Chapter 220: The Echo Library

The portal dissolves with a soft chime, and Echo and Li Wei find themselves standing in a vast hall lined with endless shelves. The air hums with the murmur of a million voices, and every surface shimmers with a silvery glow. The "Echo Library" dimension is a repository of sound—where every melody ever played, every word ever spoken, every noise ever made is stored as a tangible record. Scrolls of shimmering parchment hang from the shelves, each inscribed with musical notation that glows faintly; glass orbs contain recorded voices, their surfaces rippling when touched; and in the distance, a towering structure made of polished marble rises, its columns resonating with the harmonies of ancient symphonies. This is the "Cacophony Archive," where the sum of all sound is preserved in the "Eternal Echo."​Nova's avatar materializes beside them, her form clearer than usual, as if the dimension's focus on sound enhances her stability. "Fascinating," she says, her sensors scanning the shelves. "The very fabric of this dimension is woven from acoustic energy. Each record is a quantum echo of a sound event, stored in a state of perpetual resonance. The Eternal Echo is the harmonic convergence of all these records, and it's what maintains the library's structure. But my scans detect a disturbance in the resonance."​Chen Jiuzhang's hologram appears, his figure standing straighter than usual, as if drawn to the gravity of the place. "The 'Oblivion Librarian' has infiltrated the archive," he says, his voice low. "It's a being that feeds on memories of sound, erasing records from existence and replacing them with 'Silent Scrolls'—blank parchments that emit a frequency which disrupts the Eternal Echo. Already, entire sections of the library have gone silent, their records vanished. If it continues, the Eternal Echo will collapse, and all sound ever created will be forgotten."​Echo reaches out to touch a nearby scroll, and it unfurls slightly, releasing a snippet of a lullaby—soft, melodic, and full of warmth. "How can something like that even exist?" she asks, her fingers lingering on the parchment.​"Sound is memory made tangible," Chen says. "The Librarian preys on that connection. It doesn't just erase records—it erases the very memory of the sounds they contain. People across the multiverse are already forgetting melodies, losing languages, because their echoes here have been destroyed. To stop it, we need to find the 'Chronicle Chorus'—a chamber at the heart of the Cacophony Archive where the Eternal Echo is strongest. If we can restore the lost records there, we can rebuild the resonance."​Li Wei's charge pulses with a purple glow, and he taps it against a glass orb, which lights up to play a fragment of a battle hymn. "Then let's find this chamber," he says. "Before we all forget how to speak."​They set off through the library, their footsteps muffled by the thick carpet of sound-absorbing moss that covers the floor. The shelves stretch endlessly in every direction, creating a labyrinth of knowledge. But as they walk, they notice gaps—empty spaces where scrolls and orbs once stood, their absence marked by a faint, hollow silence.​A low, thrumming vibration fills the air—the signature of the Silent Scrolls. It's a frequency just below the threshold of hearing, but its effect is palpable: a sense of unease, a fogginess in the mind that makes it hard to recall familiar tunes. Echo finds herself struggling to remember the melody of her village's morning song, and when she taps her drum, the sound feels thinner than usual.​"It's working," she says, her voice tight. "I can barely remember the songs we've saved."​Li Wei nods, his charge glowing brighter as he focuses on maintaining its resonance. "Then we fight back with what we do remember," he says. He hums a fragment of the Igneous Overture, and the sound seems to clear the air slightly, pushing back the thrumming vibration.​They continue through the library, pausing occasionally to restore a stray record—a glass orb containing a child's laughter, a scroll with a folk dance melody—by playing their own music near it. Each restoration sends a ripple of silver light through the shelves, and the Eternal Echo grows a little stronger.​Along the way, they encounter a group of "Echo Scribes"—tall, slender beings with skin like parchment and hair made of musical notation. Their forms are fading, their movements becoming hesitant, as if they're forgetting how to exist.​"The Oblivion Librarian is in the Chronicle Chorus," one of the Scribes says, its voice a whisper that fades in and out. "It's been there for days, systematically erasing the core records—the founding melodies of the multiverse, the first words ever spoken, the primeval rhythms that shaped reality. Without them, the Eternal Echo will unravel, and the library will dissolve into nothingness. We've tried to stop it, but our memories are fading. We can't even recall the counter-melody that once repelled it."