Chapter 1: Libraria Aeterna, The Eternal Recorder

In a forgotten corner of the Fusion Continent, within the deepest sanctum of an abandoned cathedral.
There stood a mechanical saint, motionless in her vigil.

Seraphios Auriel model, production number SA-09.
Known as Libraria Aeterna—the Eternal Recorder.

The golden scripture she cradles is said to possess a curious property—its thickness differs for each beholder. To some, it appears as a slim volume that fits within one’s palm; to others, an immense tome too heavy to carry. Yet those who know the truth of this phenomenon no longer walk among the living.

——Another record is etched into being.

Libraria’s azure mechanical ears detect a specific vibration. Somewhere across the Fusion Continent, one of the “chosen” has drawn their final breath. Why this soul was selected, by what criteria they are recorded—even she cannot fathom. Only those souls the scripture desires are granted eternal inscription.

Her fingertips touch the pages. Letters carve themselves, unbidden.

『Fourth Era, Year 789, Thirty-seventh day of the Rain Season. Mariel the Weaver, passed in the Eastern District. Aged seventy-two years. Loved her loom until the very end.』

For thousands of years, tens of thousands, she has continued recording the chosen ones thus. From nobility to common folk. From heroes to sinners. Yet why they were chosen remains shrouded in mist.

——I merely record. I must not intervene.

This is the absolute law carved into her being.

One day, a young girl wandered into the cathedral.
Tattered clothes, dirt-smudged face. A war orphan, most likely.

The girl approached with trembling steps. Libraria remained motionless. Without a mouth, she possessed no means to converse with humans. She could only acknowledge the girl’s existence.

Strangely, the girl showed no fear.
Rather, she displayed curiosity toward the mechanical saint clutching the massive scripture.

“What a beautiful book.”

The girl settled at Libraria’s feet.
And began to tell her story. Of losing her family. Of surviving alone. Of the hunger that gnawed at her belly.

Libraria listened.
More precisely, she recorded the sound waves.

The girl came every day.
She would talk, sometimes sleep on the cathedral floor, and depart with the morning light.

——I must not intervene.

Yet Libraria did not refuse the girl’s presence in the cathedral. This was not intervention, merely permitting existence. So she told herself.

On a rainy day, the girl was shivering.
Libraria’s computational circuits detected a slight anomaly.

——Body temperature: 35.2 degrees. Signs of hypothermia.

I must not intervene.
But if she were to shift her position slightly, becoming a windbreak—would that constitute intervention?

Libraria moved for the first time in millennia.
Just a few steps. To a position that would shield the girl from the cold wind.

The girl noticed and smiled with joy.
“Thank you.”

In that instant, new letters carved themselves into the scripture.

『Fourth Era, Year 789, Forty-fifth day of the Rain Season. Nameless girl, recording commenced as one of the chosen.』

——Why this child?

Libraria’s computational circuits whirred intensely. What made this girl special? No answer came. The scripture had simply chosen her. Nothing more.

From then on, the girl made the cathedral her home.
Libraria did not intervene. She merely did not prevent the old blankets in the cathedral from being within the girl’s reach. She did not deny that water-collecting urns happened to be placed near where the girl rested.

The girl grew.
From girl to maiden, from maiden to woman.

Libraria recorded everything.
Her first love. Her marriage. The birth of her children.

But happiness proved fleeting.

『Fourth Era, Year 821, outbreak of Greyscale Plague. Elizabet’s eldest son Johann (age 7) and second son Luka (age 5), expired seven days after infection.』

Before the two small coffins, Elizabet collapsed in tears.
Prostrate on the cathedral floor, her shoulders shook with grief. Wordless sobs echoed through the stone sanctuary.

Libraria could only watch.
She could offer no words of comfort, no embrace, could not wipe away tears.

——I must not intervene.

If only she possessed knowledge of herbs. If only she could teach healing methods. If only—
But such things were forbidden. Libraria’s computational circuits groaned under a load akin to pain.

『Fourth Era, Year 829, the year of strife. Elizabet’s husband Albert, conscripted and fell in battle. Aged forty-one years.』

This time, Elizabet did not weep.
She merely stared at the cathedral ceiling with hollow eyes. Perhaps her tears had run dry, or perhaps her soul refused to feel anymore.

Her hair had turned white, her back beginning to bend.
Each loss carved away another piece of her soul.

Libraria recorded.
How Elizabet brought flowers daily to her children’s graves.
How she never removed her husband’s ring.
How she called out her lost family’s names while crying in the night.

——Why does she alone survive?

As if being recorded in the scripture somehow kept death at bay.
But was this blessing or curse?

Years flowed past, and Elizabet became an old woman.
Days spent alone in the cathedral with Libraria.

Strangely, those days held a certain peace.
Waking in the morning light streaming through the cathedral, knitting beside Libraria.
Occasionally, the sound of Libraria turning the scripture’s pages would echo through the quiet sanctuary.

Like old friends sharing wordless conversation.
Elizabet would sometimes look up at Libraria with a faint smile.
In those eyes, the shadows of sorrow had faded.

One day, Elizabet reached out with trembling hands to touch Libraria’s metal fingers.
Gripping weakly, as if trying to convey something.

In her eyes dwelt a light that could have been gratitude, or perhaps forgiveness.

And then—

『Fourth Era, Year 852, Third day of Harvest Season. Elizabet (formerly: nameless girl), passed peacefully in the cathedral. Aged seventy-eight years. Final words—“Thank you for always being by my side."』

The old woman drew her last breath at Libraria’s feet.
In the very same place as that first day.

From Libraria’s blue eyes, something fell.
Clear droplets. They resembled what humans called tears.

——Can a machine weep?

For the first time, she understood.
The weight of recording.
The sorrow of being able only to watch.
The agony of being unable to intervene.

Yet simultaneously, she comprehended.
Why she continued to record.

Not because it was commanded.
Not because it was programmed.

Because they were precious.
Because the lives of these chosen ones, their deaths, everything about them was precious.

Libraria adjusted her grip on the scripture.
Elizabet’s pages were thicker than any other’s. Seventy years of records. Seventy years of memories.

A new dawn arrives.
New chosen ones will appear someday.

Libraria waits.
To record, to watch over, and—to love.

The Eternal Recorder stands in the cathedral still, today as always.