The Moon Illuminates a World of Fancy

Chapter Eight: little did I know that...

After Gin left for home with Tachihara early, Ryuunosuke had told them he will catch up after bidding the Shibusawas good night.

"You and Gin take care of yourselves," Sigma had said to him. "Heaven knows what could happen to you."

Atsushi's special smiles saved just for him ended his desired errand, and he started on the road back to Hirotsu's smith.

That's when he noticed that someone was following him. He was so focused on trying to lose his stalker that he got himself lost on a path that did not lead back to home.

Rashomon flared from his coat, sensing his alarm and reached out into the shadows to draw out and trap his foe.

She reacted too late when someone knocked him out cold from behind.

Just when would a day in his life end with a decent, normal ending?!

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Consciousness returned, and Ryuunosuke found he was somewhere... wild. Someplace that was definitely nowhere within the boundaries of Yokohama.

"At last, you are awake," a jolly voice sang out.

The speaker was this man with a smile too large to be genuinely happy, long hair wrapped in a turban of bandages. He was sitting next to another man, just as devilishly attractive. He looked to be a Westerner, given that he dressed in what appears to be a buttoned white shirt and white pants; accompanied by a long black coat with white fur, and a fluffy hat Ryuunosuke vaguely recalled was a ushanka, a hat from the colder regions. 

That man's dark purple eyes bore into him as he smoked a hookah, smoke puffing from his lips, and Ryuunosuke felt like he was trapped in a pit with a predator.

"Who are you? What do you want with me?" he demanded hoarsely, breaking into a coughing fit. The dangerous-looking Westerner passed him a goblet of water, which he downed desperately.

"Your assistance," he answered simply. "I am Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I am but a merchant seeking the exotic and rare."

Rashomon snarled from inside his clothes. If one could picture Rashomon as a living beast, it would be baring its fangs, back arched in alarm, fur bristling.

Noticing the hostile movement in Ryuunosuke's clothes, the man named Fyodor nonchalantly mused: "Your Cloth Demon is one of a kind. She's more powerful than any Cloth Demon I came across."

Ryuunosuke's breath hitched. "Rashomon?" And since when was his demon a female?

"May I see her?" Fyodor asked. Ryuunosuke wanted to refuse, but any defiance he wanted to project was cut by a dangerous glint in the merchant's eyes. And so, reluctantly, he called Rashomon and drew... er, her... from his jacket. 

Fyodor studied the demonic head twisting the fabrics of the jacket to give shape to the demon. "Yes, I can feel her power.." his eyes widened like a man who had stumbled across the Tree of Life. "She's perfect." Then remembering what his business was, he told the boy: 

"There is a treasure I wish to find. A treasure unlike any I have ever researched, discovered, and sold. This treasure is not valued for its beauty but for its power."

The man with the scary smile procured a book from a desk behind them, flipping to a page to show to Ryuunosuke. It was a sketch of a book. No, it was not some mystical grimoire with a handsome cover intricately locked to preserve its contents; it was but an ordinary-looking book, with a simple blank cover and even simpler, blank pages.

"This is no ordinary book, boy," Fyodor explained, noting Ryuunosuke's unimpressed look. "This is a supernatural article that many sorcerers over the centuries have coveted. It is said that anything written in the book becomes a reality.