Inside the Mist Train.
Beyond the windowpane, the milky curtains of fog began a sudden, dramatic transformation.
What stretched to the horizon was no longer the afterimage of an ancient capital, but a sea of phantoms—a vast expanse freed from all physical constraints, heaving with an eerie pulse. Silver spray crystallized into shimmering shards of information in mid-air. From the depths of that abyss, the layered echoes of divine laughter and mourning rang out, turning the very fabric of space into a colossal cradle of records.
Koyoi pressed her palm against the glass. Through her skin, she felt a shuddering vibration—a tremor hovering at the critical limit of Providence itself. The sea did not swallow light; instead, it cast a ghastly phosphorescence, redrawing the boundaries of the world with every passing minute.
Kuon sat with the golden book—the Catalogue of Truth—spread reverently across his lap. A blinding residue of divine aura still rose from its cover, pushing against the surrounding air to create an unnatural void in the cabin.
His prosthetic left eye emitted a sinister blue glow in its pupil as it deciphered the invisible script etched into the pages. It clicked softly as it adjusted its focus. Koyoi followed the streaks of light, watching the edges of the pages lift without a breeze. The ink characters, unable to withstand the weight of Providence, were bleached white in an instant.
"Look. The name of our next destination is being rewritten right before our eyes. The Observers are using the Master Catalogue in the depths of the Scripture Repository to nullify this stolen data."
Kuon spoke quietly.
"Rewritten? Then... where are we headed?"
Koyoi’s voice was on the verge of tears. Asahi remained silent; he only tightened his grip on the hilt of his greatsword.
"Thousands of years ago, those Observers extracted the impurities of excessive prayer and obsession that had pooled in the cracks of Providence. Using those as a core, they began to artificially cultivate the recording vessels we call Gods."
Kuon’s confession struck Koyoi’s soul harder than a thunderclap.
The Gods... they were made?
Kuon closed his left eye tightly and spoke as if testing her resolve.
"To them, a God is neither an object of awe nor an icon of faith. They were nothing more than convenient adjustment parts—components used to stabilize Providence. They drive this false world using the pure love of the Gods as fuel. When a God wears down and loses its utility, they dismantle it under the guise of culling, only to recycle it into new seeds. Over and over again."