Later, as the rest of the new Golden Lion planned their next move, Garrick, Dashiell, Surith, Ember, and Tad made their way down a cobblestoned street in Bellwater. They, too, had a place to be, and time was very much of the essence.

Surith, still in an attempt to avoid undue attention, was swathed from head to toe in cloaks and a hood, resembling a mobile pile of laundry more than anything else.

Ember, seemingly having forgotten about Surith for the time being, darted back and forth from Garrick's left shoulder to his right, her excitement a physical thing. Garrick smirked, glad to see her back to her usual self after such a spat of tension.

As they walked, Garrick sneaked a hand into his satchel and pulled out a treat for Ember—a piece of his supply of jerkied beef. He held it up, and Ember's eyes lit up with delight. She eagerly began munching on it, making adorable, contented noises that brought a genuine smile to Garrick's face.

Garrick sighed contentedly, having made a very short pit stop to a teashop a handful of minutes prior where he'd procured quite the haul of different varieties.

* Salamander’s Breath (remarkably spicy, perfect for those who enjoy the sensation of being punched in the face by a chili pepper)

* Dusk’s Embrace (the tea equivalent of a warm hug from someone you can’t quite remember the name of)

* Pirate’s Grey (robust and spicy, with the faint aroma of ill-gotten gains)

* Silver Lining (supposedly uplifting, but more like an herbaceous reminder that things could be marginally worse)

* Crimson Dawn (a blend that boldly promises rejuvenation, yet delivers the chemical equivalent of a stern talking-to)

* Moonshadow Elixir (a blend so mysterious that it’s rumored to exist only in the fever dreams of insomniacs)

Dashiell walked alongside Garrick, regaling the group with stories of his childhood, his tone polite and filled with a peculiar kind of nostalgia.

"One of my fondest memories," Dashiell began, "is visiting Humbledown's Bistro every morning. The smell of fresh bread and produce, the warmth of the ovens... Mrs. Humbledown always had a fresh tomato and cheese sandwich ready for me. She'd even let me sprinkle the flour on the loaves sometimes."

Garrick nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"My greatest accomplishments are of the bread variety as well…" he said.

"Then, of course, there was the annual bell-ringing festival," Dashiell continued. "Father would always take me to the town square, and we'd watch as the bell-ringers performed Eloelle's Rhapsody. I once had the honor of polishing the bell before the festival began. Such a proud moment."

Dashiell's memories were delightfully mundane, painting a picture of a childhood devoid of any true mischief. Garrick mused at how the young man's cherished recollections involved tasks that would bore most children to tears. Polishing a bell? Sprinkling flour? It was a wonder the lad had any fun at all.

"Did you ever get into trouble, Dashiell?" Tad piped up, his curiosity evident. "You know, like… sneaking out at night or playing pranks on the neighbors? One time I tied a bottle rocket to my friend's little sister's ponytail."

Dashiell looked mildly horrified at the thought.

"Pranks? Oh no, never. The closest I came to trouble was when I once stayed out past curfew to help Mr. Thornbuckle tidy up his workshop. Mother was terribly cross with me."

"You're a saintly young man, young Montrose," Garrick mused.

Skylark was a bit of a handful, he recalled, thinking about his son. Though, that's partly my fault, most likely. Can't imagine it's easy, growing up in an isolated place like Respite.

Dashiell smiled modestly.

"I simply believe in doing what is right."

Surith had been listening quietly, but turned to level a gaze on Dashiell.

“Trouble is sometimes right,” he explained sagely.

“There’s a certain point to that,” Garrick agreed.

Dashiell smiled and shook his head.

“Suppose our paths were quite different,” the young man said.

“Yeah, but look at that,” Tad piped up. “Despite taking different routes, we all ended up here.”

There was a silence that fell over them all—most predominantly because none were sure if the fact that they’d all wound up in the same place was a good thing or a bad thing.

