He'd come sometime in the middle of the night. No one was quite sure when. No one had heard him arrive, but sure enough, there he was. He stood atop a ladder, adjusting a sign with a freshly painted image of a book he was hanging over the door to his shop. The shop had been empty since the last owner died about a year ago. No one in the village had the money to buy it, but somehow this mysterious man did.

He'd gathered a bit of an audience, mostly women and girls, a few boys and even fewer men in the crowd. Most of the men were off doing manual labor, earning what they could to support their families. It was a simple working class town in England, rather poor and small, but still thriving. Houses littered the flat area of the town. Nearby was a hillside with a somewhat thick forest covering the top, a lake a bit farther down the opposing side. In the center of the town was a small church with a wooden roof and a large cross planted on the center of the roof.

"You know we can't read, right?"

The stranger turned. His hair was somewhat uneven at the edges, cut very short, brilliant red contrasting a black eyepatch and one bright green visible eye. His clothes were simple, a black shirt over white pants with knee-high boots with thick soles.

"Yeah," he nodded, descending the ladder to be at the same level as his audience. He glanced at each one, observing the nuances of the people he'd wordlessly gathered. None looked very well kept. Their outfits stained. Some had injuries or were possibly sick with something. Others just looked horribly worn out.

"I'm here t' teach ya how to read." He added a pleasant smile and a slight tilt of the head, inviting them to draw closer. He had an unusual accent unlike any they'd ever heard. Even by his appearance, the gathered villagers could tell he wasn't from around the area. Yet as not a soul within the village had traveled much past the nearby larger city, so no one truly knew where he came from. However the smile he wore was rather inviting and strangely intriguing. "Throw in some math, history, whatever ya want."

"Teach us?" one woman asked, scoffing. She had several children with her, holding on to her long skirt, all of which were dirty from playing in the dust. The children didn't have many toys if any, so they improvised, tending to play with one another, running about in the dust during the day. "We don't have the kind of money for a tutor." How much a tutor cost was a mystery, but each parent knew that they couldn't afford it. That was stuff for the rich, upper class folk.

"Money doesn't mean much t' me," the stranger admitted with a shrug. He had no need for it, and it generally only brought trouble. Besides, he'd already had enough to pay for this shack of a shop, and that was really all he needed. Bartering and exchanges would pay for the rest. "All I ask for in return is supplies 'n info."

The audience glanced back and forth, curiously, as if uncertain what to make of this strange man. He'd come into their village, a total mystery, offering them something previously believed unattainable. Perhaps it still was.

"Doesn't say much for us girls," one frowned. She was probably 12, brown hair pulled into low pigtails, a noticeable rash on the left side of her face. She was just a girl. What place did she have in learning anyway? She would grow up to be a housewife and eventually a mother, probably dying from complications through childbirth.

The stranger shrugged. "Don't see how that'll make a difference, yeah. I'll teach anyone who's willin' t' listen." His words were surprising to the audience he'd gathered. No one really had bothered to teach them anything as women were meant to stay within the household, not become scholars.

"What kinda info?" the woman with the kids asked again. He was beginning to pique her interest. Her tone had quieted, shifting from antagonistic to something slightly more personable. Uncertainty still laced her voice, but so did hope. If her children could learn, perhaps they'd lead a better, more fulfilling life.

"Legends, folktales, stories handed down from generation t' generation," he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth in his boots. He maintained that friendly smile, watching the crowd relax a bit. They were easy to speak to and easy to sway. The price for learning seemed simple enough. It was definitely something they could do.

"See, I'm a historian. I travel the world collectin' myths 'n legends, writin' down the stories and history no one else bothers t' write." This historian was a Bookman, after the truth and history that inspired the legends. For the last two years, he'd been traveling across Europe, collecting information and comparing the differences between each area's legends. He was already finding common threads between each one, and that common thread had lead him here.

"What's your name, mister?" a younger girl asked, her blond hair pulled back into twin braids.

"Call me Bookman," he replied.

...

Five years ago, everything had come to a screeching halt.

The war between the Noah and the Exorcists had escalated into a full-on confrontation in the backyard of the Earl's house. Victory was almost certain for the Noah until an unexpected guest arrived: Nea. The traitorous Noah mowed down Exorcist and Noah alike, all to achieve his master goal and take the Earl's place as head of the family. No one had a chance.

Lavi hadn't entered the fight, standing off to the side, observing, hoping the Noah would become the true victors. But the battle crept up on him quickly as he soon came face to face with his worst nightmare, cold steel piercing straight through his chest. Kanda had finally finished his secret mission. He had finally driven his blade through the Noah's Bookman. Lavi attempted to fight him off, to delay the inevitable, but the Exorcist quickly made work of his weaponry, shattering the Dark Matter Hammer, leaving the Bookman defenseless.

Several of the Noah called out but weren't able to reach as the Exorcists quickly intervened. It was a vicious three ring circus that was quickly turning the battle upside down. One by one the Noah fell, until only the Earl remained. Many of the Exorcists had fallen too, some to the Noah and others to Nea. Feathers fluttered about as the Earl and Nea finally faced off, the war ending with each stabbing the other in the heart. Neither had won, and they both fell.

And then it all went black.

Six months later, Lavi awoke, alive. A scar spanned his chest where Kanda had driven his blade, but his heart still beat. The Exorcist didn't know that Lavi's heart was on the right side, not the left. That odd malformation had saved his life.

Bookman had further ensured Kanda hadn't fully killed his apprentice by secretly throwing an acupuncture needle at Lavi, paralyzing him so that his body would stay alive but appear dead, a ploy so perfect everyone believed him to be dead.

Lavi spent time trying to forget everything he'd felt, his personal experiences with the Noah. He was a Bookman. His personal feelings didn't matter, and he had to remember that. The Noah were just ink, right?

But he couldn't forget, he couldn't let those feelings of belonging go. For once, he didn't feel so alone. Instead of casting them aside, Lavi tucked them away in the far recesses of his mind. They would remain there for his own reference, a reminder not to get so close, that the ink wasn't much more than a smear across the pages in a history book. It left him cold and uncaring as he constantly lied to himself, pretending nothing happened between him and the Noah. History drove him, and that was all that mattered.

Three years prior to today, Lavi became a full-fledged Bookman. They parted ways, the old man heading somewhere unknown, and Lavi was left by himself. Alone. And that was how he was to remain: alone.

…

Author's musings

Hello and welcome to a new chapter in the Noah's Bookman saga! If you don't know what the hell's going on, please read the original Noah's Bookman!

So I know that I got a lot of comments the previous one ended abruptly, so I'll tell you why. Initially this was supposed to be an epilogue to the original story, but then I got carried away as I started to weave a new tale. The epilogue ended up being nearly 30 pages. That's a bit much for an epilogue, right? I don't really know how to do short stories…..

So here's a new story, a continuation in the Noah's Bookman saga, a bit darker and more psychological. And strange. I like strange. I hope you all enjoy!