The next few hours until full nightfall, or perhaps a bit longer. Who's going to count now if the clock hands seem to have run away from us along with common sense?
We will try to find a suitable book that will help us translate these lines. Well, yeah, it's just a matter of finding one book among thousands. One. The only one. The right one. What's so difficult about that?
If it weren't for everything that happened, not those murders, not those awakenings, not that witch, not that library, perhaps we would have known long ago what these symbols hide.
But… didn't I know from the start that it would be like this? Could it be that she… really doesn't want us to know the translation? Does the witch have a taste for dramaturgy?
There are plenty of options. Zero answers. I'm no fortune teller, of course, but I'm sure she wrote them. After killing Gerudo with her own hands. And if I want to clear Enua's name, the first step is decryption.
Simple, right? Almost like "finding a needle in a bookish hell."
Although... if this is her move, the witch's move, one must admit, it's quite elegant. Not for show, but with intent. And behind the intent, a trap might be hiding. A trap for the mind, for logic, for us.
While the participants crowded near the library, waiting for the servants who were looking for the door key, I… was thinking.
About the details.
About the grimoires.
About how long we would be searching.
Now, of course, it's simpler. I am the only one whose memory isn't erased after a reset.
The others? They are victims. Cyclical, reincarnating victims who don't even know they died. Not very inspiring, right?
While I was drowning in thoughts, Morgana and Sheryl approached. They had the key in their hands.
Why now of all times?
— Here, we brought the key, — Morgana said with a slight anxiety, clutching the key as if it weren't metal, but a secret.
And indeed, a secret. Because, as mentioned earlier, the key alone is not enough. The door is shrouded in magic. Between the 10th and 11th dimension.
— Alright, let me take the key, I'll open it, — said Yahweh, already reaching out his hand.
— Stop, let me try to open the door.
Aragi's voice cut through the tension.
All eyes on him.
(What, surprised?)
It felt as if he had suggested not opening the door, but slicing through reality.
— Huh? Is there a difference who opens it?
— Of course, there's no difference. But allow me to do it.
Words without argument, but with subtext. Yahweh looked at Hov. The latter, in response, wordlessly. And everything became clear.
— Alright, here.
He handed it over. Stepped back. Yielded.
Now it's my turn.
I inserted the key. Turned it. Pushed. The door felt like it weighed a ton, but I managed to open it. At that moment, I and the other me separated.
The witch was telling the truth. The vampire woman's power is real. Thanks, big breasts.
We are back in the library.
Now Enua is with us.
Help, at the very least.
An alibi, at best.
He won't leave the room. That's the plan. We agreed on it back in the bedroom. The other participants don't believe it, but they tolerate it because at night, truth is less important than safety.
— And remember, not all grimoires are safe, — Morgana's voice sounded. — Some of them emit energy…
Yes, we remember. Some books seem to hiss when you touch them. Some whisper. And some look back at you.
The teams are working separately.
Me with Enua. Morgana with Cheryl. Hov and Yahweh together. Kamiki and Tiamut separately.
— Listen, I have a question for you…
— Why did you decide to let Aragi open the door? Is there a difference?
— Maybe there is. Maybe there isn't. I can't give you an answer. But… I felt it.
Yahweh looked with a gaze that asks instead of words.
— Surprised you understood from a single glance?
— It's… from those times. Where language fails and hands fall silent, feelings remain.
— Smells of the past. Unpleasant, but important.
They fell silent. Lost in themselves, as in a deep pool of memories.
— Answer me… for what reason did you agree to participate in this game?
…
— The witch couldn't force us. Only resurrect us.
— It's hard to disagree with someone like you, Yahweh.
And yes, there's truth in that. Each of us is here for our own goal, a dream. A missed one.
— I am here… for an answer. To save my wife.
— Guresu… died?
— After childbirth.
And then, it's clear. Words, pain, an attempt to understand the impossible.
— I didn't stop. Came here. To get what I wasn't given then.
— And you?
— You already know why I'm here.
— Then… let's promise each other that we'll return alive!
— Of course. I am the Hero of the past, after all! Aha-ha-ha!
Time: 10 PM.
Several hundred books everywhere.
Every face is tired. Every heart is uncertain. Me? I just… want a drink.
But go out? No way.
— Are you okay? — Enua asked.
— Everything's fine.
Morgana, hearing this, immediately approached.
— Are you sure you're okay?
— Sure. Honestly. Almost.
She still went to get water, together with Cheryl.
I wanted to stop her… but didn't. Why?
Because I believe. Because I'm stupid. Because I trust her fists.
And while I'm thinking all sorts of nonsense. There it is, the line that vampire woman hates.
Anyway, Morgana brought the water. I drank and poured some on myself.
— Thank you.
— Don't mention it.
Her face turned red.
Maybe from gratitude.
Maybe from the water.
If someone asked me what happiness is… I would answer: happiness is when you're surrounded by beauties with ample bosoms.
Night.
Thousands of books, still not the right one. Some grimoires. Others are textbooks on medicine, geography, god knows what.
But suddenly, a shout.
— Aah!
Yahweh.
— We found the book we need!
And as if everything else disappeared.