Deep in the shadows of the half-buried shrine lay a small hollow.
It was a space barely large enough for one person to sit, its walls polished to a smooth finish. Unlike the exterior, which had been ravaged and pitted by sandstorms, the interior had been meticulously tended. It was the trace of someone who had spent a very long time here.
Kuon directed the azure glow of his prosthetic eye toward the back of the niche. There were markings on the wall—though they were less like letters and more like scratches made by fingernails. Shallow grooves ran across the stone, overlapping in a chaotic tangle.
"Can you read it?"
Asahi peered over his shoulder.
"I can't. It's not a language... These are the marks of a name being scraped away."
Kuon’s voice grew taut. The blue light of his eye swept over the surface like a lick of flame, analyzing the depth of the grooves, the angles, and the order in which they had been carved.
"The Observers didn't strip it from them. They did this themselves. Stroke by stroke. Intentionally."
Koyoi caught his breath. "Themselves...?"
"Yeah. This wasn't a force applied from the outside. Someone traced the same spot over and over from within. To erase it. Their own name, by their own hand."
The pouch at Koyoi's waist grew cold. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the pulses of the Shizuku—the tiny gods within—suddenly weaken. The warmth was draining away. They were terrified. The small spirits were trembling at the essence drifting from the hollow in the wall.
A god who had discarded their name. A being who hadn't had it stolen by the Observers, but had surrendered it of their own volition.
Kuon opened his catalog and flipped through the pages. His fingers stopped.
"There’s a record... 'Minor deity, name unknown. Voluntary relinquishment of designation. Struck from observation. Untraceable thereafter.'"
Kuon closed the book.
"The Observers can only measure those who possess a name. If you throw your name away, you slip through their net. But at the same time... you can never remain in anyone’s memory."
Asahi crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. "So they ran away?"
"Not ran away, exactly... They chose to vanish."
There was a rare tremor in Kuon’s voice. Koyoi noticed it. This reality didn't fit neatly into the analytical framework Kuon relied on. He understood those who fought to protect their names. He understood the Observers who stole them. But a god who threw their name away by choice was found nowhere in his catalog.
A faint breeze drifted from the back of the shrine. It was different from the grit-laden wind outside; it was tepid and lacked the scent of sand. It was a soft, ancient breath, as if the very stones were exhaling.
Koyoi placed his hand against the wall. The stone, which should have been cold, felt warm beneath his palm. There was a rhythm behind it. Inhale, exhale. Slow and deep. Something was still breathing here.
"...They're here," Koyoi whispered. "They have no name, but they're still here."
The chill in his pouch eased slightly. The Shizuku remained frightened, but responding to the warmth of the wall, their pulses began to flicker back to life.
Kuon lowered his gaze. He looked away from the wall and hugged the catalog to his chest.
"Without a name, I can't record them. And if I can't record them, I can't keep them in my index. This one... is beyond my reach."
Asahi clapped Kuon on the shoulder. A single, muted thud.
"If they’re beyond your reach, then just remember them as unreachable. That’s enough, isn't it?"
Koyoi pulled his hand away from the wall. The warmth lingered on his palm; the breath of the nameless god had seeped into his skin.
As they stepped out of the shrine, the sand-heavy wind stung their cheeks. The world outside was dry and cold. But his palm remained warm for a long time.
Koyoi gripped his pouch and began to walk. He didn't look back. The nameless god didn't wish to be looked back upon. Simply not forgetting—that was the only courtesy he could offer now.