🥷

To Talia, stepping inside the library was like diving into a treasure trove. She had always loved libraries ever since she learned how to read and write, but that feeling grew stronger when she moved to America and was given her first library card. Libraries weren't just stores that shelved books and knowledge, it was a place to lose yourself in— a place to draw inspiration from, to find encouragement and comfort, and for sanctuary. It didn't matter what situation one faced, because just sitting inside the library reading a book was a reminder that there were good things in this world. And somehow, that seemed to give life to people's hopes and dreams.

It was difficult for Talia not to slip away from reality when reading the words off the pages of some faded paperback, to close her eyes and jump into one of her many imaginary scenarios of herself in a different time, a different place, she had vicariously lived through. In one scenario, she was a daring, sword-wielding Musketeer, fighting to liberate Paris. Or perhaps she was a painter during the Italian Renaissance, stroking the canvass with a paintbrush in complicated swirls and patterns. Or in one instance, she was a country girl moving to the big city to become a famous singer.

And the one that was bittersweet to think about, was the one about an alternate universe featuring her and her parents. She thought: what if things turned out differently? What if her mother had not been murdered? What if she had not gotten tangled up with some criminal conspiracy group? What if everything could go back to the way things were before it all changed?

Just for one minute, what if she could see her mother's smile? Hear her silvery, sophisticated voice? Feel her warm, dry touch?

More than anything, Talia wished for a button that could turn back time. She had heard many people and read many quotes say about how one should not dwell on the past, that it was useless to say, "What if. . ." since there was nothing that could change the chain of events, but at the same time, it was also difficult not to think about the 'what if' scenarios. Sometimes, fantasy was far more pleasant than what reality offered.

Talia shook her head and combed through book after book she had snagged from the history section. As much as the facts printed in the pages were intriguing like any other textbook covering history, by the time she was finished, she was hiding behind an extended stack of slightly unbalanced textbooks. Few people who were walking by even gave her looks. Talia didn't even know how much time had passed.

She sighed as she yet again placed another book on top of the pile. If this were to continue, the shelves would be empty in no time. Without even sparing a glance at the title, her hand seized another book. She flipped through the pages, murmuring the words as she read sentence per sentence. Before she could conclude that there wasn't any useful information, her eye had caught something of interest.

Talia reverted to the previous page and found what her eyes deemed interesting: the assassination of Korean empress Queen Min- or Empress Myeongseong, committed by Japanese agents in the king's royal headquarters. As much as the details and aftermath of the tragedy engrossed her, she knew it was because there was one particular detail that seemed familiar.

In the second paragraph, it was said that in the Queen's Quarters, the only thing that was out of place was an opened envelope, with its contents being black sand spilled onto the floor. No one knew how or why the envelope came into the possession of the empress, but its origins were not able to be traced, so it was quickly dismissed as nothing more than a simple envelope.

Only Talia knew it was much more than that. Her thoughts started jogging and pretty soon, they were running a marathon. She got up and decided to slightly alter her search— she would collect every book covering every political assassination throughout history and cross-examine each one to see if a certain detail concerning an envelope full of black said were to show up. It would be time-consuming and exhausting, but if it meant getting closer to the person who murdered her mother, she would gladly cross that bridge.

A few hours later. . .

According to Talia, she had spent 120 minutes reading who knew how many books and scribbling down notes— and all without taking a break to eat or drink. She was sure she was starting to regret that decision, as her head felt like it had been through a thousand merry-go-rounds. Between trying to keep her eyes open and the tiredness overpowering her will to keep going, it was a losing battle.

She was just about to reach for the newest addition to her collection- History of Clans & Cults: Vol. 1- when a guy approached and asked if he could sit down. He was fairly tall, with his mocha skin complimenting his brown-black hair that was tied into a mini ponytail— something that Talia found to be stylish. His narrow and intense eyes were shielded behind a pair of lenses.

"Sure," Talia said, burying her head in her book.

As he took a seat, Talia noticed the book he had in his hand: The Great Gatsby. She almost let out something between a croak and a squeak. That's when she blurted out, "That is one of my favorite books."

The guy formed an 'o' with his mouth. He looked like he could not believe she was talking to him. "Really? I haven't encountered a single person who has yet to read the book or have any appreciation for it."

"I fell in love with the story because it depicted one of my favorite eras: the Jazz Age. There was something that interested me about how many people during that time were disillusioned with societal norms and focused on seeking ways to fulfill their pleasure."

"I know, right? It really reminds us that back then, old normalities were so constricting that people said 'screw it' and just decided to embrace the good life and self-indulge. It also paved the way for French kissing and any other acts that traditionalists would deem promiscuous. I mean, they're probably rolling in their graves knowing that you could make out in just every public place and nobody would consider it sacrilege."

Talia giggled. "Sexuality has come a long way. I just do not understand why people threw 1920s parties after the movie came out. It was almost like they were romanticizing that time."

"It's like they missed the point of the book. There was nothing joyful about the extreme contradiction and social unrest. Not to mention the problems that came with the time period such as: xenophobia, Prohibition, the KKK. . . " his eyes trailed downward to Talia's book. "Speaking of such organizations, you taking an interest in cults?"

