl of magic. One moment he was there, the next, gone.
Mae blinked at the empty air where he'd stood. "What the hell?" she muttered, peering around the shelves. "Did he seriously just... disappear after making a sale?"
She stared a moment longer, unsure whether to be impressed or unsettled. But honestly, it didn't matter. She could read now, and that was a massive win.
Sliding down beside the shelf, she began pulling book after book into her lap, devouring their contents. The uniglass on her eye made the pages glow faintly, and she realized it wasn't just translating—it was simplifying the content. Like some medieval version of an AI filter, every paragraph flowed smoothly, summarizing complex information into bite-sized clarity.
Mae briefly read through the political struggles of the Kingdom of Elareth, their on-and-off clashes with the Kingdom of Wisterland. Geographical differences between the world back home and here. This place had magic. Mae couldn't exactly find how or where was it found but it existed and that was a surprise, and looking though a piece probably mad eout of magic she was facinated by it. So much new information entered her head and she continued to leaned over the books,.
It was thrilling—until her back gave out with a painful crack. She groaned, stretching, and glanced up.
The sun had dipped past its zenith, slanting through the window in gold streaks. Dusk was creeping in. She'd lost track of time.
"Damn it," she whispered, closing the book and setting it aside. She removed the uniglass, feeling her vision adjust to the dull light, and carefully tucked it into her worn leather satchel.
As she stood, brushing off dust from her dress, the man appeared again, emerging from behind the far shelf like a shadow made solid.
Mae jumped. "You seriously need to stop doing that."
He didn't reply, only offered a small, knowing smile and held out a folded parchment.
Her brows furrowed. "What's this?"
"A map," he said simply.
Mae narrowed her eyes. "Okay, how much?"
"Count it… as a gift," he said, voice low and cryptic.
She stared at him, almost waiting for the catch—but before she could respond, he was gone again, slipping behind the shelves as if swallowed by them. No sound. No trace. Not even dust stirred in his wake.
Mae blinked, heart racing.
Still… a free map? She couldn't complain.
She slipped it into her bag with the uniglass and made her way out of the library, the sun casting a dying amber light over the cobbled streets outside.
"I need to sell the other earring," she muttered, wrapping her cloak tighter around herself. "And maybe get myself a dagger... Or one of those magic artifacts the books mentioned. Anything to keep me from being murdered in my sleep."
She passed carts selling faded fruit, wandering dogs barking at each other across rooftops, and half-dozing vendors shouting desperate end-of-day deals.
What she didn't notice—too lost in her thoughts—was the sound behind her.
Thick footsteps. Steady. Heavy. Too close.
Someone had been following her since morning.