Complete darkness outside the dwelling.
So thick it seemed not like a background, but like a void. As if the world ended at the mansion's walls. As if this entire island was a theater with a single set.
Take a step and you fall through. Take a step and you're gone. Just you and this enveloping nothingness.
The night was frightening. Almost as frightening as back then. Rain, relentlessly drumming on the windowpane, as if trying to break through inside. And wind, sharp like a stranger's gaze. Just another night on the island. That's all. And this "just" was becoming far too weighty.
But all of that vanished at once.
Shouts. Yahweh's shouts. He was running towards us, holding a book. And Hov behind him. Unhurried, like a shadow of himself, they were together. They were no longer part of the background; they had become part of the action. From this moment, we were assembled.
Everyone. And together, to unravel another riddle left by the witch.
This was my chance. Not just a chance. My first chance. No, not "mine". His chance, to prove not myself, but to prove his innocence.
I looked away to the side. He was sitting to my right. Morgana to my left. If I were someone else… someone who thought Enua was guilty, I would…
I would, by looking into his eyes, understand. He cannot be guilty. Sometimes, to understand everything, you don't need words. You just need to look. To look and feel.
And yet… I couldn't rid myself of the memories. The witch's move, that moment, I saw it. If you stop believing your eyes, what is there left to believe in?
Why did I accept it as truth then? Why didn't I suspect an illusion? And Gerudo. Not a copy, not a phantom, not a doll. He was real. His body, his voice, his gaze, everything was real.
It wasn't a lie.
It wasn't a deception.
And yet…
I can't just rely on feeling. Guilt isn't determined by the heart. It requires facts, and I have none, absolutely none.
So, our only path is to translate the symbols, solve the riddle. In this, and only this, lies the chance. The only one, like the last match in a storm.
The next hour we will spend on this. Every one of us. We are in one room, in plain sight of each other. The night must pass peacefully. No one should die tonight.
We agreed: if anyone needs a drink, Cheryl and Morgana will handle it. The other need, well, that one, is also not a problem. One of the servants will go with you.
And since the moment presented itself, I decided…
— Do you practice any kind of martial arts?
She turned to me. A direct gaze, almost too direct.
— Huh?
— Do you practice any kind of martial arts? — I repeated.
— I heard you the first time. It's just… why?
— Ah… just curious. You can stand up for yourselves, I thought maybe you were trained?
— I wouldn't say we were specifically prepared. But I wouldn't say we're incapable either.
The answer… was strange. As if she simultaneously wanted to say everything and nothing.
— Hey, lovebirds, enough chatting, — Yahweh's voice rang out. — Better help us over here!
Morgana blushed. I saw it, I looked on purpose. I shouldn't smile, but… it was hard to resist.
— Come here, Hov and I found something, — added Yahweh.
We approached.
And we saw.
Hundreds, no, thousands of hieroglyphs. So tiny they seemed to refuse to be seen. Not written by hand, as if imprinted by time.
And opposite each one, a translation. Into several languages at once. Ours among them. I don't know if it's luck or another move by the witch.
— Excellent. Now we just need to find the right ones and put them together.
Sounds simple. In practice, it's searching for the right symbols among thousands. Again and again. A hundred times.
— This could take much longer than we expected, — said Kamiki.
— Then we need a plan.
— Any ideas? — Hov.
— What if… — Tiamut pondered. — What if the book isn't the only one?
Silence. Everyone looked at her.
One thought and an immediate chain reaction.
— Copies, — Kamiki nodded.
— But are there any? We searched many books. Not a single similar one.
— What if he wrote so small precisely because he didn't plan to make copies? — Hov.
— I'll support that. He could have just written everything in another book. But he didn't. Why write in microscopic script? — added Yahweh.
— Then… let's just tear it up and divide it, — Tiamut calmly suggested.
— Are you serious?! — Yahweh was indignant. — And you call that "just"?
— Are there other options?
— We don't know what consequences that might have.
— Will there be any at all? — Kamiki.
Yahweh looked at him. The same, always relaxed, slightly strange, slightly alien. Smiling.
— A grimoire is one thing. An ordinary book is another.
And… he tears it, just takes it and tears it. Pages fly like leaves torn from a branch.
— What are you waiting for? — Kamiki said with the same smile. — Dig in.
Silence. And movement. We divided, we gathered, no consequences.
— What a brute, — Cheryl whispered.
— I'd be lying if I said I liked that, — added Morgana.
— But it's faster. And the book, alas, is of no use to anyone now.
I turned to Morgana, something was wrong. I felt it, I shouldn't have said that.
«Is she… upset? Why?»
— She's upset not because of the words, — Cheryl explained. — But because of the action.
— Is it important?
— It's not important. But… Gerudo-sama often came here, dusting the books. It was important to him.
— Morgana once saw how he carefully, almost fatherly, wiped the books. He promised himself to visit the library, in memory of the first master.
Now I understood.
Why she was upset.
Why the words and actions hurt her.
— I should apologize.
— As you wish, — Cheryl said coldly.
But Morgana was no longer nearby.
«She left?!»
I dashed out of the room, shouts behind my back, for a second. Then silence. I couldn't let her be alone. Not now.
What if it's the witch? What if it's a trap?
But… she was just sitting on the stairs. Hunched over, head bowed to her knees, alone. But not entirely.
«Thank god…»
I sat down next to her.
— Sorry. This is my fault.
Silence, but not deaf. Alive.
I made to stand up, but I felt… warmth.
Her palm. On my hand, like a sudden summer in the midst of a prolonged winter.
I swallowed. She was looking at me. Cheeks flushed, her hand trembled, not letting go.
— Tell me… you will… get revenge on the witch, won't you? — she asked in a trembling voice.
— He didn't do anything. He wasn't involved. He just… was. Why did she kill him?! Why… Aragi!!
She was screaming. Crying, breaking down, right here, next to me.
I understood. Understood how painful it was. Understood what revenge meant.
— I will kill her. And I will avenge Gerudo.
She hugged me tightly, as if I were her last anchor.
I lifted her face with my palms. Eyes filled with tears, cheeks red.
I kissed her.
She didn't pull away, she responded. And for a moment… everything disappeared, time disappeared, only we remained.
But in another reality, where seconds ticked by as usual, Yahweh's voice called us again, they had found something. As if the story kept moving forward. Whether we wanted it or not.