Silence reigned within the carriage.
The train had left Toumi-machi behind, speeding through the mist. Outside the window, the golden fires of the lighthouse were no longer visible. There was only whiteness.
The mist flowed past, licking at the glass like a spectral tongue. Koyoi stared down at her fingertips.
The "powder of names" she had touched at the edge of that hole still clung to her skin. No matter how she rubbed, it wouldn't come off. It had worked its way into the fine ridges of her prints and gathered under her nails—fine particles that looked like dry sand but felt lighter than air.
Is the weight of a name truly such a fragile thing? she wondered.
Inside her drawstring pouch, the droplet of the Rain God pulsed with a gentle rhythm. The gods, who had been stiff and tense while in the heart of Toumi-machi, were slowly beginning to breathe again now that they were away from the town. The Moon God emitted a faint silver glow, its light filtering through the fabric of the pouch to cast a pale wash over Koyoi’s knees.
"…Chuuryou is a burial ground for records."
Kuon spoke in a low voice, his Catalogue still spread across his lap. The blue light of his prosthetic eye scanned the pages, though its movements were more sluggish than usual. The sheer volume of information he’d had to process in Toumi-machi had clearly taken its toll on the device’s precision.
"A burial ground…?"
"It is the final destination for records that have been spent," Kuon explained. "Things written but never read. Read but never believed. Believed but eventually forgotten. Those records pile up, layer upon layer, until they form a land like that."
Kuon turned his gaze toward the window. The color of the mist was beginning to shift—from white to a leaden gray. Fine particles began to cling to the outside of the glass.
It wasn't snow, nor was it rain.
It was ash.
"…It’s raining ash," Koyoi murmured.
At her words, Asahi snapped his one open eye fully alert. He had been slumped deep into his aisle seat with his arms crossed, dozing, but he must have felt the change in the air.
"Those are the remains of decayed records," Kuon said. "The closer we get to Chuuryou, the thicker it becomes."
As he spoke, the ash on the window began to crawl like droplets of water, forming a thin film over the glass. It blocked out the light from outside, turning the window into a clouded mirror.
Asahi sat up and cracked his neck. "…What’s waiting for us in Chuuryou?"
"Before we head to the Archive, there is something I must verify. By cross-referencing the names from the hole in Toumi-machi with the records in Chuuryou, we should be able to find their meaning."
"Is it dangerous?"
"…Not the kind of danger where an enemy strikes you down. However, one’s 'presence' grows thin in Chuuryou. If we stay too long in a place where records rot, we risk being dragged down into that same state of decay."
Asahi gave a short, sharp click of his tongue.
Intangible threats were the ones he detested most. If it were an opponent he could cut with a sword, he could handle it no matter how strong they were. But steel has no edge against oblivion.
"…How long can we stay?" Koyoi asked.
"One night is likely the limit. Any longer and my prosthetic eye won't hold out, even with the Catalogue’s support."
Kuon closed the Catalogue and tucked it into his coat. As the blue light vanished, the carriage was swallowed by shadow, lit only by the dull, filtered light struggling through the ash-covered windows.
The three companions’ faces receded into the gloom. The train began to decelerate. The rhythm of the wheels stretched out, and the carriage began to sway more violently.
Outside, ash thickened until mist and ash were indistinguishable. Inside the pouch, the Wind God stirred slightly. It wasn't trembling with fear; it was sensing something.
A presence—different from the one in Toumi-machi—was beginning to seep in from outside the train. Koyoi looked down at the powder of names on her fingertips. Those names, which had been so carefully protected one by one inside that hole...
Did the person who protected them know about a place like this? Did they dig that hole because they knew of a land where records rot away?
She had no answer. But perhaps, if they went to Chuuryou, she would find one.
The premonition smoldered quietly in her chest. Then, the train came to a complete halt.
It was a stillness so absolute it felt as though the world had stopped breathing. The sound of the wheels died away, leaving only the faint, microscopic tapping of ash against the glass.
The doors slid open. Cold air rushed in, bringing with it the scent of ash. It was the smell of burning old paper—slightly sweet, slightly bitter.
Koyoi stood up, clutching the pouch to her chest. As the chill hit her fingertips, she imagined she felt a faint, fleeting warmth from the powder of the names.
The three of them stepped out onto the platform. Beyond the shroud of mist lay a town under falling ash.