The second time they visited the Scripture Library, it was a ruin.
The main gate stood open. One of the heavy doors had been torn from its hinges and lay discarded on the ground. Beyond the threshold, more than half of the bookshelves had collapsed.
Paper lay piled upon the floor like drifts of snow. Yet, deeper within, there was light. A golden glow leaked through the jagged gaps of the broken shelves. It was coming from the center.
The outer shell had crumbled, but the heart was still alive.
The three of them waded through the mounds of paper. Beneath their feet, the sheets crinkled with a faint, brittle sound. Every page was covered in writing.
They were names.
Each sheet was a page that had once recorded the name of a living soul.
Koyoi walked with careful deliberation, trying his best not to step on the paper. When there was no other way forward, he placed his feet down as gently as he could.
"This is it."
Asahi shoved aside a fallen bookshelf. Beyond it, a wide space opened up.
The center was untouched. It was a circular chamber with a floor of polished stone. The ceiling was a great dome; though spiderwebbed with cracks, it had not given way. Lamps hung upon the walls.
They cast a pale blue light.
It was a glow emanating from the library itself. In the very center of the room stood a well. It was made of stone, its rim low—only reaching knee-height.
While its shape was similar to the well they had seen in the southern town, its contents were entirely different. It wasn't water. It was ink. Black ink filled the well to the very brim, its surface so smooth it reflected the trio’s faces like a dark mirror.
"So this is—"
Kuon caught his breath.
"The Original. The original record wasn't a book. It’s a well. A well of ink. Every name is dissolved within it."
Kuon opened the Catalog.
Golden threads stretched out from the book toward the well. The ink of the Catalog and the ink of the well were reacting to one another—a resonance between the copy and the source.
The surface of the ink rippled. Names became visible, characters swimming through the black depths. They were like the motes of light they had seen in the warm well of Hoshino, but here, it wasn't just light; the letters themselves were moving. Countless characters swirled in a great vortex within the ink.
"It’s not just thousands."
Kuon used his artificial eye to gauge the depth of the well. The blue light of his gaze was swallowed by the darkness. He could see no bottom.
"It’s tens of thousands. Every name in this world is here."
A brush had been left on the rim of the well. Its tip was stained with ink that had not yet dried.
Koyoi did not reach for the brush. Instead, he placed his drawstring pouch on the stone edge. A single droplet shimmered.
At once, the names within the ink rose to the surface. The characters turned toward the pouch as if they had been waiting for this moment.
Koyoi rested his hands on the rim and peered into the black water. Countless names glowed within the swirl, rising slowly as if drawn by the warmth of the droplet. Each and every one of them had once been the very essence of a person's existence. Just beneath the surface, the names swayed and writhed in search of light—like fish looking up at the sky from beneath the ice.