Alexandria's Keeper - Lord of the Mysteries

Chapter 47: Reunion



Her heart pounded as she sped through the crowded streets. Gehrman Sparrow will leave tomorrow on the White Agate!

What to do—what to do! Panic clawed at her chest as her mind raced Should I just... pop up at his hotel?

The noise of the bustling city seemed to fade as Irina kept trying to come up with a plan, only to freeze in the middle of the street. But... It's been months, he must think I died, no? I can't just... She shook her head, no no, I also can't appear like–this! I'm a mess! She thought, glancing down at her tattered, blood-stained clothes. At least the cloak hides them, but it's not enough.

Heavy stares pressed down on her, and she felt herself shrinking under their weight, leading her to quickly duck into an alley. I think I know what to do, she said to herself as a form of reassurance. I still have a day—no wait. Irina gazed up at the sky, light dread forming in the pit of her stomach. It's... it's past midday!

She paced back and forth, I need to go and buy a ticket first, she reasoned, only to stop midway. But I don't have any identification with me... and this face. She hesitated, fingers grazing her cheek, Irina is dead, she can't just show up out of nowhere!

The dirty alley grew silent, save for the distant hum of the street. Irina, as still as a statue, refused to move as she formed a decent plan. I think... yeah. If it doesn't work, I'll figure something else out... or Klein will. He's much better than me in that regard anyway!

Straightening her back, she stepped out of the alley and onto the main street, her gaze scanning for a cheap hotel.

 

The room was scarcely decorated, just as she'd expected—worn furniture, faded wallpaper, and a faint smell of mold clinging to the air. But it was secure, or at least for now.

Irina double-checked the lock on the door and drew the curtains shut. Her spirit vision revealed no hidden threats or traps lurking in the room, but she still felt uneasy. No wall of spirituality... but I don't have the materials for that right now. She sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed.

With a practiced motion, she lifted her hand, tracing invisible letters into the air. The word 'Alexandria' appeared in her mind, and her surroundings shifted, slowly disappearing.

When she opened her eyes, Irina found herself sprawled on the smooth, glass-like floor of the library. A familiar irritation bubbled up, why...

"Why am I always on the ground?!" she groaned, sitting up and glaring at the nearby sofa—a mere step away. She scrambled to her feet and threw herself onto it, burying her face in the cushions. "Seriously... I'm this close every time. Is there some setting I have to change or what?!" Her muffled voice echoed in the vast, silent library.

Allowing herself a brief moment to relax, she adjusted her new outfit—too elegant for her future plans. I can't be out at sea with a ball gown, multiple petticoats, tight corset—actually, that's not too bad if I make some slight alterations...

Irina shook her head, pulling her focus back to the task at hand. On the coffee table before her lay a grayish tome adorned with the Fool's pathway symbol. With a swift flick of her hand, a glowing circle appeared beneath it, making it seamlessly flow towards her—a light fog appearing in its trail.

She grabbed it firmly. Staring at the engraved symbol, she couldn't help but feel nervous. How will he react... Her eyes avoided the title, knowing that if she were to read it, he would be instantly summoned to the library. Instead, she placed her hand on the cover, hiding the name she already knew was written there: 'Klein Moretti.'

A weight, a tug, and a blob of darkness soon emerged from the book, following her hand as it rose from it. She watched, entranced, as the surface cleared, slowly forming a rough sphere, beginning to show a male figure resting in what appeared to be a hotel room not much different from hers.

Her lips twitched into a smile. He also chose a cheap one, she mused. Irina quickly realized she could control the sphere's size and location simply with her mind and did so, resting her hand on her lap instead.

Her gaze lingered on his sharp features. A young gentleman with gold-rimmed glasses, neat black hair, and dark brown eyes. He looks much colder than Klein, she thought. But damn... she covered a growing grin with her hand, Gehrman looks very good. I swear the original author didn't do him justice.

Although some fanarts definitely did, she then added in her mind.

Taking a deep breath, she realized the vision was crystal clear. The novel described Klein's to be somewhat blurry but this... she watched some more, noticing that Klein—Gehrman now—wasn't really doing much at the moment, just reading a newspaper while sipping tea. At least I'm not disturbing him.

She looked down, finally reading the title. The letters began to move upwards, slithering away from the cover and becoming unreadable, merging into a small, flowing ball. She waved it away, watching in the sphere as Klein's eyes opened in clear shock before closing automatically, as if asleep.

No longer having any use for the sphere, she dismissed it, allowing instead the black mass to expand, shaping itself into a male figure. She instantly recognized the silhouette, slightly surprised at the fact it was Klein's and not Gehrman's. Nonetheless, the black mass began to liquefy, dripping to the floor and vanishing beneath the glass-like surface, all of it happening in the span of seconds.

