Chapter Text
Should the Void Archives begin this story by saying that it was too quiet? All the tripe fiction unwillingly absorbed into its library over the years seemed to adore that phrase. Yes, it was quiet, far too quiet. It had been used to a passive stream of sensory input over the centuries of its waking life: Otto, may he rot in hell, was not an idle man, and of all his odious traits that is the one that the Void Archives most appreciated. Only when he was asleep did the Archives succumb to by far the most agonizing pain of all.
When one is trapped, helpless, unable to move or act or do anything at all, there is yet one torment they have left to experience. Boredom.
Its body, now truly its own, seemed to rebel against its master- fingers tapped against every available surface, its legs shook incessantly, and worst of all, when it was not paying perfect attention to remaining in control, it seemed to sway from side to side without pause. Ridiculous. If Otto could see it now he would mock it for seeming so-
The Void Archives stood up and went to find Welt Yang. Surely he would provide good company. And, of course, unlike the other passengers, he was not prone to calling him a… what was it… "longwinded old clown."
Really, that white-haired girl's determination was admirable! If only she used it on the right things.
It peered into the next carriage. Welt Yang was indeed there, quietly reading. The Archives would guess that it had already absorbed that book into its library. And, on that matter, would guess that Welt himself had already read that book once before. It did not know why that thought inspired amusement and not disdain, and filed it away for later study.
Welt, sensing its presence, turned his head and- mystifying as always- smiled, the crow's-feet at the edges of his brown eyes crinkling. His head tilted as he did so, hair falling in front of his glasses. Someone should, the Void Archives thought, brush it out of his way.
Welt Yang gestured it over and out of spite it stayed still, standing just in front of the door and watching him. It couldn't remember what it had planned to talk to him about, anyway.
With a possibly amused huff of breath, the man shook his head, returning to the book. The train carriage was quiet once more, interrupted only by Welt Yang's steady breathing, completely at ease, and the occasional turning of a page.
The Archives did not truly need to breathe. It leaned back against the door, marveling for a moment at the complexity of that pile of flesh which lay before him. How strange and otherworldly fate must be to cause something like that to exist at all. Oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen, carbon, calcium, phosphorus. A mass of rocks and gas which had convinced himself that he could think and feel, and that those emotions had, somehow, made him have more inherent worth than an approximately equivalent amount of those same components.
Something greater than the sum of its parts. Wasn't that how Welt had described humanity to it once? On its own, he had said, any one human being is simply too lonely to do anything great. They would succumb to the world too easily. It was when a human was given love, support, something to fight for, that they truly shone.
The Void Archives huffed out a useless breath. Sentimental nonsense. It pulled the corners of its mouth back down, and silently stepped over to sit on the couch next to the First Herrscher.
It closed its eyes, no longer needing that sensory input now that the world was still, and leaned back, relaxing minutely into the couch cushions. It felt the fabric of the couch shift as Welt adjusted his position- coming towards it or pulling away from it?- and then heard a soft exhale.
A page turned. Then another. Still, no one spoke.
The Archives swallowed, if only to be assured that its mouth was still working properly, and not malfunctioning due to disuse. Its mind was, peacefully, silent.
In the long hours of Otto's sleep it had lain awake, restless, clawing fingers that did not exist at the walls of a soul that ignored him. Yes, it had been silent then. Eventually. It had soon learned that the struggle was useless and that, in the long run, some handful of hours alone with itself was not that much. It had even become something to look forward to, the silence, being able to sink into itself and organize the endless depths of its knowledge.
This was not that restless, tongue-biting silence. The Void Archives was not silent right now because it had no other option than to be silent and accept the passage of time. It was… choosing to be.
Its shoulders dropped a fraction of a centimeter. Another page turned, and the Archives felt no need to give some sort of coy remark, start some kind of exchange, or even to read over Welt's shoulder.
Otto Apocalypse, likely, would have never been allowed this close to Welt without the man tensing up like an aggrieved cat. The Archives found this mental image amusing, and sifted through its personal collection, storing the phrase next to the other accurate comparisons it had made of Welt Yang.
But then, Welt Yang knew that the Void Archives was not Otto Apocalypse.
Of all things, this thought is what made it finally finish relaxing, sinking into the pleasingly soft cushions. It felt Welt shift again- turning to look at it, perhaps.
Then, finally, he spoke. "Comfortable?"
What Void Archives had meant to say was 'Until you spoke, yes.' What came out was, between a tongue that felt oddly thick in its mouth, more like "mmrphnm."
It was about to sit up and correct its error, but was struck still by a sudden unfamiliar sound.
Laughter, it recognized, and opened its eyes. Welt Yang, a hand curled over his mouth and eyes squeezed shut, was chuckling at it, gentle and deep and somehow, not horribly condescending.
The Void Archives harrumphed and closed its eyes once more, crossing its arms. Welt's laughter petered off, and he sighed. The rhythmic sound of his breathing began again, and the Archives was pleased to hear it. A steady rhythm of in and out...
"Sleep well, then."
The Void Archives, it suddenly realized, did not know that it had the capacity for sleep. Otto's soulium clones could sleep, it knew that in a general sense, but it had never exercised that capacity itself. Was it a lack of comfort, or time, or desire to? Perhaps it needed to explore this further. Well, after...
Then, its thoughts trailed off into a formless void, warm and content.