The Repository was enraged.
The moment Koyoi gathered the bundle of manuscripts into his arms, the script on the walls flared crimson. Fine stone dust rained down from the ceiling. The atmosphere shifted. The scent of paper and ink evaporated, replaced by the sharp, biting tang of metal.
"We’ve been detected!" Kuon shouted.
His prosthetic eye strobed with frantic light. "The Observer’s defense system is active! It’s trying to purge the intruders from this corridor!"
The walls began to move. To the left and right, the stone surfaces slowly closed in. The ceiling was descending, too. The corridor itself was constricting. Asahi slammed the flat of his greatsword against the wall, bracing himself to push back. The stone shrieked in protest.
The movement paused for a heartbeat, only to resume its relentless advance.
"Brute force won’t stop this! The entire Repository is shifting!"
Asahi withdrew his blade. Pushing was futile; the structure itself was acting with a single-minded will to seal itself shut.
"Head for the center!" Kuon commanded, pointing forward.
The passage sloped downward. "The Source—the original manuscript—is in the center. If we reach it, we might be able to override the defenses."
"Might? That’s all we’ve got?"
Asahi took point. "It’s the only chance we’ve got."
The three of them sprinted. The corridor continued to tighten. The ceiling hung so low it nearly brushed their hair. Koyoi clutched the manuscripts to his chest, running doubled over.
The pouch at his side pulsed with a violent rhythm. It wasn't fear; it was a physical tug, a gravitational pull toward the depths. Crimson light saturated the air, staining everything red. The grit beneath their boots trembled.
Stone dust stung their eyes. Asahi swung his sword, shattering a jagged stone protrusion that threatened to block their path. Fragments sprayed through the air, one grazing Koyoi's cheek.
It was warm. The stones themselves were radiating heat.
"How much further?" Asahi grunted without looking back.
"I don't know, but—"
Kuon's Catalog flared. A streak of golden light shot toward the floor.
It was close.
The passage suddenly burst open. The constriction ceased. The ceiling vanished into the heights. The three of them stumbled out into a vast, cavernous void. It was immense—the ceiling was lost in shadows, and the walls were distant echoes.
The floor beneath them was no longer stone. It was something else—a soft, yielding surface that felt like compressed paper. It gave slightly with every step.
A light flickered in the heart of the chamber. Kuon skidded to a halt, the azure light of his prosthetic eye reaching out toward it.
"The Source."
Behind them, the passage sealed shut with a final, heavy thud. There was no turning back.
They fixed their gaze forward. The paper floor creaked softly under their weight as they advanced.
The light of the Source shifted as they approached. It bled from gold to vermilion, then finally to a brilliant, pure white. Within that white radiance, the shadows of script danced. Centuries of names lay there, dreaming in the light.