Complete darkness outside the mansion. So thick it felt not like background, but emptiness, as if the world ended at the mansion walls. As if this whole island was a theater with a single set.
Step out and fall. Step out and you're gone, just you and this enveloping nothing.
The night was frightening, almost like that time. Rain relentlessly drumming on the glass, as if trying to knock inside. And wind, sharp like a stranger's gaze. Just another night on the island, that's all. And that "just" became too heavy.
But all that vanished in an instant.
Shouts. Yahweh's shouts, he ran toward us holding the book, Hov behind him. Not hurrying, like his own shadow, they were together. They were no longer part of the background, they became part of the action. From that moment, we were assembled.
All of us. Together to unravel another puzzle left by the witch. This was my chance. Not just a chance, my first chance. No, not "my," his, to prove not myself, but him.
I glanced aside, he sat to my right, Morgana to the left. If I were someone else... someone who considered Enua guilty, I would...
Looking into his eyes, I'd understand he couldn't be guilty. Sometimes, to understand everything, words aren't needed, just look. Look and feel.
And yet... I couldn't shake the memories. The witch's move. That moment. I saw it, if you stop believing your eyes, what can you believe at all?
Why did I accept it as truth then? Why didn't I suspect illusion? And Gerudo, not a copy, not a phantom, not a doll. He was real. His body, his voice, his gaze, everything real. It wasn't a lie, wasn't deception. And yet...
I can't just feel. Need to know, guilt isn't determined by the heart. It requires facts, and I have none at all.
Meaning our only path is to translate the symbols, solve the puzzle. In this and only this, a chance. The only one, like the last match in a storm.
The next hour we'll spend on this, each of us. We're in one room, in view of each other. The night should pass calmly, no one should die today.
We agreed: if someone needs water, Cheryl and Morgana handle it. The other need, no problem. One servant goes with you.
And since the moment came, I decided...
"Do you practice any martial arts?"
She turned to me. Gaze direct, too direct.
"Huh?"
"Do you practice any martial arts?" I repeated.
"I heard you the first time. Just... why?"
"Ah... just curious. You can stand up for yourself, thought maybe you're trained?"
"Not exactly trained specifically. But not that we can't."
Answer... strange, as if she wants to say everything and nothing at once.
"Hey, lovebirds, enough chatting," Yahweh's voice rang. "Better help us here!"
Morgana flushed. I saw it, looked on purpose. Can't smile, but hard to hold back.
"Come over, Hov and I found something," Yahweh added.
We approached and saw.
Hundreds, no, thousands of hieroglyphs. So tiny they seemed to refuse being seen. Not handwritten, as if imprinted by time.
And opposite each, translation into several languages, ours among them. Don't know if luck or another witch move.
"Great. Now just collect the needed ones and connect them."
Sounds simple. In practice, search among thousands for the right one, over and over. A hundred times.
"This could take way longer than expected," Kamiki said.
"Then we need a plan," Yahweh.
"Any ideas?" Hov.
"What if..." Tiamut pondered. "What if the book isn't one?"
Silence.
Everyone looked at her. One thought and immediate chain reaction.
"Copies," Kamiki nodded.
"But are there any? We searched many books, none similar."
"What if he wrote so small because he didn't plan copies?" Hov.
"Support that. He could have written everything in another book, but didn't. Why write microscopically?" Yahweh added.
"Then... just tear it and divide," Tiamut suggested calmly.
"You're serious?!" Yahweh outraged. "And you call that 'just'?"
"Any other options?" Tiamut.
"We don't know what consequences that could have," Yahweh wary, which, honestly, everyone should be.
"Will there be any at all?" Kamiki.
Yahweh glanced at him. The same, always relaxed, slightly strange, slightly alien. Smiling.
"One thing a grimoire. Another a regular book."
And... he tears, just takes and tears. Pages fly like leaves torn from a branch.
"What are you waiting for?" Kamiki said with the same smile. "Dig in."
Silence.
Movement.
"What a brute," Cheryl whispered.
"I'd lie if I said I liked it," Morgana added.
"But faster. And the book, alas, no one needs."
I turned to Morgana, something wrong. I felt it, shouldn't have said that.
"Is she... upset? Why?" I whispered.
"Not from the words," Cheryl explained. "From the act."
"Important?"
"Not important. But... Gerudo-sama often came here, dusted. It mattered to him," he explained. "Morgana once saw him gently, almost fatherly, wiping the books. He promised himself to visit the library, in memory of the first owner."
Now I understood why she was upset. Why words and actions hurt her.
"I should apologize."
"As you wish," Cheryl said coldly.
But Morgana was gone.
She left?!
I bolted from the room, shouts behind for a second. Then silence, I can't let her be alone, not now.
What if the witch? What if a trap?
But... she just sat on the stairs, hunched. Head down to knees.
Alone.
I sat beside.
"Sorry. It's because of me."
Silence, but not deaf. I was about to stand, but felt... warmth. Her palm on my hand, like sudden summer in lingering winter.
I swallowed. She looked at me, cheeks flushed. Hand trembling, not letting go.
"Tell me... you'll... avenge the witch?" she asked in a trembling voice. "He did nothing, he wasn't participating. He just... was, why did she kill him?! Why... Aragi!!"
She shouted, cried. Right here, beside me. I understood, understood how painful.
"I'll kill her and avenge Gerudo."
She hugged me tightly, too tightly. Not from tenderness, but fear of loss. As if I was her last anchor, the only thing to hold on to.
I carefully took her face in my hands and lifted. Eyes tear-filled, lashes stuck, cheeks flushed, not from cold. She looked straight at me, not averting gaze, as if waiting for a decision. I leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, I expected her to pull away, but she stayed. Responded the same, uncertain but sincere, as if afraid to be late. Her hands gripped tighter, breathing faltered. In that moment, everything around lost meaning. Thoughts gone, time too. No yesterday, no later, no reasons, no consequences.
Only us. Here and now.
But in another reality where seconds ticked normally, Yahweh's voice called us again. They found something, as if the story kept moving.
Whether we want it or not.