As it receded the man beneath was revealed. He sat motionless, his expression one of surprise, but as his black eyes opened, it soon morphed into pure shock.

Irina smiled kindly, greeting him, secretly thankful it wasn't his real body so he couldn't get a heart attack from the revelation, "Hello Klein."

The Seer's mouth opened and closed rapidly before she finally heard it. "Irina," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her grin widened. "Who else, idiot? It's been a while."

Klein's eyes darted across her face, disbelief giving way to realization. "You're alive," he breathed, but the joy in his voice was tinged with something heavier.

"I am," she confirmed lightly. "Not a ghost or a spirit—promise!" she joked.

But his expression darkened, his hands curling into fists. "You've been alive this whole time?" His voice rose, frustration spilling over. "I thought you were dead! Three months, Irina! I—" He cut himself off, his jaw tightening.

Her smile faltered. "I was asleep," she began, her voice hesitant. "I didn't mean to—"

"Asleep?!" Klein's voice rose in disbelief. "For three months? You couldn't send a single sign, a hint? Anything at all?!"

"I—" Irina's words caught in her throat as guilt clawed at her. She looked away, unable to meet his burning gaze. "I'm sorry..."

The tension between them hung heavy, but before either could speak again, a deep voice interrupted, its tone exasperated yet commanding.

"What is all this commotion?"

The air grew thick, pressing down on Klein like an invisible weight. He staggered slightly, his breath hitching as an oppressive presence filled the library. Irina felt it too, though to a lesser extent. Her eyes flicked to Klein, watching as his body reacted, shoulders trembling under the strain.

"Don't look," she whispered urgently. "Close your eyes." Why is 'He' here?!

Klein obeyed, shutting his eyes tightly. You can't look directly at a God, they both thought simultaneously.

Irina turned toward the source of the voice, her gaze steady. She could look—her pathway allowed it, and the protections she carried shielded her. Klein, however, had no such luxury.

"I'm sorry," she called out, her voice carefully measured. "I didn't think it would be a problem to chat with my friend," she said cautiously. "It isn't the first time I brought Klein here..."

The heavy presence of the Warden did not lessen. If anything, the air thickened further, pressing down on Klein like an invisible weight. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, and his breathing became strained. Irina stole a glance at him and noticed his hands trembling slightly.

"You didn't think," 'His' voice resonated, calm yet carrying an unbearable weight, "because you assumed I had gone back to sleep."

Irina's heart sank. So 'He' still hasn't. She lowered her head in a mixture of apology and caution. "We'll keep quiet. I promise. We won't bother 'You'."

'His' gaze shifted towards Klein. The oppressive presence doubled, though it carried no malice, only an undeniable sense of authority.

Irina's breath caught. 'He' is doing this intentionally... She bit her lip, remembering the times when 'He' had spoken to her in the library. Never had the pressure been so overwhelming, except that one time she had angered 'Him'. Is it a test? A warning of some sort? But why?

"You should be cautious about bringing others into Alexandria," 'He' said, 'His' tone measured but firm. "His sequence is too low."

"I know," Irina said quickly, nodding. "That's why I rearranged the books in this area to be normal, mundane ones. They're harmless."

There was a pause, one that felt too long. Then, as if satisfied, 'He' turned to leave. But before the oppressive presence fully faded, 'He' addressed Klein directly.

"Do not be a bother as well, Mysteries."

The title echoed like a distant bell, ringing with a serious meaning. Klein's brow furrowed in confusion, while Irina's eyes widened in realization.

He knows.

Her thoughts raced. Can 'He' feel the aura of Sefirah Castle? Or did 'He' read Klein's book? Or—her mind stumbled over multiple possibilities—yet, she dared not ask. 'He' was gone as quickly as 'He' had arrived, 'His' presence vanishing completely.

Klein let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his shoulders sagging. "That was..." He trailed off, still shaken.

Irina offered an apologetic smile. "I didn't think 'He' would show up. I thought 'He' was asleep."

"That person..." he began, his voice still uneven. "Is 'He' the owner of Alexandria?"

Irina nodded. "Yes. You can call 'Him' the Warden." She hesitated, not mentioning what 'He' had told her in private—that she, too, was technically an owner of the library. It's not something Klein needs to know. Not yet.

She settled more comfortably on the sofa and began explaining. "The fight with Ince, I lost it. He had 0-08, and there was no escaping it. I was... basically killed." Her voice wavered slightly. "But 'He'—the Warden rescued me—or rather, 'He' gathered my dying body from the spirit world and brought it here. The library slowly healed me, or so 'He' told me."

