The center of Hoshifuri Town stood in a trance, unable to either freeze fully or flow again.
It wasn't like Shimagato. Here, time had stuttered just as the ice began to thaw; a thin, trembling film of water clung to the surface of the world. A town suspended between freezing and melting.
Towering at the far end of the street, the terraces of ice caught the pale glow of the lanterns, shining with a dull luster. Within each frozen step, the records of the gods seemed to bleed and waver, as if the memories themselves were beginning to seep out.
Koyoi looked down at his feet.
Water welled up from the cracks between the cobblestones, seeping through his boots to his soles. The chill was different from the piercing bite of Shimagato; it was a slow loss, as if the very warmth at his core was being dissolved away. The tips of his fingers, clutching the drawstring of his pouch, grew numb. Within, the droplets pulsed faintly, echoing his own unease.
The air was heavy and damp. With every breath, a fine mist crept deep into his lungs. The two-hundredth morning greeted the three of them in total silence.
The cold rising from the stones clung to Koyoi’s ankles like grasping hands. As they drew closer to the heart of town, he could feel the quality of the air undergoing a fundamental transformation. Every breath felt as though ice particles were being relentlessly drawn into his lungs. It wasn't exactly a painful cold, but something more primordial—a sensation of having his inner warmth stripped away, one memory at a time.
The pouch at his waist shivered. He could feel the divine droplets sleeping inside pulsing anxiously against his palm, sensitive to the aberrations of the world. Koyoi pressed his hand over the pouch to soothe the trembling and set his lips in a firm line.
It’s all right.
I’m right here.
Koyoi projected these silent words toward the droplets, over and over.
Thick mist sat upon the roofs of the ancient houses like mounds of white cotton. Icicles hanging from the eaves caught the lantern light, gleaming with an eerie, iridescent sheen. The only sound was the monotonous, rhythmic drip of water hitting the cobblestones. Every house was tightly shuttered; no light flickered behind the paper screens, and there wasn't a sign of human life.
It was as if the entire town had fallen silent like one massive sarcophagus, refusing to admit the living. A thin layer of frost clung to the walls, possessing a cold, cruel beauty that seemed to steal the heat from his fingertips. When the distant sound of a wooden clapper finally ceased, the silence deepened until Koyoi could hear his own heartbeat thumping painfully loud in his ears.
The lamentations of the ice terraces traveled through the cobblestones, seeping through the soles of his feet into the center of his being. Within the frozen laws of this world, the gods were desperately pleading for something. A chorus of voices, begging to have their names called, remained sealed within the crystals drifting down around them.
Kuon was busy deciphering the pages of the Register.
His prosthetic eye flickered with a pale, ghostly light. Each time the blue glow illuminated the script, Koyoi saw his slender fingers tremble. Whatever information was recorded there seemed to be tearing him apart. His lips were pressed tight, and a thin sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. A single drop fell from his bangs, blooming into a dark spot on the page.
Asahi kept his right hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes fixed on the far end of the street. His gaze held both the sharp alertness of a veteran warrior and the quiet resolve of a man who carried the lives of his companions. He alone watched how their shadows stretched and shrank with the flickering of the lanterns, his body attuned to reading the presence of unseen enemies in those erratic movements.
No words passed between them. The sound of their breathing and the faint creak of the stones beneath their boots were the only warmth left in this frozen street—the final anchors tethering them to reality.
“Don’t call their names. The moment you do, you’re the one that starts to erode.”
Koyoi instinctively squeezed the pouch with both hands. There were names he wanted to call. The names of the gods who were waiting for help, shivering in the depths of this ice-locked street, rose up to the back of his throat. But he understood, not through logic but in the depths of his soul, that Kuon was right.
A name is the core of an existence. To speak it aloud is to expose the most vulnerable part of oneself to the blades of this world's laws.
Koyoi bit his lower lip hard, ignoring the metallic taste of blood as he desperately swallowed the impulse. Inside the pouch, a droplet shifted, emitting a faint warmth as if to share in its master’s pain. That warmth spread slowly from his frozen fingertips into his chest.
“…I know. But… somehow… I can hear them. Their voices are coming from beneath the ice, and they sound so desperate.”
Koyoi’s answer was barely a whisper, his voice trembling. Yet, it wasn't a tremor of fear. It was the pained resonance of a boy trying to absorb the screams of the gods with his own body. Tears welled in Koyoi’s eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. As if weeping was the only prayer he could offer, he simply kept his eyes fixed straight ahead.
A droplet inside the pouch pulsed with sudden strength, emitting a soft light as if affirming his words. It was a tiny light, but it shone steadily in the darkness. The moment a tear traced a path down Koyoi’s cheek and hit the cobblestones, the ice there melted, forming a small pool of water.
It was a tiny change, but it was a definitive crack in the frozen world.
Asahi leaned his back against a wall, listening to the two of them in silence. With his arms crossed and one foot propped against the stone, his sharp gaze seemed to cut through the gloom. When he heard Koyoi’s words, the corners of his mouth tightened.
His instincts as a swordsman measured the depth of the danger lurking here. Yet, at the same time, the ring of truth in the boy’s voice stirred something deep within his chest.
The voices from the ice steps.
Asahi could not hear them himself. And that was exactly why he reminded himself that he had to be the shield—that he would protect the boy who could hear them with everything he had. He pushed off from the wall and adjusted his grip on his sword. There was no hesitation in the gesture.
“…Let’s go. The answer lies deeper ahead.”
Asahi spoke with his hand still resting on his hilt. His voice carried a heat that seemed to repel even the chill of the ice terraces. In those few words, he condensed every experience from their journey and his lingering thirst for the truth.
Asahi stepped out in front of them, taking the lead. Being the vanguard had been his role since the very beginning. Koyoi nodded firmly, tear-streaks still on his cheeks, while Kuon silently closed the Register.
The sound of three pairs of footsteps rang out—hard and sharp—against the ice-covered stones. One step at a time, they moved toward the furthest reach of the street. Each time the lanterns flickered, their shadows danced upon the ground, as if crying out in a wordless warning of the bottomless abyss they were about to enter.
As the ice particles continued to fall, the backs of the three travelers were already beginning to turn white.