It likely varies depending on who you’re sat next to, Garrick mused.

As they continued down the street, the sounds of Bellwater surrounded them. Merchants hawked their wares, children played in the alleys, and the scent of roasting meat wafted from a nearby food stall. It was a town alive with activity, yet somehow quaint and comforting.

Surith, maintaining his cover, shuffled along, drawing curious glances from passersby. Ember, ever vigilant, kept a close eye on the hobgoblin, her eyes occasionally flicking to Garrick as if to ensure he was equally watchful.

"So, where are we heading?" Tad asked, looking around with wide-eyed interest. "This place looks like it has a lot of interesting spots."

Garrick kept his expression neutral.

"You'll see soon enough."

Dashiell smoothly transitioned back to his storytelling.

"I must tell you about the time we had a visiting minstrel. He performed every evening for a week, and the entire town gathered to listen. I memorized every one of his songs. It was the most exciting thing to happen in Bellwater in years."

"Mr. Montrose," Garrick said with a grin, "you truly had a wild youth."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Dashiell nodded earnestly.

"Indeed. I consider myself very fortunate."

They continued walking, the conversation flowing around them as they approached their destination. Garrick found himself enjoying the simplicity of Dashiell's memories. In a world filled with chaos and danger, there was something comforting about hearing tales of a childhood filled with nothing but pleasant, albeit uneventful, days.

"Here we are," Garrick finally said, gesturing up at the looming building. "The Library of Bellwater."

The building stood at the end of the cobblestone street, looking rather like a grandiose relic that had stubbornly refused to move with the times. Its exterior was constructed from a hodgepodge of weathered stone, darkened by centuries of rain, wind, and the occasional pigeon that had found it a convenient perch. Overall, it had an air of stately decay, as if it had given up on trying to keep up appearances long ago and now embraced its role as the slightly eccentric elder uncle of the neighborhood.

Vines clambered up the walls, some even managing to worm their way through cracks in the masonry. This gave the library a somewhat wild, overgrown appearance, as though nature itself was trying to get in on the action within.

Gargoyles, worn smooth by the relentless passage of time, perched at the corners of the roof. They retained just enough of their original menace to suggest that, while they might not be able to see you, they were definitely judging your choices.

Tall, arched windows lined the upper floors, many adorned with stained glass scenes that looked like they had been designed by someone who had a rather loose grasp on historical accuracy. Dragons frolicked with wizards, celestial bodies danced around griffins, and somewhere in the mix was what looked suspiciously like a goat playing a lute.

The entrance was marked by a pair of massive oak doors, each one intricately carved with scenes of scholars poring over ancient tomes and monks transcribing manuscripts by candlelight. The iron handles were shaped like entwined serpents, their eyes inlaid with tiny, glinting gems that looked like they’d seen better days, possibly around the time the library was built.

Flanking the entrance were two stone pillars topped with lanterns that emitted a soft, inviting glow, even in the harsh light of day. These lanterns had an astaran quality to them, suggesting that they might have been enchanted to never fade, or possibly just remain very stubbornly lit.

Above the door hung a weathered sign, its once-bright lettering now faded to a dignified shade of 'nearly illegible:' "Bellwater Library — Est. 423 FL" Beneath it, a smaller, somewhat more recent addition declared, "Open to All Seekers of Knowledge," as if to reassure visitors that despite appearances, the place was still in business.

Despite its slightly neglected…everything, Garrick considered that the library exuded a sense of timeless wisdom and quiet reverence. It was the sort of place that had been a cornerstone of Bellwater for generations, standing as a lighthouse for those in search of enlightenment, or at least a decent read on a rainy day.

"Are—are we here to…read things?" Tad asked, sounding horrified.

Garrick chuckled.

"Only if the mood strikes, Mr. Tadanius," he said. "Though, ol' Kilbourn might not take kindly to general loitering. In fact…"

He gestured to a bench a few dozen feet away.

