Logbook

Sometime later, he learns that memories are fickle where worlds congregate. In other words, the Rutile Flores he encounters on the streets and the ON world, whose gentle green eyes peer into his own without a shred of recognition, is probably not his match from the manor. Roland understands this, yet his heart clenches when their paths cross in front of a café, where Rutile waves at him.

"Would you like to join us for brunch?" asks Rutile. Across the small outdoor table, Figaro smiles amiably.

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"Is something on your mind, Roland?"

Rutile's voice is gentle as Roland glances in his direction, only to turn away. On the other side of the window in the distance, time marches relentlessly, carried by the silent waves of the Norzelia River.

"Have I ever told you about the Norzelia River? It's a vast body of water that joins all of Norzelia, regardless of our differences. Unlike people, the magnanimity of nature is all-encompassing . . . "

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The bookstore right around the corner of his tutee's apartment is a prolific hub for books of all genres and demographics. While ░▒░▒░░ isn't an especially avid reader, he's reminded by the many colorful covers on display behind the glass wall one day: supposedly, there's a series of picture books that have been gaining popularity within the past year, though acquiring so much as a single volume has proven to be something of a challenge for fans.

Whereas the city bursts with metropolitan hustle and bustle, a hush washes over the bookstore interior. Nobody pays ░▒░▒░░ any mind as he wanders over to an unoccupied bookshelf and scans its contents. The books here are ordinary paperbacks, printed in ink and bound with glue. He turns around to a shelf of digital tablets and grasps his chin in thought, racking his brain for something familiar, when a soft voice navigates through the quiet from a distance:

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