Morning never arrived. To be more precise, it was impossible to tell if the night had truly ended.
Outside the window, gray softened to a paler gray. That was morning in Churyo.
Koyoi opened her eyes.
She had fallen asleep leaning against her chair; the right side of her neck felt stiff and strained. She was still clutching the drawstring pouch to her chest. The gods within remained as silent as they had been the night before.
Even so, the Rain God’s droplet pulsed with a rhythm as faint as a breath.
Kuon was already awake, sitting at the desk. There was no sign that he had slept at all. Despite the faint shadows under his eyes, his prosthetic eye was already lit with a cerulean glow.
“...Let’s go.”
Asahi was already on his feet, sword slung across his back, waiting by the door. It was impossible to say when he had woken; he must have risen without a sound.
They stepped outside.
Ash was still falling, though thinner than the night before. Their breath bloomed white in the air. Even when Koyoi pulled the collar of her robe tight, the chill seeped down the back of her neck.
The town of Churyo showed only its silhouette in the dim twilight. Low stone buildings stood in rows along wide streets, yet every trace of color had been drained away.
Walls, roofs, and roads—all were the same uniform gray. The only colors left were the blue of Kuon’s prosthetic eye and the silver glint in her pouch.
They walked down the street. Their footprints remained in the ash. The tracks the three of them had made the previous night were already buried and gone.
Heading northeast, a hill appeared at the end of the street—a small mound rising abruptly from the town. Its summit was swallowed by mist. A flight of steep stone steps climbed up the slope.
“That is Kasumidai.”
Kuon narrowed his artificial eye, scanning the hill. The blue light crawled over the stone steps, only to be swallowed by the mist halfway up.
“...How many steps to the top?”
“Don’t count them. If you count, it feels longer.”
Asahi was the first to set foot on the path.
The surface of the steps was slick, carpeted in ash and moss. Asahi used the weight of his greatsword to balance himself, planting each foot firmly as he ascended. Kuon followed, and Koyoi took up the rear.
It was cold. Through the soles of her shoes, the chill of the stone seeped into her feet. The half-frozen stone grew faintly damp and slippery under their weight.
Stone lanterns lined both sides of the path at regular intervals, stretching toward the summit. None were lit. Ash had piled atop their caps, forming miniature mounds. How long had it been since they last burned? How much time had passed since those meant to light them had vanished?
The mist thickened as they climbed. The town below disappeared, leaving only the steps and the lanterns. Koyoi’s breath condensed into white clouds that quickly dissolved into the fog, until it was impossible to tell where her breath ended and the mist began.
Her legs grew heavy. It wasn't the fatigue of the climb; rather, an invisible pressure seemed to be weighing down her entire body.
It was different from the "overlapping of names" she had felt in Tomi-machi. Here, there was nothing to overlap. If anything, it was the crushing weight of emptiness itself.
“...Your breathing is heavy.”
Asahi spoke without looking back.
“...I’m fine. I can still walk.”
Koyoi pressed the pouch against her chest. The Rain God’s droplet returned a ghost of warmth. Guided by that tiny heat, she took the next step.
The stairs finally came to an end. Reaching the final step, they found themselves on a flat stone plateau: the summit of Kasumidai. A paved floor stretched out, surrounded by low stone railings. Ash had settled on the railings as well; when she touched them, a cold powder clung to her fingers.
A breeze seemed to pass over the hill, drifting the mist away. The view was slightly clearer here than it had been below.
Koyoi moved toward the railing and looked down.
Churyo lay spread beneath them. Gray buildings huddled together, the streets running in a perfect grid. No figures moved through the thoroughfares; no smoke rose from any chimney. The entire town seemed to be holding its breath beneath the ash.
In the center of the town was a vast open space—a square. Something stood in the middle of it, but between the distance and the mist, its shape remained indistinct.
Kuon focused his prosthetic eye, scanning the square.
“...There. The heart of Churyo. There’s a place where the records have pooled at their thickest.”
“That square?”
“Yes. Once we descend, we head there first.”
Asahi rested a hand on the railing, surveying the town. A single gust of wind swept across the hill, ruffling their hair and the hems of their clothes. The wind carried no hint of color, only ash and cold stone.
Koyoi looked at her own shadow on the stone pavement. It was thinner than it had been only yesterday—its edges blurred, its color fading. Asahi’s and Kuon’s shadows had begun to thin in the same way.
They had been in Churyo for only a single night. Already, their very existences were being slowly eroded. Yet, their shadows still remained.
Kuon tucked his ledger into his coat and turned back toward the stairs.
“We’re going down. The longer we stay, the more of us wears away. Once we find what we need, we leave immediately.”
Koyoi nodded.
Clutching the pouch to her chest, she took one last look at the gray town from the height of Kasumidai. What lay submerged at the bottom of that square?
She had come this far to find out.