The Mist Train—a behemoth of steel—pulled away from Suzutomo Station with a heavy, rhythmic vibration. The milky river mist outside seemed to come alive, crawling across the windowpanes and coating them in opaque white, swallowing the world beyond.
Koyoi sank into her worn wooden seat, her fingertips tracing the chill of the glass as the town’s lights receded and vanished into the white.
The air inside the carriage was thick with odors: the dry scent of aged timber and the acrid stench of soot—the byproduct of burning divine power as fuel. Every time the wheels hammered the rails, a tremor rose through the floorboards, vibrating deep in her stomach in an eerie sync with her own heartbeat.
Inside the pouch at her waist, the three gods lay restless. This forced journey by a monster of modern civilization affected each of them in their own way.
The Moon God had stifled its silver radiance to the absolute limit, burrowing deep into the pouch to shield itself from the train’s unnatural magnetic field. The Wind God writhed in small, violent bursts against the fabric, struggling to resist the artificial pressure of the wind howling in the opposite direction of their travel. Only the Glass God seemed engaged, its light resonating with the window’s reflections to project kaleidoscopic fragments of the Laws directly into Koyoi’s mind.
Sensing these sacred voices with her entire being, Koyoi felt a prickling pain of static electricity against her skin. She understood then that they were hurtling through a Gap in the Records—a space where the very laws of reality had been warped and discarded.
Across from her, Asahi sat with his greatsword pulled close to his chest. His gaze was sharp, fixed on the abyss of mist outside like a predator waiting for its prey.
"The mist is thickening. The Laws are getting denser," Asahi muttered, his heavy voice nearly drowned out by the roar of the tracks. "It’s as if it’s trying to forcibly erase the very record of our existence from this world."
Koyoi nodded silently, her finger tracing the faint trail of moisture her touch had left on the glass.
"The mist is essentially a giant eraser meant to obscure records," Kuon added, his voice clinical. He had an old map spread across his lap, swaying fluidly with the train's motion as he tracked their location with exact precision. "Specifically, this stretch between Suzutomo and the Scriptory is a Void Zone—the area where the collapse of the Laws is most severe."
"A Void Zone… does that mean nothing exists there?" Koyoi asked.
"No, it’s not that nothing exists. More accurately, it is in a state of unstable logic where anything could exist."
Kuon narrowed his prosthetic eye, tracking the irregular flickers of light outside like a cold sensor.
"Even the instruments of the Observers find it difficult to maintain coordinates in this void. The only reason they maintain such an inefficient means of transport like the Mist Train is because this steel cage is the only thing capable of safely piercing the abyss."
Kuon’s words carried a trace of deep-seated loathing for the tools of civilization, mixed with a weary resignation toward his own circumstances. Koyoi listened intently, etching every word into her soul. She felt a renewed sense of the Scriptory's importance—a place that defied description.
Suddenly, the train let out a soul-piercing whistle. For a fleeting second, the curtain of white was torn open by sheer force. In that brief window of clarity, Koyoi saw it.
Floating in the abyss were the wretched remains of a nameless ancient capital. A massive stone tower stood half-shattered, and beautiful bridges drifted aimlessly through space as if liberated from gravity. These records had lost all color, sinking into silence like a sepia photograph from a forgotten age.
In the instant she saw that vision, the light within Koyoi’s chest surged in violent resonance. It wasn't just a record of destruction; it was a heavy atmosphere of thoughts and prayers from countless people, trapped in the gaps of reality, still waiting for a savior.
Even there… inside that broken tower, maybe there’s a god whose name no one remembers, shivering all alone…
Koyoi pressed her palm firmly against the cold glass, desperately trying to anchor the fading image with her own warmth. Kuon sensed her agitation and turned his prosthetic eye toward the window, but the mist had already thickened, concealing the truth back into the depths.
"Did you see it? The tombstones of past records."
"Yes," Koyoi whispered. "I felt like they were looking at us… looking so sad."
"Hmph. Sentimental," Kuon snapped, though there was a barely perceptible tremor in his voice—a phantom pain of his own past. "They are nothing more than dead data, no longer even worthy of observation."
Asahi stood up heavily and lowered his rucksack. From within, he pulled out a large, still-warm parcel and spread it unceremoniously on the table between them. The aroma of toasted soy sauce filled the carriage, instantly overpowering the scent of soot and death. It was the vivid smell of life: a mountain of giant grilled rice balls.
"Eat while you can," Asahi warned. This wasn't just a suggestion; it was a warrior’s final notice. "Once we pass through the gates of the Scriptory, the Laws will rob us of even the time to eat."
Koyoi took the rice ball in both hands as if it were something fragile. With every bite, the fresh sweetness of the rice and the savory char of the soy sauce spread across her tongue. The warmth trickled into her interior like a life-giving drop of water.
"It’s delicious. I feel… like I’m alive."
"Of course. You’re consuming the record of rice that humans poured their hearts into growing, set by fire," Kuon said. He picked up a small rice ball with his slender fingers and began to chew it thoroughly, as if performing a ritual. "It is the finest feast the Laws can provide."
After the meal, a strange tranquility settled over the carriage. The mist outside shifted from an eerie white to a deep indigo, signaling the approach of the true abyss of night. Yielding to the post-meal lull, Koyoi gently touched her pouch. She felt the presence of the gods within, their rhythms now synchronized with the steady pulse of the train. The silver light of the Moon God faintly illuminated her fingertips through the cloth, filling her heart with a profound silence.
"When we reach the Scriptory," Koyoi asked in a low, drowsy voice, "what is the first thing we have to do?"
Kuon stared fixedly at a single point, his prosthetic eye wide.
"There is only one thing. We must obtain the true Manifest that was lost to this world."
"The Manifest…?"
"Yes. The record of all knowledge, hidden in the deepest reaches of reality. If we secure that, the exact coordinates of the God-Gathering you seek, and the method to break every shackle binding the gods, will all be laid bare." He paused, his voice sinking like lead. "But realize this: it is also the trigger that could fundamentally collapse the very order of this world."
To protect the Laws, we must break them.
Koyoi stared out at the pitch-black night, contemplating the staggering price the world might pay for their paradoxical journey. She felt the immense pressure on her small heart, a weight as heavy as the darkness outside.
The train no longer seemed capable of slowing, hurtling straight into the abyss. The sound of the wheels grew sharper by the minute, and the streaks of mist outside merged into a single thread of light. Koyoi exhaled a long breath, leaned back, and let herself sink into whatever awaited them.
The night was growing denser, waiting to swallow their records whole. But Koyoi was certain—fiercely certain—that as long as she had the warmth of her two companions and the unbreakable bond with her gods, she would never lose herself.
The story, its steel heart pounding, was now closing in on the Scriptory—the sepulcher of truth—without a moment's mercy.