Klein frowned. "You don't sound convinced."

"I'm not," she admitted. Talking about this with 'Him' still around is... Her fingers curled into the fabric of her dress. "Some things don't add up, but I didn't dare question 'Him'. It's not important right now."

Klein nodded slowly, letting her continue.

"I was asleep for three months," she said, her tone tinged with regret. "I had strange dreams... some fragments I can't make sense of. But when I woke up, 'He' threw me into a city in the physical world. I bought new clothes—my old ones were still in tatters from the fight—and found out how much time had passed."

She sighed, meeting Klein's gaze. "The moment I realized, I came here to find you."

Silence hung between them as Klein processed everything. He leaned back, rubbing his temples. "And here I was," he muttered, "planning a revenge against Ince. I—"

Irina cut him off, her expression hardening. "If you aren't going to, I will. Ince is responsible for everything. You, Dunn, Kenley, Old Neil, so many others would've died if I... and it's all his fault."

Klein blinked, startled by her determination. "You knew..."

"I knew you would die," she said softly. "But I thought it was the best way for you to leave the Nighthawks. As for me... I was going to pray to the Goddess and explain everything. But since I 'died', there's no longer a need for it."

Her voice hardened again. "Ince will keep killing. He won't stop. If I have to destroy him myself, I will."

Klein's expression softened, and he nodded in understanding. "Leonard's a Red Glove now," he said, his tone quieter.

"I know," Irina replied, unsurprised.

"Dunn is also a Red Glove now."

Irina's mouth fell open. "What?" The shock on her face mirrored the disbelief in her voice.

The empty library felt serene, its air thick with the scent of aged paper and ink. Klein leaned back against the sofa, his gaze fixed on Irina. Her words echoed in his mind, connecting the dots.

"Dunn becoming a Red Glove..." Klein's voice trailed off as his finger drummed on his leg thoughtfully. "That means..."

"He was supposed to die," she murmured. "Fighting Ince."

Klein's eyes widened in realization before narrowing in contemplation. "So, if he's alive now... it's because things have already changed." He paused, his tone sharpening. "You didn't know this until now."

Irina smiled faintly. "My knowledge of the future isn't complete," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady. How else to explain I know the original version of the events and not the ones I'm changing? "Things shift. People change. Choices are made," she improvised an explanation.

Klein let out a soft sigh, leaning back into the sofa. "That's... reassuring, in a way. It means you're not burdened with knowing everything."

She let out a soft laugh. "Burdened is the right word. But Dunn becoming a Red Glove... it makes sense. He and Daly working together—closely, even." Her lips curled upward. "At least those two might find some happiness together."

He noticed the sad glint in her eyes but said nothing, letting the silence settle between them like an old companion.

"And that's why Ince has to die," Irina continued after a moment, her voice turning firm. "He can't ruin their future together." He won't take Daly too, not now that they finally have time together.

Klein nodded slowly, his thoughts aligning with hers. But before he could respond, she straightened.

"Back to the matter at hand," she said, her tone lighter. "I want to follow you—Gehrman Sparrow—but I don't have any identification documents."

Klein pinched the bridge of his nose, not questioning how she knew his new name, muttering, "Of course you want and of course you don't."

"I kind of 'died' if you remember," she retorted with a shrug.

He sighed, shaking his head. "It's fine as long as you don't ruin my persona. Cold. A man of few words."

Irina smirked. "I can handle that. Besides, I need to act to digest my potion anyway. I'll try a different persona myself."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing, "I'll do my best to hide my identity, but I'd rather not change my face if I can avoid it. I'll need an ID without a picture—not impossible, but tricky."

Klein frowned slightly but didn't argue.

I'm not willing to let my face go, not now that I know I'm almost identical to the old me thanks to that dream. Her thoughts drifted momentarily, and a strange chill ran through her. I've always been me...? The uncanny similarity between her current self and her past life made her shudder. She felt an odd mixture of fear and fascination. Why?

The headache came suddenly, cutting through her thoughts like a blade. She froze, the sharp pain pounding at her temples. Her breathing quickened, panic rising in her chest.

This knowledge... is too much for my Sequence? The thought spiraled, pulling her deeper into her mind. I know so much—about what lies beyond, about the above the Sequences—and 'this' is what causes a headache? The similarity between my two bodies?

A hand gripped her shoulder firmly, grounding her. Irina blinked, her mind snapping back into focus. Klein had moved to sit beside her, his expression a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"Hey," he said softly. "You were zoning out. I called you, but you didn't respond."

Irina exhaled shakily, massaging her temples. "I... thought about something beyond my knowledge. But I'm fine now."

