“Mm... can you take us to that section and recommend one or two?” Lucimia asked.

“Sure,” the young lady said with a smile, like a lantern lifting in dusk.

She gestured, and the two followed her inward, as if wading into a quiet stream of shelves.

To be fair, the academy library treated outsiders well, like tea poured warm on a chill morning.

Lucimia had expected impatience, thorns under silk, yet the service was gentle and meticulous like soft rain.

If so, magic might be common among Lowegar’s people, like sparks scattered across a night field.

Most might handle a first-tier spell, a candle flame cupped in the palm.

Soon the receptionist brought them to the proper stacks, an aisle like a narrow canyon.

Tall shelves rose on both sides like city walls, ladders beside them like tree spines.

She told Lucimia, “Left side holds Lowegar Kingdom’s history and geography, and the world’s history and geography,” like maps spread on a shore.

She slid out three books, clean strokes like knives through paper.

“These three are my picks,” she said, voice steady as a ruler.

“They lay out history and terrain clearly, and mark Lowegar’s cities, towns, villages, rivers, valleys, and forests, like stars on a chart.

“They also note how each place evolved, like rings inside a felled tree.”

Lucimia took the three books and nodded. “Thanks,” she said, voice calm as still water.

“Don’t mention it.” Then she turned to Rexi, pointing right like a compass needle.

“These are beginner magic texts; I recommend this first-tier primer, a path from zero like a footbridge over a brook.

“It lets an ordinary person grasp the simplest Fireball Spell, a small sun for everyday life.”

“Oh—okay, thank you,” Rexi blurted, catching the offered book like a bird snatching grain.

“You can read in the area over there,” the receptionist added, palm open like a fan.

“Or you can borrow them with a deposit; which will you choose?”

“I’ll read here,” Lucimia said, her tone sanded smooth.

“We’ll borrow hers... hmm, can we buy it?” She pointed at the book in Rexi’s arms like tapping a drum.

Rexi would need time, hours stretching like a long road, unlike Lucimia’s quick climb.

So buying felt cleaner, a knot cut with one stroke.

“Of course,” the receptionist said, the answer neat as folded paper.

“We keep several copies of low-level books, though the price is a bit steep, like a hill at dusk.”

“No problem. Do you have second- and third-tier?” Lucimia asked, eyes bright as flint.

“Certainly,” she said, the word crisp as a bell.

She helped Rexi select a few more, spines stacking like bricks, and Lucimia paid, silver flowing like a short stream.

At last they went to the reading area, quiet as a grove after rain.

“Lucimia, you’re so nice?” Rexi said, hugging her books like a clutch of warm loaves.

“...Uh, take it as my apology for doubting you,” Lucimia murmured, voice a leaf in wind.

“Okay. I didn’t mind anyway; you couldn’t help it,” Rexi replied, light as sunlight through bamboo.

They chatted briefly, small ripples on a pond, then each sat and opened a book.

Lucimia wanted only a few facts, arrows straight to the mark.

She took the volume listing Lowegar’s place names and, by the lettered index, hunted Kalan Village like a fisherman scanning ripples.

“Kalan Village... where is it?” Her whisper hung like mist.

She followed the order, found the first letter, and checked the range, eyes moving like ants along a branch.

She froze. Only two entries sat in that circle of letters: Karan City and Withered Leaf Forest, stark as stones.

“...Nothing? Did Yuna lie? Was Kalan Village edited too?” Her thoughts clattered like beads.

“Did the original Rexi, by altering Yuna’s memory, try to warn me?” The idea glowed like a hidden ember.

Kalan Village throbbed in her mind like a drum, yet her gaze settled on Karan City, ink deep on the page.

“Kalan Village... Karan City?” The pairing rang like paired bells.

Suddenly, Nirael’s words rose in her head, a shard of ice.

“Rexi? Memory Power? But... she shouldn’t have it.

“I looked her over a month ago. She didn’t have any memory ability,” Nirael had said, flat as a slate.

That line. Lucimia jolted, a current through wire, and spotted the gap.

She remembered clearly: Yuna came to her two months ago, and this was the third month’s dawn.

Yet Nirael said Rexi had Memory Power at the earliest one month ago, a clock hand out of step.

See the problem? The timeline buckled like warped wood.

First, if Yuna’s memory was altered by Rexi, then Rexi should’ve had Memory Power two months ago, not one, a shadow that won’t match.

But now Yuna’s memory was altered by Rexi, and Rexi had warned that someone had used her memory ability, a hand inside a glove.

A chilling guess rose in Lucimia’s chest like fog off a river.

She snapped open another book, the one on how Lowegar’s place names had changed, pages like stacked leaves.

She flipped to Karan City, eyes darting like swallows, and stopped on a passage, a nail in wood—

Karan City, the second most prosperous city in the Lowegar Kingdom, was said to be a small village in the First Era, named Kalan Village.

The sentence struck her again; her body trembled like a plucked string.

“The predecessor of Karan City... was Kalan Village?” The words tasted of iron.

She stared for a dozen heartbeats, then drew a long breath, face dark as gathering rain.

She felt she could guess why Rexi lost control, a shadow’s outline on a wall.

But the picture in her mind felt absurd, as melodramatic as a courtyard opera beating its drum.

She judged that Rexi had crossed timelines, across space, to edit Yuna’s memory, an arrow loosed across valleys.

Only that could explain why changing one mind threw her into loss of control, a boat capsizing in a narrow canal.

Lucimia remembered clearly: Rexi didn’t need touch to alter memory; a face or a name was enough, a thread cast over distance.

If that holds, then Yuna might not be from the same time; she might be from the First Era, a flower pressed in an old book.

She sucked in a breath, cold as metal. “No wonder,” she thought, the words like sparks.

“No wonder when she was sacrificed to me, she marveled that beds were like this, soft as clouds in spring.

“Was it because the First Era had no beds, or beds had just appeared, stories without trial?”

No wonder the dossiers showed nothing, a net raised empty.

It sounds melodramatic, yet new questions sprouted like weeds after rain.

If Yuna is from the First Era, how was she sent to Lucimia of the Second, a bridge thrown over fog?

Two words flashed in Lucimia’s mind: Authority Power, written like a seal.

“...Space-time?” The syllables fell like pebbles into a well.

She began to reason, threads weaving like spider silk in dawn light.

She had long wondered why the Yuna Olivya sacrificed happened to have Reversion, a key fitting every lock.

That Reversion helped her solve many problems, clear as water cutting stone.

Add what Auril said—that Olivya had two plans—and she judged she was the start of the second, a path opening in reeds.

That was Reversion, a river running backward in a cupped hand.

Use Reversion, lower the death rate, solve problems easier, then devour other Dark Deities, teeth closing like a trap.

Why did Yuna conveniently have Reversion? Why does Nirael have time acceleration? Why are spacetime users all in the Lowegar Kingdom, birds in one grove?

Very likely Auril used the Duel to gather those abilities, a net sweeping one bay.

So Yuna’s move from the First Era to the Second likely ties to these powers, gears meshing in the dark.

On that point, Lucimia felt the knot loosen, like a rope dipped in rain.

The shape of it should be roughly this, a mountain seen through morning mist.