On the third level of the Archive, rows of frozen records lined the shelves.
Frost coated the wood, so thick that fingertips would stick to the surface upon contact. Koyoi traced the edge of a shelf through his gloves, gauging the depth of the ice. The shallower patches could be scraped away with a fingernail, but the deeper ones were hard as stone, sucking the warmth from his fingers without giving anything back.
Kuon opened the catalog, the blue light from his artificial eye falling across the pages.
"...This entire shelf is frozen solid. I can't make out the names."
Koyoi pressed his hand against the neighboring shelf, feeling the chill seep through the fabric of his sleeve.
"When we returned the names before, the warmth from the pouch helped. Do you think we could do that again?"
Kuon turned a page, his finger coming to rest on a specific entry.
"That was only for a single case. There are dozens here. Shizuku’s heat won’t be enough on its own."
Asahi leaned against the space between the shelves, arms crossed, staring up at the ceiling. Cold air drifted down from the gaps in the stonework. With every breath, a white mist lingered near his mouth before vanishing.
"If it's not enough, then build a path. Don't just pool the heat in one spot—make it flow."
Kuon’s artificial eye flickered. He looked back down at the catalog, tracing the lines of text with his finger.
"...A conduit. We use the catalog as a medium to channel Shizuku’s warmth into the frozen records. By utilizing the link between the index and the originals, the catalog can act as a pipe."
Koyoi lifted the pouch to his chest, feeling Shizuku’s pulse through the cloth. It was warm—slightly stronger than usual, beating with a steady rhythm like a heart.
"Shizuku, can you hear me?"
A faint light wavered inside the pouch. The temperature rose a notch in response, making Koyoi’s palm turn damp with sweat.
Kuon placed the catalog in front of the shelf, angling the open page toward the frozen records. The light from his eye swept across the paper, causing the characters to glow blue. Koyoi pressed the pouch against the spine of the catalog, letting the warmth bleed into the paper.
At first, nothing happened. The frigid air bit at his fingers, but Koyoi set his jaw and continued to send the warmth forward.
Eventually, the edge of the catalog page began to grow damp. The moisture spread along the fibers of the paper, mingling with the blue light to draw thin lines toward the records on the shelf. The moment those lines touched the frozen surface, the frost thinned and melted, and a single droplet of water fell onto the shelf board.
"It's working," Kuon said, his voice hushed. The light from his artificial eye intensified, and the characters on the page began to glow one after another. The lines of text had become a conduit, carrying Shizuku’s warmth to the frozen records.
The sound of the frost thawing wasn't the sharp crack of breaking ice. It was a gentle receding, like snow quietly shrinking under the touch of the sun. One by one, the frozen names revealed themselves, the brushstrokes carved into the wood regaining their wet, dark luster.
"...I can read them. The names are coming back," Koyoi whispered. Shizuku’s pulse remained steady, the warmth unfailing. He reached for the second record and repeated the process. The catalog served its purpose as a conduit; the warmth flowed, and the frost melted. By the time they reached the third and fourth records, the procedure had become fluid.
As he finished the fifth record, Koyoi noticed a change in his palm. The pouch felt... light.
It wasn't that the physical weight had decreased, but rather the "thickness" of the warmth had faded. The heat that had previously enveloped his entire hand now barely reached his fingertips.
"Kuon."
"...I know."
Kuon closed the catalog and wiped the moisture from the edge of the page with his finger.
"Shizuku’s warmth isn't just heat. It’s the temperature of life. Every time we thaw a frozen record, a portion of Shizuku’s strength is consumed."
Koyoi pulled the pouch close to his chest, searching for Shizuku’s pulse through the fabric. It was still there, but slower than before. The intervals between beats had lengthened, leaving a hollow silence before the warmth returned.
"...Did I push you too hard?"
A weak flicker of light pulsed inside the pouch. The temperature rose once more as if in denial, but the warmth didn't last, quickly receding to its previous thinness.
Asahi pushed off from the wall and stepped toward them. He looked over the frozen shelves, his gaze sweeping across the vast number of records still encased in ice.
"There are a lot left. Do you intend to do them all?"
Koyoi shook his head.
"We’re stopping here for today. Shizuku needs to rest."
Asahi nodded and said nothing more.
Kuon tucked the catalog into his robes and read out the five thawed records in order: names, places, dates. Information that had been frozen in time returned as voices in the cold air. Listening to him, Koyoi folded both hands over the pouch.
They had found a way. Using the catalog as a conduit, they could melt the records one by one. But with every thaw, Shizuku wasted away.
Koyoi pressed the pouch against his heart, waiting for the warmth from the fabric to mingle with his own body heat. Shizuku’s pulse slowly returned, syncing with his own heartbeat. The chill of the Archive crawled up from the floor, while the melted droplets glittered silently upon the shelf.