The next morning, the manuscript room was still deserted when Lucien arrived. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, falling in long bands across the wooden floor. The distinctive scent of old paper filled the room, mingling with the faint fragrance of wood from the manuscript shelves that had stood there for decades.
Lucien made his way down the narrow aisle between the shelves until he reached the table they had used the day before. He paused for a moment. Lyra was already there. Several ancient-language dictionaries, books comparing writing systems, and sheets of notes covered in pencil scribbles were piled in front of her. Some of the pages even had small scraps of paper stuck to them as markers.
“You’re here early,” Lucien greeted her.
Lyra glanced up. “I never really went home.”
Lucien frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I went home.” Lyra gave him a faint smile. “But my mind was still here.”
Lucien couldn’t hold back his laugh. “Thank goodness.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not the only one who spent all night thinking about those two words.”
Lyra closed one of the dictionaries. “Once a puzzle gets into my head...it’s usually hard to get it out.”
Lucien pulled out the chair across from her. “So? Any progress?”
Lyra slowly shook her head. “Not yet. But I’ve found a few possibilities.”
Lucien immediately opened his notebook.
“Listen.” Lyra picked up the copy of the writing they had made the day before. “I tried comparing the shapes of the letters with several ancient languages.”
“And?”
“None of them are an exact match.”
Lucien let out a quiet sigh. “Back to a dead end.”
“No.” Lyra shook her head. “Quite the opposite.”
She pointed to one group of letters. “If this really is an entirely new language...then the shapes of its letters should be completely unfamiliar.”
“But?”
“But these letters feel like a combination.”
“A combination?”
“Of several writing systems.”
Lucien leaned closer. He didn’t understand linguistics as deeply as Lyra did, but he was beginning to understand the way she thought. “So...the person who wrote this borrowed letterforms from several languages?”
“That’s my working theory.”
Lucien nodded slowly. It made sense.
Someone who wanted to conceal a message certainly wouldn’t use a language that was easy to read.
They sank back into their separate tasks. Lucien flipped through the history-of-language book he had borrowed from Professor Whitmore the day before, while Lyra matched each symbol against the lists of ancient scripts spread across the table.
Every so often, the scratch of a pencil could be heard. Occasionally, a book page turned. But more often, silence settled over them.
Several times, Lucien thought he had found a similarity. “What about this?”
He pointed to one of the letters. Lyra studied it for several seconds.
“Almost.”
“Almost?”
“Look at the end of the line.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “Oh...”
“This one curves.”
“Right.”
“And if it curves?”
“The meaning changes.”
Lucien let out a long breath. “Why did people in the old days like making life so difficult?”
Lyra chuckled softly. “Maybe two hundred years from now, people will say the same thing about our writing.”
Lucien smiled too. “I hope not.”
The atmosphere grew quiet again. Before they knew it, nearly an hour had passed. Yet the results spread across their table had barely changed.
Still the same two words.
Gate. Heir.
Lucien leaned back in his chair.
“I’m starting to feel like we’re chasing something that might not even exist.”
Lyra didn’t answer right away. Instead, she picked up the manuscript they had found the day before. Her hand slowly traced the edge of the page.
“That’s strange...”
“What now?”
“We were too focused on reading yesterday.”
“And why is that a problem?”
Lyra raised the manuscript slightly higher. “If you look closely...this little note isn’t part of the main text.”
Lucien furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“The spacing between the lines is different. The ink is different too.” She pointed to the edge of the page. “The person who wrote this note...wasn’t the person who copied the manuscript.”
Lucien sat up straight. “So...someone else read this manuscript after it had been finished?”
Lyra nodded slowly. “And left a note for themselves.”
For a moment, the two of them stared at each other. The two words they had found the day before suddenly seemed to carry a different meaning. Perhaps they weren’t a quotation, nor were they part of the manuscript’s contents. Perhaps they were the trace of someone who had once searched for the same mystery they were pursuing.
Lucien opened his notebook again. If it really was only someone’s note, then that person must have discovered something.
“Maybe we’ve been wrong from the beginning,” Lucien muttered.
Lyra looked up. “About what?”
“We keep trying to translate these two words.” Lucien tapped his notebook lightly. “But maybe the more important question is...why someone wrote them in the margin of the manuscript.”
Lyra fell silent. She looked back at the old page lying open before her. “You’re right. We’ve been too busy searching for the meaning when we haven’t even understood the purpose.”
Silence filled their table once more. Lucien turned through several pages of the manuscript. The first few pages were all covered in the same tightly packed writing. Here and there, there were ink stains. Some creases showed that the manuscript had been opened repeatedly. But there were no more small notes like the one they had found.
“If this person really left a message...why only two words?” Lucien asked.
Lyra slowly shook her head. “Maybe there weren’t only two. Maybe the rest is missing.”
That made Lucien examine the edge of the page again. Sure enough, the manuscript’s lower-right corner was slightly torn—enough to remove several lines of writing.
“Maybe there was more,” Lucien murmured.
Lyra nodded. “Or maybe it’s on another page.”
They went back to examining the pages one by one, more carefully this time. Every corner, every patch of empty space that might once have been filled by someone’s hand centuries ago. Time passed again. At last, Lyra stopped moving.
“No.” Lucien turned toward her.
“What?”
“There aren’t any other notes.”
“Are you sure?”
“I checked everything.” She slowly closed the manuscript. “If there were any, they’re probably gone.”
Lucien leaned back in his chair. Disappointment began to settle in. They had found two words, yes. But those two words still weren’t enough to lead them anywhere. That was when they heard footsteps approaching.
Professor Whitmore stopped beside their table. “Still here, I see.”
Lucien gave him a small smile. “Still trying to understand that note.”
The professor glanced at the open manuscript. “And?”
“We just realized that the writing in the margin isn’t part of the manuscript.”
Professor Whitmore nodded slowly. “That’s progress.”
Lucien looked slightly puzzled. “Progress?”
“You’ve stopped looking for answers and started asking the right questions.”
Lucien and Lyra exchanged a glance.
The professor continued, “Sometimes a note tells you more about its writer than it does about the book they’re reading.”
He gave them a faint smile before continuing on and leaving the manuscript room. As usual, he gave them no answer. He only left them with a new idea to consider.
Lucien stared at the manuscript for a long while. “Then who was the person who wrote this note?”
Lyra didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she picked up the copy of the writing they had made again. Her eyes stopped on the shape of one of the letters. Several seconds passed, and her expression slowly changed.
“Lucien.”
“Hmm?”
“I just realized something.”
Lucien turned toward her at once. “What?”
Lyra was still staring at the copy. “I’ve seen a letterform like this before.”
Lucien’s heart seemed to beat faster. “Where?”
Lyra knitted her brows as she tried to remember. The world around them seemed to fade away. The only sound was the ticking of the old clock on the library wall. Then Lyra slowly let out a breath.
“...I don’t remember.”
Lucien sighed, caught between relief and disappointment. “But you’re sure you’ve seen it before?”
Lyra nodded firmly. “I’m sure. In a book...or another manuscript, maybe. But I’ve seen it.”
Lucien slowly closed his notebook. He had the feeling that somewhere out there...there was something Lyra had seen before. And if they managed to find it again, perhaps those two words would finally begin to point the way.