Klein regarded her carefully before nodding. "If you say so."

He shifted back to the earlier topic. "I know someone who can get you an untraceable ID, though it won't be cheap."

Bernadette, Irina thought immediately, keeping it to herself, nodding instead.

"I also want to study your Faceless ability," she said, her voice regaining its steadiness. "Maybe I can figure out a spell to change my hair color or something. I'll cover my face with a scarf, glasses, or a mask—whatever works."

They chatted more, their conversation drifting to anecdotes from Klein's time as 'Sherlock Moriarty.' Irina laughed along, even though she already knew some of the stories. Hearing them in person, with Klein's humor and subtle expressions, was a different experience entirely.

Eventually, the time came for Klein to leave.

"I'll find a way to get you on the White Agate," he promised.

"If you can't," Irina said firmly, "don't change the trip. Don't change the day or the ship. I'll figure out a way to join you."

Klein smirked, his tone teasing. "Planning to hide in a suitcase, are you?"

She laughed. "That doesn't sound too bad as a Plan B."

They shared a few more moments of lighthearted banter before she finally sent him back to his physical body, not before he reminded her he'd contact her later on to give her her ticket.

Irina sat in the now-empty library, her thoughts a blend of satisfaction and determination.

Slapping her cheeks lightly, she stood. "Work to do," she muttered.

Her gaze dropped to her clothes, and a grin spread across her face. "Time to make things more... edgy. Pirate-like!" The irony of an adventurer, future pirate-hunter traveling with someone dressed as a pirate amused her to no end.

 

The following day, the 5th of January, at 9:30 in the morning, Irina hurried down the cobblestone path toward Rose Wharf, her breath puffing in the cold morning air. A black scarf was draped over her head, forming a makeshift hood that obscured her face. She carried a nearly empty suitcase, more for appearances than utility.

I'm so late! Her thoughts raced as her heels clicked against the stone. Thank the Goddess for Klein praying to me earlier this morning or I would've completely missed this!

The sight of the White Agate momentarily stole her breath. The ship was enormous, its chimneys standing tall against the sky. Twelve cannons lined either side, a clear warning to pirates and hostile peers.

Its deck bustled with activity—crew members hauling crates, stocky sailors stationed near the gangway, some casually revealing revolvers, rifles, and knives. The display was as much a deterrent as it was a reassurance to the passengers.

Irina adjusted her outfit as she approached. Her blue skirt was draped elegantly, though a glimpse of her legs peeked through beneath her trench coat. The long leather spats that covered her heels reached her mid-calf, adding a practical touch to her otherwise striking outfit.

I don't want their first impression of me to be that of a pirate. Not now, at least. She tugged the scarf more snugly around her head. After this trip, when Gehrman starts making waves, then I can stop hiding it.

Climbing the hanging ladder, Irina moved with grace, the swaying of the water beneath her almost a natural rhythm to her steps. As her feet touched the deck, she scanned the crowd, searching.

A figure approached—a tall man with gold-rimmed glasses and an air of cold indifference.

"There you are," she said, a smile playing on her lips.

"You're late," Gehrman Sparrow said bluntly, his sharp gaze unwavering.

Harsh. She raised an eyebrow. "You need to give a lady her time, Gehrman."

Before she could tease further, she felt it—a poorly hidden gaze lingering on her. Calmly, she turned towards the source.

A group of ten stood nearby. A wealthy couple with two children occupied the center, their fine clothes and accessories gleaming in the sunlight. The man's ruddy cheeks and jeweled collar showed his wealth, together with the woman's wide-brimmed hat and muslin hanging down they painted the picture of a well-off couple.

Their children stood before them—a lively teenage girl with bright brown eyes and faint freckles, and a younger boy, not even ten, dressed in a miniature tailcoat. Surrounding them were three servants, one of whom had the dark skin of Southern Continent heritage.

But it was the bodyguards who caught Irina's attention. Two of them, a man and a woman, stood with confidence, their holstered firearms visible beneath their coats. Their sharp eyes scanned the passersby with practiced efficiency.

The last bodyguard—a man in his thirties with a weathered face and piercing blue eyes—was staring directly at her. Or rather, at her and Gehrman.

Irina tilted her head slightly, speaking up, uncaring if the man heard or not. "A bodyguard. Probably a retired adventurer."

She then turned to Gehrman, "A friend of yours?"

Gehrman's gaze flicked toward the man briefly before he answered, his tone neutral. "We were in the same trade."

No further explanation came, and Irina didn't press, already knowing far more than him anyway.

Unbothered by the attention, she turned around, walking towards the ship's interior. Gehrman followed silently at her side, their steps quickly falling into sync.

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