Over the crest of the hill, a town lay below.
The outlines of the buildings were shimmering. Rooflines stretched and contracted; the colors of the walls bled and blurred. It was a heat haze. The warmth rising from the ground warped the air, making the entire town waver like a reflection on the surface of water.
“People...”
Koyoi squinted.
There they were. Shadows were moving along the streets—many of them. Figures carrying loads, others stopped in mid-conversation, a woman leading a child by the hand.
But there was no sound.
Despite the crowd of moving people, there were no footsteps, no voices. The only thing Koyoi could hear was the wind stroking the hillside and rustling his hair.
“We’re going down.”
Asahi led the way down the slope, with Koyoi and Kuon following close behind.
As they drew nearer, the temperature of the air shifted. A dry heat rose from beneath their feet, seeping through their soles. It smelled of sun-baked stone. But mixed in with that was something else—a sweet, faintly scorched scent.
“It’s the scent of records vaporizing,” Kuon said softly.
“Vaporizing?”
“It isn’t freezing or melting. They are being turned into gas by the heat. That scent is what remains as names disperse into the air.”
They stepped onto the street.
Up close, the buildings were even more indistinct. A wall appeared to have a window, but when Koyoi reached out, his fingers met only empty air. It was merely a fluctuation of heat in the shape of a window; it had no substance.
Koyoi came to a halt in the middle of the road.
A woman crossed in front of him. She held a basket in the crook of her arm, walking with a slight slouch. Koyoi could see the sway of her kimono sleeves and the way her sandals struck the cobblestones. Yet, there was no sound of impact, and the woman’s body was half-transparent; the wall on the far side was visible through her.
Koyoi reached out.
The moment his fingertips were about to touch the woman’s shoulder, a puff of warm air enveloped his hand. That was all. There was no shoulder to touch, nothing for his fingers to grasp. Only a lingering warmth remained in his palm before quickly dissipating.
“I can’t touch them.”
“Of course not. Those are just the afterimages of records.”
Kuon was scanning the street with his artificial eye. A pale blue light flickered deep within the iris, reading things that could not be seen.
“Records that failed to take hold are being replayed over and over by the heat. The stronger the midday sun, the clearer they become; by night, they vanish. They repeat the same actions every day. There is no will behind it.”
Koyoi watched the woman’s back as she walked away. The figure turned a corner and dissolved into the haze. A moment later, the same woman appeared from the same corner and began walking in the same direction.
The same day, for eternity.
Asahi stood at the edge of the street, arms crossed, watching the shimmering people. Two men stood facing each other, their mouths moving. They appeared to be laughing. Their mouths opened wide and their shoulders shook. No sound came out. A loop of laughter without sound.
“...It’s unsettling,” Asahi muttered. His voice was low, but it wasn't disgust that Koyoi heard—it was a heavy sense of helplessness.
Something darted past Koyoi’s feet.
A small shadow. A child.
A boy of five or six ran past with his arms spread wide. His mouth was open as if he were shouting something. There was no sound, but he was laughing with his entire body. His bare feet kicked at the stones, and his knees were dark with mud.
He slipped right past Koyoi.
A gust of warm wind brushed his cheek. It wasn't the boy’s body heat; it was the heat of the haze. Even so, for a brief moment, Koyoi felt a lump in his throat.
The drawstring pouch at his waist pulsed. Just once, strongly.
The Shizuku inside was reacting. Perhaps it had sensed the trace of a name within the child’s afterimage. Koyoi placed a hand over the pouch, catching the warmth in his palm.
“These children... they had names once, didn't they?” he whispered to no one in particular.
Kuon opened his ledger and ran a finger across the page. The blue glow of his eye followed the script.
“They did. But they vaporized before the records could settle. These are records that the Observers chose not to freeze or collect. I imagine they were judged to be insignificant.”
“Insignificant?”
“To the Observers, at least.”
Kuon closed the ledger. The blue light of his eye flashed brilliantly for a second, then settled.
Asahi turned his back and started walking further into the town.
“Don’t stay too long. If you get too used to the haze, your own edges start to fail.”
Koyoi nodded and began to walk. He moved through the shimmering crowd. Every time he passed someone, a wave of warmth brushed his skin, only to vanish instantly. Untouchable warmth. Heat that left no trace.
The exit of the street came into view. The haze thinned, and the outlines of the buildings melted away, returning to simple fluctuations of heat.
Looking back, the town was still there. Transparent people repeating their voiceless lives.
They would vanish when the sun went down. They would appear in the same spot again tomorrow morning.
Koyoi looked forward and gripped his pouch. The warmth of the Shizuku trembled faintly against his palm.