Mereka melanjutkan langkah ke dalam gedung itu, sinar api menggantung di dinding-dinding yang lama sudah tidak terpinggirkan oleh kehangatan. Sebagian besar barang yang mereka temukan tak ada gunanya.
Bejana yang dulunya berisi cairan atau bahan-bahan sudah kering susut sejak lama. Isinya tak tersisa kecuali serpihan serpihan keras yang hancur hanya dengan sentuhannya. Estantak di sepanjang dinding masih menampilkan kontur bekas barang yang dulu disimpan di dalamnya, tapi barang itu sudah lenyap. Atau pun sudah luluh hingga bubuk halus yang menyatu dengan lantaruan batu.
Michael membuka bejana demi bejana. Hasilnya selalu sama. Apa pun yang pernah diinginkan bangunan ini untuk dilindungi, waktu tak pernah baik-baik dengan hal itu.
Rynne memeriksa platform dan meja-meja dengan lebih teliti. Ia menyelami ujung dan sambungan dinding, mencari sesuatu yang mungkin masih bernilai. Temukannya hanya fragmen. Potongan logam yang belum terurai. Serpihan kaca kecil yang masih mengandung bekas warna. Tapi tidak ada yang utuh. Tidak ada yang berguna.
"Dua ribu tahun," katanya dengan tenang, hampir seperti mengingatnya seseorang. "Terlalu lama bagi kebanyakan bahan."
Michael mengangguk, tak heran.
Mereka berjalan dari ruangan ke ruangan, dari koridor ke koridor. Pola yang sama berulang. Debu. Purbakala. Sunyi. Bangunan ini besar, dan kebanyakan bagiannya sudah mati.
Lalu tiba-Tiba Rynne berhenti.
Ia terhenti di sebuah pintu yang hampir Michael lewatkan. Masukannya lebih sempit dari yang lain, tersembunyi dalam recess dinding yang mudah terlewat jika tak sedang mencari.
"Ikuti aku," katanya.
Michael mengikutinya.
Ruangan di seberangnya lebih kecil. Lebih tertutup. Dindingnya penuh dengan rak dari lantai hingga langit-langit, dan rak- rak itu penuh.
Buku.
Pulahan. Mungkin lebih dari seratus, mengisi rak- rak itu rapat- rapat, punggungnya menghadap ke luar dalam barisan tidak rata. Sebagian besar ditumbuhi lapisan debu tebal, setebal pun menyembunyikan sampul di baliknya. Beberapa sudah runtuh total, pengikatnya penuh dengan serbahan kotor, halaman-halaman menempel satu sama lain hingga berubah menjadi gumpal rapuh yang hancur dengan sentuhan ringan saja.
Tapi tidak semuanya.
Rynne berjalan ke rak terdekat dan dengan hati-hati, hampir seperti menyelamati, mengeluarkan sebuah buku. Ia memegangnya dekat dengan sinar api yang masih Michael pegang di atas telapak tangannya.
Sampulnya pudar tapi utuh. Halaman-halaman, ketika ia membukanya dengan lembut, tak hancur. Rapuh, ya. Kuning. Tapi masih bisa dibaca.
Rynne mengeluarkan nafas pendek.
Suara kecil itu, tapi Michael menyadari perubahan cara rambut pinggangnya, tegas memeluk buku dengan rasa lebih dekat ke kasih sayang daripada sekadar mengagok.
"Sungguh luar biasa," katanya.
Michael mengangkat alisnya. "Sebuah buku?"
"Bukan cuma sebuah buku," koreksi Rynne sambil membalik halaman dengan ujung jari. "Buku yang selamat dari dua ribu tahun di sebuah realm yang tak pernah dikunjungi. Paham betapa langka hal itu?"
Michael mengkalkulasi. Keburangan, dalam pengalamannya, selalu berada pada puncak nilai. Ia tak mempertentangannya.
Rynne menaruh buku itu perlahan di antara buku lain, lalu mulai memindai sisa rak, mata mengincar, jarinya mengelus punggung tanpa menyentuh. Ia mengeluarkan buku kedua. Mengagok. Mengangguk pada diriny. Menaruh di samping buku pertama.
Lalu yang ketiga.
Michael mengamati pekerilannya sesaat, lalu menatap buku terbuka terdekat di rak. Halaman-halaman itu dipenuhi simbol yang tak dikenalnya. Tulisan sudut tajam menghuni setiap baris sampai tepi, beberapa bagian terputus oleh diagram atau tanda yang mungkin ilustrasi atau anotasi.
"Aku tak bisa membaca ini," katanya.
Rynne melihatnya, tak terkejut.
"Tentu saja tak bisa," katanya. "Ini bahasa dari peradaban yang membangun tempat ini. Aku sudah belajar untuk memahami. Itulah cara kujelaskan metode untuk mencapai realm ini tadi."
Michael mencondongkan kepalanya. "Seberapa jauh kamu paham?"
