Shimmering-Sky: Yes, Bravely Default. It's such an incredible game (and of course I ship Tiz and Agnes), and the battle system is really cool. The final boss theme is amazing. Better than Last Specter's, and we all know how awesome that one is. Thanks for the praise!

Hollyshadow the medicine cat: Arianna and Luke make a much better couple than Flora and Luke. Flora didn't kiss him, and besides, they're practically family. Luke would basically be committing incest. And yeah, poor guy...

o'sullivan: Tom has got to be alive! He HAS to be! *sniff* thanks for your kind words, but I don't like thinking of how I murdered my own character D:

I have a lot planned for this story, so I'm not sure how many more chapters there are...but I have the main events of the plot already, fitting them together is the hard part.

Enjoy Chapter 21!

Chapter Twenty-One

The Tension Builds

"We've found the files you wanted on that computer, Emissary. Would you like to-"

The Emissary looked up. "Bring it here. Oh, and the Book of the Arcane as well."

"Of course." The aide bowed and left the room. Soon, he returned with a laptop and worn tome tucked under his arm. He placed it on the Emissary's desk. "Here you go."

"Thank you. You're dismissed."

With another bow, the man walked out, leaving the requested items behind.

Alone, the Emissary smirked. "Let's see what we have here..."

"Want to watch the news today, Professor?" Luke inquired. Despite it already being late in the morning, Arianna and Tony were still quietly snoozing. It was imperative that Arianna got enough sleep, as her previous illness left her a little less energized than before, requiring more rest to compensate.

The Professor nodded. "I have little else to do anyway."

Luke grabbed the television remote and turned the television on, only to sigh as a cheesy advertisement showed itself onscreen. Sadly, that was only the first of many.

After sitting through what seemed like a torrent of terrible commercials, the actual program resumed.

"And now for some tragic news. Last night, renowned archaeologist Hector N. Wells was found dead in his home in a most unusual way. His body was almost completely burned through, only his bones and a few scraps of flesh remaining intact. It appears that he was deliberately set on fire and left to burn."

Luke stared at the screen in utter horror. The Professor managed to keep a straight face, if only for a moment.

"Nothing of value was taken by the murderer except for Mr. Wells's laptop. Everything else was untouched. So far the police have found several footprints. One set was made by flat-soled shoes with no distinguishing features. The other set is much more bizarre, resembling the feet of no known organism. According to one biologist, the marks resembled those of a lizard, except they were far too big to have been created by one and had longer talons. Wells was-"

"Turn the television off, please." The Professor's voice was noticeably shaky.

Luke looked askance at the man he'd always imagined to be stoic under almost all conditions, but obliged. "Professor...did you know Wells?"

"Yes, I knew Hector quite well. He was the leading expert on the Azran, knowing more about them than anyone, possibly even Bronev. Why Targent didn't kidnap him is a mystery, though it is true he conducted much of his work in secret. He wouldn't share his knowledge of the Azran under any circumstances, though he would converse with others on any other archaeological subject. All of his information regarding the Azran was stored on his laptop. Many saw his aloofness as antisociality, but truth be told he was a kind and friendly man...one who most certainly did not deserve a fate such as this..."

"Do you think that whoever...did this to him wanted his research on the Azran? They took his laptop specifically."

"I believe that is indeed the case, but there remains the motive. Why would anyone ever need that much information about the Azran, a civilization long gone? Quite puzzling..."

"What about-" Luke stopped as he saw the Professor's calm expression, instantly recognizing it as Professor Layton's "thinking face." Whenever he put on this expression, he would make his best, most impressive deductions.

What's he come up with this time?

Clive, Randall, Angela, and Flora in Ledore Mansion had similar reactions to the mystery-solving duo in the Professor's smaller house. Unsurprisingly, the Black Ravens chose to stay in Misthallery (not that the mansion could have accommodated that many people anyway).

Randall swore. "Who the hell would do that to anyone?" Hector was someone he respected, if only because he was an incredible archaeologist.

Angela was on the verge of tears.

Clive and Flora both wore horrified expressions.

Only Henry betrayed no emotion, and he needed a great deal of composure to do it.

"Those footprints..." Henry muttered. "What made them?"

"I don't know. Seems like a dragon or something like that," Flora said.

Clive resisted the urge to slap himself. "Flora, dragons don't exist."

"How do you know?" Flora snapped.

Part of Clive was surprised at this rudeness. Then he remembered that she was probably still angry that he kidnapped her and held her as hostage. That's PROBABLY the reason. And by probably I mean almost definitely. "You're right," Clive said. "I don't."

Flora was taken aback. What happened to the Clive she knew and hated?

As if he knew what she was thinking, Clive said, "I know you think I'm still that insane, heartless man who kidnapped you, but trust me, I've-"

"No," Flora interrupted. "I'm not going to trust you."

Any further attempts at conversing were quickly shot down. Clive sighed. So far, no progress. Maybe one day...she'll forgive me. "Do you think the Professor knows about this yet?"

"You mean Hershel?" Randall shrugged. "I don't know, actually. Maybe he watches the news. Probably not, though."

The final group had the hardest time choosing where to stay. Descole would never let Bronev enter his home, Bronev didn't have a home, and Emmy's home in St. Mystere was tiny. In the end, Bronev had to call upon Leonard Bloom and his wife Hanna (Emmy shuddered when she heard the name) for help. Bloom, ever loyal, agreed to provide rooms immediately, especially after he was told what had happened. Though an unlikely story, the fact that Bronev told it was all Bloom needed. And, of course, Bronev had some private special requests as well...

"Bloom, I also need you to do two more things for me."

"What?"

"First, find anything you can regarding this picture." Bronev held out Randall's photograph of the mysterious Akbadain inscription. "What it is, any relevant facts, the usual."

"No problem. What else?"

"I need you to keep track of Hershel Layton."

Bloom raised an eyebrow. "Your son, you mean?"

"How did you-"

"Emmy told me shortly after you were arrested."

Bronev sighed. "Yes. My son. Make sure he's safe, and make sure he doesn't find out that I told you to follow him..."

"Why?"

"Because you heard him say it himself. He could never consider me his father. I can try to protect him, but he'll never acknowledge me as his father. This way, I can watch over him."

"Alright." Bloom paused. "I think you would have been a fine parent. He'll forgive you one day."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I know these things much better than you do, leader." Bloom looked down at the photograph. "Now, where was this picture taken?"

"The Akbadain ruins."

"Oh. Almost reminds you of our glory days, doesn't it?"

"I wouldn't call it glory."

"Neither would I. Targent really should never have existed..."

Bronev, remembering all that Targent took away from him, could only nod.

"If I may ask, how did you and Hanna-"

"That's a long story." Bloom sighed. "I'll tell you sooner or later. You should probably eat now. I can tell you're famished."

"Did you hear about the death of Hector Wells?"

"Yes. He told me that it might happen, and he was right...sadly."

"It seems very brutal."

"It IS very brutal."

"Well, yes."

"All the same, we've got work to do."

"I don't think we're going to be able to build an impossible machine, no matter how much work we do."

"Remember who we're dealing with. It is most certainly possible."

There was a moment of silence. "I suppose. How long do we have?"

"Three weeks at most. Almost certainly less."

Another moment of silence.

"Let's get to work."

I've got nothing to say, really. Funny.

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