Talia sheepishly chuckled. "Ah, this is just for research purposes. In fact, all these books are. So I apologize if the desk may seem cluttered."

"No, no. It's fine. I have an utmost respect for people who can get through more than three dozen books in one sitting and not pass out." The guy's eyes crinkle as he smiles. "You know, I don't think I've seen you around here before."

"Other than the American Museum of Natural History, this is one of my favorite places in the entire world. But I definitely would have remembered your face. Coincidence, maybe?"

"I don't usually believe in coincidences, but I'll make an exception for today. If we were in some romance novel, it would've been called 'fate'."

"Totally," Talia laughed, her cheeks reddening slightly. "I am Talia, by the way."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Donnie."

***

Talia was still clutching the History of Clans & Cults: Vol. 1 along with the rest of her belongings tightly to her chest on her way back home (her home being a hotel room, that is). While strolling down the pavement, she still thought about Donnie and the conversation the two of them shared. Of course, she was not thinking about him romantically in any way (it would be crazy anyway, given that they have barely met; ironic how when it came to her romance novels, she would be fangirling and declaring 'true love' over scenarios like these), but rather it was her curiosity that was spiked. She had never met someone like him before; she had a good feeling about him.

She couldn't remember the last time she talked to someone about literature or history, let alone someone of the opposite sex. Up to now, it felt foreign to speak to guys. Was it due to shyness? Was it because she was afraid she would ruin the experience if she said something and make the guy run away? Or was it because she naturally thought that it was always the guy who took the first step?

It was probably all of the above, but Talia felt a boost of confidence surging all the way to the tips of her toes. She could do this. Plus, she still kind of wanted to talk to Donnie. She only hoped she would see him more often.

Talia arrived at the hotel, pushed the glass automatic revolving door to get inside, and crossed the lobby to use the elevator. As she waited, she stared down at the book and all her notes cuddled in her grasp. She pleaded that her research would take her in the right direction. She had an inkling that the group- or rather clan she stumbled across while trying to find whose M.O is black sand, was the one who was going to provide her with all the answers.

As soon as the elevator made a DING! sound, Talia hastily got off and hurried to her room, using the keycard to gain access in. Upon opening the door, she saw her father sitting on the stool next to the kitchen island, clearly speaking to someone on the phone. Talia saw no need to disturb him, so she sat criss-cross on the bed and tumbled her findings in front of her. She opened the book and flipped to the page where she found her break.

It took her a while to find it, but the results were worth it. According to page 60, the 14th-century Muslim explorer, Ibn-Battuta traveled all over the world, including east Asia. There, he encountered one of the most dangerous and ferocious groups of all time: The Foot Clan— a ninja clan thought to have been established centuries prior to Ibn Battuta finding them; some foreigners even gave the clan an alternate name: 'The Shadow Clan', because of their supposed ability to literally dissolve into shadows. Ibn Battuta himself delivered several dozen kids to the Kakurega (simply referred as 'The Orphanage') of the Foot Clan and from there, the leader spared Ibn Battuta.

He spent the next few years studying them, learning their ways, and some rumors say he picked up a few tricks from them. Ibn also happened to jot down that the Foot Clan had a speciality for sending envelopes filled with black sand to enemies and targets alike— once the letter was sent, it was game over.

Talia's mind suddenly flash-backed to the night of the murder. Everything made sense now— her mother's anxious expression, her looking out the window every second, and why she was arguing with her father earlier. Her mother knew what the envelope meant. She knew she was going to die. And yet being in the hands of death, she still refused to hand over 'it'.

The Foot Clan killed my mother. Talia didn't blink for more than a minute, the realization sinking her to the bottom of the ocean. Problem was, the Foot Clan ceased to exist a long time ago, along with The Hamato Clan— another ancient ninja clan known to be sworn enemies to The Foot. Ibn Battuta noted how their battles 'shook the heavens'. Demands for ninjas to fight in combat grew slim, especially after the Shimabara Rebellion during the Edo Period. So it was no wonder why the art of ninjitsu dissipated.

However, there still had to be a remnant of the Foot Clan active today. How else would it explain how every person Talia found and researched was assassinated and the one single thing linking them all together was black sand sealed inside an envelope? Including her mother? It could not have been from a copycat.

But at the same time, any luck trying to convince the police that an extinct group was responsible for her mother's death went down the drain.

Still, why would a ninja clan eliminate my mother? They had no ties to her and vice versa!

Talia tried to connect the dots- even made theories, but none of them made sense. There was even one that was plausible, but she quickly dismissed it. No way, she denied.

Her father had just hung up on the person he was talking to as Talia tried to come up with another theory.

"What is all this, dewdrop?" Seth walked over to her, taking a glimpse at the paperwork sprawled all over the bed.

"Nothing much, Abba," Talia shoved her research into her backpack as quickly as possible. "Just something to pass the time."

"I see. I was just done talking to a real estate agent, and he was able to find a home affordable enough for us to live in! Great news, right?"

Talia smiled. "That is fantastic, Abba. Where is it located?"

"An apartment in Washington Heights. We can go see it tomorrow."

"Sounds nice." Homes were temporary. What was important that Talia and her father stayed together.

But it was not the same without her mother. It would never be the same.