As the shelves of records groaned and collapsed under the weight of Providence, the stasis of information ruling the hollow vanished. In an instant, it transformed into Absolute White—a void that stripped the world of every color.
They arrived at the very Core of Nakaoka’s truth: the Sanctuary. Eerie pillars of ice stretched toward the horizon, their summits erupting with a cold, golden fire. These flames seemed to swallow every sound in existence, casting shadows into thin, inescapable needles. Through the soles of his feet, Koyoi felt the Bedrock of Providence beneath the frozen floor—a Perfect Nothingness that predated the universe itself.
He drew the sterile cold deep into his lungs.
Countless characters were etched into the pillars. This was no human script, but the Primal Tongue—Providence itself, crystallized over millennia to record its own existence. The glyphs shifted with the light: shimmering azure from one angle, brilliant gold from another, then vanishing into transparency.
When Koyoi exhaled, his white mist brushed the ice, surfacing the characters for a fleeting second before they sank back into the depths.
No wind blew through the Sanctuary, yet the air vibrated, grazing their skin. It was not a breeze, but a cold, mechanical scan—Providence detecting intruders and judging whether to eliminate them.
The floor was a milky, translucent white, filled with flickering orbs like trapped bubbles. Koyoi realized these were fragments of memories from gods once "measured" here. With every step, faint voices resonated through his soles—a lingering echo of timeless emotion, indistinguishable between weeping and laughter.
Kuon kept his Catalog open, the blue light of his prosthetic eye racing across the inscriptions. Each time the light touched a character, the pillar hummed, sending a low vibration through his body. His breathing grew shallow and rapid, his temples throbbing with the strain. Yet he did not stop. Only his artificial eye could see how the characters in his book matched the glyphs carved in the ice, one for one.
Asahi stood with his greatsword drawn, watching the gaps between the pillars. His intuition told him the flickering shadows defied the laws of physics. They did not move with the trio; instead, they followed with a half-beat delay, as if observing them. Asahi tightened his grip, memorizing every twitch. He had learned on a thousand battlefields that survival depended not on strength, but on reading the enemy’s breath.
"…Found it. This is it. This Unnamed Shard is the first void in Providence—the secret the Observers have hidden for thousands of years."
Kuon spoke with a trembling voice, a mix of madness and ecstasy. The blue light from his eye flared, staining the space with brilliance. The pages of the Catalog fluttered wildly in the still air; the written characters rose and were drawn into the pillar’s inscriptions like iron filings to a magnet.
Kuon sank to his knees, clutching the book. His face wore the harrowing smile of one who has finally found the truth at the end of a grueling quest. Agony pierced his left side, but he choked it back. Deep within his gaze, a flame of pure will—separate from the prosthetic’s glow—burned quiet and sure.
"A void? If we put it back, can the gods take their words back?"
Koyoi’s voice was raspy. Even under the crushing pressure of the Sanctuary, he had to ask. Taking back the words. The phrase echoed in his mind. The Divine Drops in his pouch pulsed in response, their vibrations wrapping him in warmth. The Drop of the Rain God was gentle, the River God’s powerful; though their rhythms differed, they were in perfect harmony. Koyoi knelt and hovered his palm over the trapped memories. It was cold, yet his fingertips felt a fading warmth—the final trace of a god who had been calling its own name for millennia in this icy prison.
With a roar, Asahi lunged at the shadow army guarding the altar. Every swing of his greatsword sent golden sparks flying, lighting the roofless vault like midday. He moved with precision, striking the temporal gaps in the shadows’ half-beat delay. As each shadow shattered, it turned to crystalline dust and vanished into the golden fires. Drops of Asahi’s sweat struck the ice and froze, the tiny cracks ringing in the silence.
"…Let’s go. I left the answer back there."
Asahi said, resting the blade on his shoulder. He didn't wipe the ice splattered across his cheek like blood; he simply grinned. It wasn't the thrill of victory, but a quiet vow to his comrades. The frost on his sword glowed in the firelight before vanishing into mist.
Koyoi rose slowly, clutching his pouch. The chill lingered in his legs, but the warmth from his fingertips began to melt it from within. Kuon closed his Catalog and dimmed his eye. Their shadows finally regained their proper shapes, swaying at their feet. The golden fires brightened, seeing them off. The glyphs on the pillars flashed one last time. Whether it was a blessing or a warning, no one knew. But Koyoi’s pouch remained warm—a steady compass in the dark.