Rynne ragu sejenak, memilih katanya.
"Cukup," katanya. "Belum sempurna. Beberapa frasa kuno sulit, dan aku yakin ada nuansa yang kudapatkan belum. Tapi strukturnya sudah dikenal ku.
They moved deeper into the building, the firelight flickering against walls that had not seen warmth in a very long time.
Most of what they found was useless.
Containers that had once held liquids or materials had long since dried out, their contents reduced to brittle residue that crumbled at the lightest touch. Shelves along the walls still held the outlines of where things had once been stored, but the items themselves were gone, either decayed beyond recognition or turned to dust so fine it had settled into the stone floor like part of it.
Michael opened one container after another. The same result each time. Whatever this place had been built to preserve, time had not been kind to it.
Rynne checked the platforms and tables with more care, running her fingers along edges and seams, looking for anything that might still hold value. She found fragments. Pieces of metal that had not fully corroded. Small shards of glass that still carried faint traces of color. But nothing whole. Nothing useful.
"Two thousand years," she said quietly, almost to herself. "It’s been too long for most materials."
Michael nodded, unsurprised.
They moved from room to room, corridor to corridor, the pattern repeating. Dust. Decay. Silence. The building was large, and most of it was dead.
Then Rynne stopped.
She had paused at a doorway Michael had almost walked past. The entrance was narrower than the others, set into a recessed section of wall that could easily be overlooked if you were not looking for it.
"This way," she said.
Michael followed.
The room beyond was smaller. More contained. The walls were lined floor to ceiling with shelves, and the shelves were full.
Books.
Dozens of them. Perhaps more than a hundred, packed tightly together, their spines facing outward in uneven rows. Most were coated in a thick layer of dust, some so heavy that the covers beneath were invisible. A few had collapsed entirely, their bindings rotted through, pages fused into brittle masses that fell apart at the slightest pressure.
But not all of them.
Rynne moved to the nearest shelf and carefully, almost reverently, drew one volume free. She held it close to the firelight Michael was still carrying above his palm.
The cover was worn but intact. The pages, when she opened them gently, did not crumble. They were brittle, yes. Yellowed. But they were readable.
Rynne let out a breath.
It was not a large sound, but Michael noticed the way her shoulders shifted, the way her grip on the book softened into something closer to care than examination.
"This is remarkable," she said.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "A book?"
"Not just a book," Rynne corrected, turning a page with the edge of her fingertip. "A book that survived two thousand years in a realm no one has visited. Do you understand how rare that is?"
Michael considered it. Rarity, in his experience, correlated directly with value. He did not argue the point.
Rynne set that volume down carefully and began scanning the rest of the shelf, her eyes moving quickly, fingers hovering over spines without touching them. She pulled a second book free. Examined it. Nodded to herself. Set it aside.
Then a third.
Michael watched her work for a moment, then looked down at the nearest open volume on the shelf. The pages were covered in symbols he did not recognize. Dense, angular script filled each line from edge to edge, some sections broken up by diagrams or markings that might have been illustrations or annotations.
"I can’t read this," he said.
Rynne glanced up, unsurprised.
"No," she said. "You wouldn’t be able to."
She closed the book in her hands and held it against her side, turning to face him properly.
"This is the language of the civilization that built this place," she said. "I’ve been studying it. It’s how I pieced together the method to reach this realm in the first place."
Michael tilted his head slightly. "How well do you understand it?"
Rynne hesitated, choosing her words.
"Enough," she said. "Not perfectly. There are gaps. Some of the older phrasing is difficult, and I’m certain there are nuances I’m missing. But the core structure is familiar to me."
She looked back at the shelves.
"These books could contain anything, but I need time to translate them properly. Rushing it would be worse than not reading them at all."
Michael considered this. He had no use for books he could not read. The information mattered, but the format did not, not to him.
"Then take them," he said. "Translate what you can. When you’re done, give me a copy of anything relevant."
Rynne nodded, clearly satisfied with the arrangement. She turned back to the shelves and began selecting volumes with deliberate care, testing each one for stability before adding it to the small stack she was building.
Michael leaned against the doorframe and watched the firelight dance across the rows of old books.
They left the library not long after.
Rynne stored the selected books carefully.
Though she did not say anything, to build trust, Rynne had Michael choose half of their findings to keep. When she finished translating the ones she had taken, she would give him a copy and the original version, while she kept the ones he selected.
It was a simple action, but it did make Michael view Rynne in a better light.
Once the books were secured, Michael and Rynne resumed their search.
They moved through the rest of the structure first, then out into the surrounding cluster, checking adjacent buildings one by one. The pattern repeated itself over and over. Large halls that once bustled with activity now stood hollow. Smaller rooms filled with broken tools and useless remnants. Storage chambers stripped clean long ago or reduced to dust by time.
Nothing of real value remained.
It was not disappointing so much as expected.
If anything valuable had been easy to take, it would not have survived until now.
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