Having escaped the Glacial Well, that vast and frigid prison of records, the three reached Starfall Town’s very edge.
Standing there at the physical end of the world was the Stairway of Providence. As the name implied, it seemed to inhale the breath of the living, transmuting it into the dust of data. It was a gargantuan bridge of Providence suspended over an ink-black abyss.
Massive lanterns at the entrance flickered unnaturally, as if at the end of their lifespan. With every pulse, particles of information drifted down like snow. The grinding of stone was no longer a sound of salvation; it rang like a sacred first cry heralding the world’s reconstruction.
Koyoi planted his feet firmly against the stone surface, measuring the distance to each sound.
The shadows here still felt strangely dense.
The Stairway was unlike any structure Koyoi had ever seen. Each step was crafted from translucent stone, and with every footfall, a faint pulse of light raced through it. The staircase felt like a massive nervous system, reading the traveler’s weight as data and transmitting it to the floor of the abyss.
Countless fine cracks spiderwebbed across the stone, and from those fissures, a thin, ink-black cold seeped out. Koyoi placed his foot on the first step and gasped as the chill bit through his boots, sinking into his soles. Inside his pouch, the shizuku huddled together in fear, vibrating in response to their master’s anxiety.
There was nothing on either side—no handrails, no walls—only endless darkness, gaping below. Looking down, he understood intuitively that there was no bottom; one's gaze would simply fall forever. From the depths, a sound like a faint groan rose occasionally.
It wasn't the wind. It might have been the echo of those who had once slipped from the stairs and been swallowed by the void. Koyoi pulled his pouch close, feeling the warmth of the shizuku within. The presence of the deities was weak; they had yet to recover from the shock of the Glacial Well.
Even so, that faint warmth was his only light in the darkness.
Kuon’s artificial eye glowed a piercing azure as he stared at his Catalog. He continued to press forward.
There was no hesitation in his stride, as if the map within the Catalog were guiding him automatically. Blue light illuminated the translucent stone, casting strange shadow patterns at his feet. Kuon’s expression was grim, his lips set in a hard line. The sharp flickers of his eye suggested he was constantly cross-referencing the Catalog’s data with the reality before him.
"...Look. This is the speed of Providential Correction. Before we can finish uncovering the truth, they’re trying to physically 'bleach' the very boundaries of the world. They want to turn it all into nothing."
Kuon’s murmur was laced with uncontrollable rage, yet beneath it lay a fatigue bordering on resignation. His fingers flipped through the Catalog much faster than before.
He was racing to keep up with the vanishing records. Constantly adjusting his artificial eye, Kuon pushed his body to its limit, trying to catch even a single afterimage of the fading text. Beads of sweat glistened in the azure light, and the veins at his temples throbbed with the intensity of his focus.
It was a race against erasure—a solitary battle that only Kuon could fight.
"...Bleached? If that happens, will this 'pain' we’re feeling right now... will it eventually vanish into that, too?" Koyoi asked, clutching his hands to his chest.
His question held the bluntness of youth, yet it possessed a sharpness that pierced straight to the heart of the matter. Koyoi’s eyes were fixed on the blackness ahead, but he wasn’t looking at the dark—he was looking at the memories of the deities fading within it.
The pouch trembled, and the shizuku emitted a thin, fragile light in response. It was small and unreliable, but undeniably there. If the pain vanished, it meant the children themselves would vanish as well.
Koyoi understood this without needing words.
Shaking, he let out a long, heavy breath. The chill pooled in his chest overflowed as white mist, dissolving into the darkness. Though his core was freezing, only the pouch remained warm.
That contradictory sensation was the only thing tethering Koyoi to reality. Asahi kept his right hand on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the furthest depths of the path. His profile bore the quiet compassion of a swordsman—sensing his companions' anxiety but choosing to watch over them in silence.
"...We move. Beyond the echo of these steps, I will reclaim the Answer of Providence."
Asahi’s voice was a low resonance. He had chosen the Trial of the Sunken Record, the harshest path in existence. He would allow the fluctuations of sound to remain, maintaining the Boundary of Providence by sacrificing a portion of his own soul.
The breath of the Boundary grew deeper by the minute, and the unstable seams of Providence were being audibly redrawn beneath his feet. But within him lived the heat of that "Drop of Light" he had received from the child. There was no longer a reason for him to stop or stray.
The three descended the Stairway of Providence, step by step, toward the floor of the abyss. Every time a foot pressed against the translucent stone, light surged within, carrying their weight down into the deep.