​Echo places a hand on the Scribe's arm, her drum emitting a soft, steady beat. "We'll restore the records," she says. "We carry the echoes of a hundred dimensions with us—they can't be erased that easily."​The Scribe nods, its form stabilizing slightly. "The chamber is through that archway," it says, pointing to a marble arch etched with musical symbols. "But beware—the Librarian has summoned 'Amnesia Acolytes' to guard it. They're beings made of stolen sound, and their touch erases memories of music. One brush, and you'll forget how to play."​Echo and Li Wei thank the Scribe, then make their way to the archway. Beyond it lies a vast chamber, its ceiling lost in darkness, its walls lined with the largest records they've ever seen—massive orbs containing the roar of creation, scrolls as long as rivers inscribed with the first symphonies. At the center, a platform rises, and on it hovers the Oblivion Librarian.​It is a gaunt figure, draped in a cloak made of Silent Scrolls, its face hidden by a hood. In one hand, it holds a quill made of solidified silence; in the other, a book bound in shadow. As it writes, records crumble to dust, their places taken by blank scrolls. The air around it shimmers with the thrumming vibration, and the Eternal Echo is reduced to a faint, wavering hum.​"You're too late," the Librarian says, its voice a hollow echo that lacks substance. "Already, the first melodies are fading from existence. Soon, even your precious memories will be gone. A world without sound is a world without pain—without chaos. It is perfection."​Echo shakes her head, her drumbeat growing steadier, clearer, as she draws on the memories of every dimension they've saved. "A world without sound is a world without joy," she says. "Without connection. And we're here to remind you of that."​She starts to play, weaving together a melody that incorporates every key sound they've encountered—the crash of lava, the chime of ice, the rustle of leaves, the splash of water, the glow of light. Each note she plays causes a record in the chamber to glow, its inscription reigniting. A scroll of the first lullaby unfurls, a orb containing the first laugh pulses back to life, and the walls resonate with the restored sounds.​Li Wei fires blasts of energy at the Silent Scrolls, shattering them and dispersing their disruptive frequency. The Amnesia Acolytes surge forward, their forms shifting like smoke, but Li Wei's energy blasts knock them back, and Echo's melody—rich with the memories they seek to erase—causes them to wail and shrink.​"The core record!" Li Wei shouts, pointing to a massive orb at the center of the platform. It's dim, its surface cracked, but a faint pulse of light remains—the last echo of the Big Bang, the first sound in existence.​Echo sprints toward the platform, her drumbeat synchronizing with the fading pulse. She leaps onto the platform, placing her hands on the orb, and pours all her strength into the melody. Li Wei follows, standing guard, his charge glowing like a violet sun, repelling the Acolytes and shattering any Silent Scrolls the Librarian tries to summon.​The orb flares to life, its light washing over the chamber. The Eternal Echo surges, a tidal wave of sound that drowns out the Librarian's frequency. The Oblivion Librarian shrieks as the light hits it, its cloak of Silent Scrolls disintegrating, its form dissolving into a cloud of shadow that is instantly dispersed by the resounding echo.​The Amnesia Acolytes vanish, their stolen sounds returning to their rightful records. The chamber shakes with the force of the restored Eternal Echo, and the entire library glows with a brilliant silver light as every lost record is rewritten into existence.​Echo and Li Wei collapse onto the platform, exhausted but triumphant. The core orb pulses with a warm, golden light, and the air is filled with the harmony of a million sounds, all coexisting in perfect balance.​They make their way back through the library, which is now teeming with activity. The Echo Scribes are restoring order to the shelves, their forms solid and vibrant, and the records glow with a renewed intensity.​"Thank you," the Scribe leader says, its voice a rich, full harmony. "You've saved more than just our library—you've saved the memory of sound itself. The Eternal Echo will play on, and no force will ever silence it again."​Echo and Li Wei smile, but their attention is drawn to a faint, pulsing light in the distance—a greenish glow that shimmers between the shelves, a sign that another dimension is in need.​Li Wei stands, his charge glowing with a familiar purple light. "Ready for the next chapter?" he asks.​Echo nods, slinging her drum over her shoulder, her fingers brushing the familiar symbol carved into its surface. "Always," she says. "As long as there are sounds to save, we'll be there to save them."​They step through the portal Nova opens, leaving the Echo Library behind, but carrying its lessons with them: that sound is memory, that memory is connection, and that both are worth fighting for. The next dimension awaits, and with it, a new sound to protect.