Chapter 5: The Broken Choice

The Archives brushed past him. The whispering of hundreds of words they had forgotten--which were visited by one long, long, long sigh.

Haruto stood alone.

The Cartographer had departed muttering something about the map having to draw itself.

And the Librarian had melted back into the shadows, on the grounds that he needed to update the entry of Haruto.

The abandoned silence was not peaceful. It was tight, as though it were suffocating, something was smouldering immediately behind the walls.

The glass enclosing him faintly flickered and flashed with memories not his.

He returned to the one that was lit that bore his name.

SENO, HARUTO

Status: Echo anomaly

Anchor: Not found

Memory Access: Partial

He stared at the words.

“Anchor not found.”

As if he were drifting.

Unattached. Unremembered. Unreal.

He reached out.

“Don’t”, dear Librarian, came the distant sharp voice. “The glass remembers what flesh cannot.”

But it had already been touched by Haruto.

The instant that his flesh touched the panel floor moved under him.

Not quite--but not so that awakened his senses, so that they made his legs crook.

The Archive flickered. The walls were bled to death. Whisperings were resolved into statuettes. Memories whirled up in the air like dust in an invisible coolie.

Then--suddenly he was not standing in the Archive.

School hallway. Late afternoon.

Lucent lamps gawking at the sky.

A half-opened window.

He remained still but his consciousness rested just behind a person- him, but not quite.

This Haruto was more confident. Eyes clearer. Shoulders upright. One thought he was going to say something.

Beyond him was another figure - indistinct, flickering in line. Your face, I did not see it plainly; rather a shadow that you could not put your eyes on properly in your dream.

Haruto had a wish to shout--but he made no sound. He was not actually present, never mind, mere observer.

His double spoke:

“If I say yes… will I forget?”

The shadow answered--the voice was stratified, lengthened, almost as though he were speaking under water:

“Only what doesn’t anchor you.”

Haruto leaned in. This ringing struck somewhere in his chest. There was no punishment, and forgetting was a mandatory service.

Then as yet--all at once--the double turned. He looked straight at Haruto.

“Who did you choose?”

Haruto flinched. The dream was shattered. The authentically fabricated hallway snapped and curved the fiddlehead. The fluorescent lighting films crackled into fire. There was a noise, like breaking ice. Everything collapsed.

Back in the Archive Haruto crashed on the ground, with knees plunging with shock into cold marble.

He swooned--his chest swelling as though he had just emerged out of the deep water. His breathing was quick and irregular.

His hands were trembling.

The panel upon which he pressed now carried clear cracks, smoldering at the side like lines of molten gold running through glass.

Something was wrong.

His watch beeped once. He looked.

99:54:59 – 99:52:00

A spike.

A three‑minute drop.

“What have I just done?", he whispered to himself.

A sound behind him. Someone clapped.

Haruto turned--still on one knee.

At the annex to the Archive was a girl. She was perhaps fifteen years younger than him. She had all the wrong clothes on, which hung down to the floor, a single red mitten, and a single boot. Her other foot was bare, white and covered with ash. Examples of burnt paper were visible on her skin in gray spots. Her eyes… They were burning dimly like coals of fire struggling to remain afloat.

She stared at him in a pitiful, and recognizant expression.

“You broke a memory,” she said. “That’s why time flinched.”

Haruto struggled himself to his feet, which were still not steady.

“Who are you?”

The girl bowed her head a little, as though the question did not make sense to her.

“I’m… what’s left of Airi.”

“What do you mean, what’s left?”

And it was sad as she smiled a little.

"I remembered too many people. Some did not want to be remembered. Some didn't want to stay."

Haruto reexamined the broken panel.

"Is this what’s happening to me?"

The voice of Airi was closer and softer.

"Not yet. But you’re getting close. The harder you tug in the cracks the tougher the world pugs you.”

The cold air was a cloud which Haruto was breathing.

"Then what do I do?"

One arm, which was raised by Airi, pointed at her back.

This wall just curled like a stage curtain, being drawn closed to the world.

Behind it was a door. Tall and jagged. No light inside.

Haruto experienced a sensation on his chest. It wasn’t pain, it was weight.

"This is the Rift," Airi said.

"Why would I go there?"

“This is because knowing that’s where your choice goes.”

"The choice I made?"

She nodded.

"The Cartographer won’t map it. The Librarian won’t file it. But, if you want the truth—your truth—it’s in there.”

Haruto hesitated.

"What if I go in?"

“Then you will not come out the same.”

He turned and looked towards the Archive.

It was safe, established and systematized.

He looked at Airi. She was ragged, jerky, yet alive.

Then he turned and saw his hand and it shook.

“I don’t want to stay the same,” he said.

The door had faded behind him.

It was glass like water. They were made of pictures stuck on the walls by these threads of red ink.

The atmosphere that he was in was mindful, willing him to say something bad.

The corridor varied in form with each stridewalls, archways, twitches like the petals of a flower closing.

Voices whispered sideways.

The wing of a crow touched his shoulder but there was not a crow.

Then he went down a passage.

They were not new, but old, rusted, and some broke, some fused.

Below each bell was a tag with a name or part of a name on it. Most were unreadable.

Some rang softly as he passed. Others cried not aloud--... he only felt them in his teeth.

One chime struck him hard. His mother was blow drying her hair, saying, “You never come on time, Haru.”

Another bell rang. These were the words spoken by a boy, I should run. You always freeze.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. That one hurt.

He was not sure whether it was, or the Rift was playing for a fool.

Why is it happening to me? said he to himself.

A voice within echoed back, Not yet you are beginning to live.

Then there was silence.

Towards the end of the corridor, two doors were visible.

One door was blue--it was marked RETURN.

The other door was red and was marked ANCHOR.

He heard someone crying behind it, but it was no great noise, and it was real.

A long moment passed and Haruto remained there.

He did not reach towards either door.

Not yet.

Something was making a disturbance behind the blue door.

Nothing- merely a sense- a kind of being there somewhere beyond.

In a low and pitiable voice, he declared that he heard one.

“Haruto... it’s okay now. You can rest.”

It wasn’t threatening. It felt kind and comforting.

And familiar.

He felt a breath in his throat. It apologized nearly like his mother, or, perhaps, like Ayaka--perhaps both.

But that was the problem.

The blue door promised peace. The red door promised pain.

Still he stepped forward.

Toward pain.

Toward remembering.

it hovered between the two, to his hand.

His fingers trembled--not with fear.

With knowing.

His watch ticked softly.

99:51:58