**The end of the second night draws near.**
Soon, the sun will descend through the fog — yes, *through* it — and illuminate this place with its bright rays. Everything seems to be going according to plan. As it should. Could it really be otherwise?
When the moon disappears, the sun takes its place. When night ends, it is replaced by day. And then comes… well, at the very least, light. Maybe even joy. Maybe even laughter. Possibly.
But the nature of the world — no, let's say "the essence of being," sounds more pretentious — is the same everywhere. Almost everywhere.
**But not here.**
This place is… special.
It does not recognize sunlight. It does not recognize the concept of "day." And it certainly does not recognize joyful faces.
Because such things simply do not **exist** here.
No people. No moon. No sun.
Absolute emptiness.
Only a false shell. An illusion. A backdrop. A trick. A parody of reality created by the witch of this island. What else do you call a copy made without knowing the original? It's like trying to draw a face you've never seen. It'll turn out… strange.
Kind of strange, really, that I even started thinking about this.
Before, I wouldn't have lingered on such thoughts. I would've just… flipped the page. Did I even think at all before? Did I live?
Before meeting **them** — probably not.
Before meeting **her** — definitely not.
And these thoughts shouldn't even exist in my head. Not at my level. And definitely not by habit.
But a meeting can change many things, can't it?
My inner world, which used to feel like an empty gray room with a single light bulb, suddenly started to resemble… a gallery. With colors. With sounds. With reflections. With insane paintings.
"By the way, is she even a girl?"
"I never really thought about that. Never asked her, either."
(Strange, isn't it?)
We were already in the library.
Cheryl stood with his eyes closed, silently observing — almost like a statue, almost like a judge. The others were submerged in the silent agony of decoding: books open, scattered, in disarray. Not a single one lying properly.
Morgana and I — nearby, silent. Just watching. Waiting. Until Yahweh's voice shattered the pause like a stone through glass.
— Hey, what are you standing there for? I called you to help with this, not just to stand around! — cheerful, as if he were enjoying this.
He was full of energy. Radiating some kind of joy, maybe from finally finding the right book. The link-book. The translator-book.
Wasting no time — which, ironically, we had plenty of — I joined them. I asked Morgana to stay back. Just observe. Not interfere.
She wanted to help — of course she did. But that wasn't her role. Not now. Not here.
— While you were gone, we already managed to translate a few of the glyphs, — said Kamiki with that same smirk, as if time didn't exist here. — By the way, where were you all this time?
— Worried about me? — Aragi replied. — I just went to get Morgana. I didn't want her wandering the mansion alone.
Light laughter. A book in hand. Eyes down.
Tiamut — nearby, silent, but clearly not uninvolved. Watching. Listening. Reading between the lines.
Who is she to him? — the thought slid through Aragi's mind.
(Everyone thought it, honestly.)
Unlike the others, her identity is a blind spot. A blank. And that, as we know, can be dangerous.
— Anyway, listen, — Yahweh became the center of attention again. — Hov and I talked, and we think it's best if each group takes one sentence to work on.
— That way we save time.
— That way it's more efficient.
— That way we won't die before sunrise, for starters.
— I agree, that's a good idea, — said Kamiki, waving his arms like a conductor without an orchestra.
— I'm fine with that. Let's do it, — Aragi agreed.
And so again: division, delegation, decoding. Teamwork that almost looked coordinated.
Yahweh and Hov — the third sentence.
Enua and I — the first.
Kamiki and his group — the second.
Only one remained.
— We'll take it! — Morgana said, as always, right on time. Cheryl next to her.
Everyone agreed. As if it mattered.
— Yahweh and I will step away, — said Hov. — Better not to get in each other's way.
They left.
— We will too, — Tiamut said, following Kamiki. He left first, without saying a word.
(That must mean something. Probably.)
Enua and I stayed behind. Morgana and Cheryl behind us.
Calm, divided into four parts.
— All right, let's begin.
**避けられない定めを拒み,争うことは,ただ自らを滅ぼすだけだ.**
— Look, I've already found glyphs similar to the beginning of our sentence.
**「避けられない」**
— Seems like some kind of adjective.
Several pages. Several minutes.
避ける — to avoid.
避けられない — inevitable.
定め — fate, destiny.
— It's a reference to inevitable fate, — said Aragi. — But what's the rest?
**What I was concerned about in that moment wasn't the translation. It was Enua. His silence. His distraction. His… detachment.**
— Are you okay? — I asked.
— I'm fine… just wondering who could've written this.
— Don't lie to me, — I said. — If something's wrong — tell me. I'm on your side.
— Thank you. You've already done more than enough, — Enua replied, with a faint shadow across his face.
We continued.
を — object particle.
拒み — from 拒む, "to refuse."
定めを拒み — "refusing fate."
争うことは — "to fight."
ただ自らを滅ぼすだけだ — "only destroys yourself."
**The result:**
「Refusing an inevitable fate and fighting it only leads to your own destruction.」
Or:
**"Fighting against inescapable fate leads to self-destruction."**
One in the morning.
An hour had passed since we began. It turned out easier than expected. Faster than we thought. Morgana and Cheryl were still discussing their part. Yahweh and Hov hadn't returned. Maybe they went far. Maybe got lost. Or maybe just stupid.
But what was surprising — Kamiki.
He didn't return.
(That's… strange.)
And then:
— Aragi, I need to tell you something important…
— Hm? — I responded.
— Promise me you'll take it the right way.
— …
— The thing is…
**Time stopped.**
(Not literally. But that's what it felt like.)
— All this time… I already knew what those lines meant.
...
...
I didn't reply. I couldn't.
— I don't even know how it happened. I just… saw it. Understood it. Instantly. And I got scared. Scared that even you would suspect me. But please… believe me.
He begged. Almost physically.
Like a puppet that had lost its soul.
And then…
— Once, a certain vampire girl told me:
**To be believed, you don't need to prove you're right.**
**Trust your heart — it already knows.**
— I believe you, Enua, — said Aragi. — I do.
A hand — extended.
A gesture — direct.
The meaning — clear.
— Even if the whole world turns its back on you, don't abandon yourself.
Your truth is **your** truth.
— Aragi… you really are… a remarkable person.