The interior of the Scripture Repository was plunged in darkness.
And yet, I could see. From the myriad of bookshelves lining the walls, the records themselves cast a faint radiance. Like the rhythmic pulse of fireflies, the light stretched into the depths of the corridor.
The ceiling was lost to sight.
The shelves climbed upward until they vanished into the gloom. It reminded me of the record stacks at the bottom of the Moonshade Well, but the scale here was incomparable. If that was a local branch, this was the headquarters.
The stone beneath my feet was cold.
The air felt heavy.
Mingled with the scent of paper and ink was something much older—the smell of stone, iron, and the passage of vast stretches of time.
"We have to move."
Kuon spread the Catalog open. The blue luminescence of his artificial eye illuminated the pages. The light from the bookshelves resonated with it, intensifying all at once.
"It’s responding. The Catalog is searching for the Repository’s original manuscript."
Kuon hurried down the corridor. His eye and the Catalog served as his guide, leading them through the labyrinth of shelves toward the direction of the strongest reaction. Asahi took the lead, keeping a sharp watch on their rear.
There were no signs of enemies within the Repository, but the air felt thick with unseen eyes. This was a place where the control of the World's Order reached every corner.
"How long do we have?" Asahi asked.
"We won’t be detected as long as the Catalog's light resonates with the shelves. But once I start reading, it will cause ripples. Five minutes is the limit."
"Five minutes, huh?"
"It’s more than enough."
Kuon came to a halt.
At the end of the passage stood a single bookshelf, isolated and larger than the rest. It was less a shelf and more an altar. Upon a stone pedestal sat a volume encased in ice.
"The original," Kuon whispered, his voice trembling.
The blue glow of his eye reached its peak, staining his cheeks a pale azure.
The original was smaller than the Catalog—a booklet that could fit in the palm of a hand, sealed within ice. The ice was the same deep, dark blue as the frozen depths of the Moonshade Well.
Kuon placed the Catalog beside the original, illuminating both with his eye.
The characters began to move. Information flowed from the original into the greyed-out sections of the Catalog. The copy was reconnecting with the source, and the lost data was being restored.
Kuon read. He didn't speak; his eye simply traced the script. With every turned page, his expression shifted: from surprise to confusion, from confusion to understanding, and finally—to silence.
"Kuon-kun," Koyoi called out.
He didn't look up.
"Kuon!"
At Asahi’s voice, Kuon finally raised his head. The light in his artificial eye was wavering.
"There is a record here... of the first command to freeze the names," Kuon said, his voice flat. The content was too heavy for emotion to leak through. "It wasn't the Observers who ordered it."
Koyoi and Asahi looked at him simultaneously.
"It was God. The one who first ordered the names to be frozen... was God Himself."
The lights of the Repository flickered in unison. A cold wind whipped through the gaps in the bookshelves. The surveillance of the Order was beginning to sense the anomaly.
"Time's up. Let's go."
Kuon snapped the Catalog shut and tucked it away. The original could not be moved. It remained on the altar, sealed in ice.
The three of them sprinted back the way they came. The lights of the bookshelves were dying out; the Repository was trying to close. Asahi led the way, Koyoi followed, and Kuon brought up the rear, lighting the path with his eye.
They saw the light of the exit. The scent of paper and ink faded, replaced by the chill of the mist. They cleared the threshold just as a heavy, stony thud echoed behind them.
The entrance was sealed.
Kuon leaned against the wall of the station, gasping for breath.
"God... froze their own names," he muttered again, as if to confirm the reality of it.
Inside Koyoi’s pouch, Shizuku was trembling. The warmth was the same as ever, but the nature of the vibration was different.
It was the trembling of someone who had just had their deepest secret laid bare.