"…why don't you take a load off, instead? Let us more bookish types deal with the books."

Tad looked beyond grateful, nodding eagerly.

"I'll act as lookout!" he declared. "Listen for a bird call. If you hear it, you'll know someone's coming."

"Lookout?" Garrick wondered, smirking. "What exactly do you think we're doing here, Mr. Tadanius?"

"Crime?" the otherworlder offered uncertainly.

"Now, why would we be doing crime?" Garrick asked. "We're just here to ask a few questions."

"Well…I suppose I just assumed it was something illegal based on the way you seemed to blanch when we arrived."

That surprised Garrick.

Perceptive little pup, eh? he mused. Of course then he thought of all the times to the contrary, where Tad had been very much the opposite of observant and immediately dismissed the notion. Lucky catch, then?

"Oh," Garrick finally said. "No, I see. I imagine what you saw was just a man girding his stomach to deal with the old coot who runs the joint."

"Woah, he must be practically prehistoric if you're calling him 'old,'" Tad breathed.

Garrick felt his eyebrow twinge.

"Yes…well, he's older than me," he said simply. "We'll just leave it at that."

"Alright—ooh! If they have any comics, will you grab me some?" Tad asked, grinning ear to ear. "Those are definitely words I can get behind."

Garrick sighed.

"Sure, Mr. Tadanius," he said. "If we encounter any comics, I'll make sure to borrow them on your behalf."

"You're alright, Garrick," Tad said, nodding gratefully. "Thanks a ton!"

With that, the otherworlder made his way to the bench, plopped down, and immediately opened up his menu to cycle through it.

Kids these days… Garrick thought.

He took a moment to gaze up at the library's ancient, imposing facade. The building had always been a fortress of knowledge, a bastion of wisdom—and, if he were to be honest, a source of great trepidation.

The thought of visiting Kilbourn was a double-edged sword. The cantankerous library master was indeed one of the most knowledgeable folks Garrick knew on the subject of a great many things. His mind was a veritable encyclopedia, capable of unraveling the most complex of mysteries. But there were reasons Garrick had wanted to keep his past firmly in the past, reasons that often surfaced whenever Kilbourn was involved.

He glanced down, feeling the weight of the embryo in his satchel.

Puzzles… he thought with an audible sigh. Puzzles everywhere.

His hand moved instinctively to the scroll now lashed upon his back, nestled between his pack and his spine. It was a strategic placement, one designed to keep it out of the path of prying eyes and curious fingers.

Hopefully, he mused, it'll be worth it.

The risk of dredging up old wounds was not something he took lightly. But the urgency of the embryo and the mystery of the scroll left him with little choice. If anyone could provide the answers they sought, it was Kilbourn, even if it meant…encountering parts of his past he’d rather leave undisturbed.

Alright, he thought, let's get this over with…

He was startled momentarily when he felt something soft pressing into his neck.

Ember.

The little vulpid still sat atop his shoulder and must've sensed his unease and attempted to comfort him. He was filled with a flood of gratefulness to the creature and brought his hand up to stroke her fur.

"Thanks, Ember," he whispered as she playfully nibbled on one of his fingers.

When he looked back toward the others, Garrick found Dashiell staring at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Mr. Montrose?" Garrick asked.

Dashiell's eyes flashed to Tad and then back to Garrick.

"Sir?" the young man asked. "What are…commecks?"

Garrick chuckled.

"Oh, you know how Mr. Tadanius is," he said, making his way toward the doors of the library. "It's likely some reference only he knows."

"Ah, yes—that would track," Dashiell said, joining Garrick as he made his way toward the building.

Garrick nodded resolutely.

"Shall we?" he asked, placing a hand on the ornate handle.

"Lead the way, sir," Dashiell said.

Garrick grasped the door, pulling it open with a heavy shifting of wood. All the while, he ignored the prickling sensation radiating from the scar on his chest.