### Episode 213: Yae’s Prescription
Words began to surface on the blank, white pages of the Register.
Kuon’s eyes widened; the blue in his artificial eye sharpened. Thin ink characters that hadn’t been there a moment ago began to bleed onto the page line by line.
“It’s Yae.”
“A signal from her?” Asahi asked.
“No, not a signal. It’s a prescription.”
Kuon pressed the Register against his knees, his gaze tracing the characters as they appeared. He recognized the handwriting—it was that idiosyncratic, flowing script Yae always used for her medicinal compounding records.
The text was in archaic medical shorthand. Symbols denoting dosages for decoctions and intervals for administration were lined up, but another meaning was woven between them. Using the names of herbs to mask locations. Using dosages to mask procedures.
“Yae was a healer. She spent her life tending to the wounds that the System of Observers inflicted upon people. That’s why she knows. She knows the System’s weaknesses—the exact location of its points of entry.”
Asahi leaned forward. “What does it say?”
Kuon traced the characters with his finger, reading aloud.
“‘The entrance to the Scriptural Repository shall open with three offerings. The ice of Shimosato. The water of Hoshifuri-machi. The mud from the Town of Sea Charts.’”
“So we have to present the three records in their respective states at the same time?”
“Exactly. A frozen name, a flowing name, and a sunken name. Aligning all three forms of preservation at once... that is the key.”
Kuon continued reading further down the page. At the very end, a single short line had been added.
“‘The patient already holds the medicine. Administer as prescribed.’—That’s just like her.”
Koyoi looked down at their own hands.
Beneath the nail of the right hand, the frost of Shimosato still remained white. A fragment of ice that refused to wash away, existing there without melting even against the warmth of the skin.
Upon the pad of the left index finger, the water of Hoshifuri-machi clung like a thin membrane. It wouldn’t dry, no matter how much it was wiped. The lukewarm sensation of plunging a hand into the well still lingered.
And on the backs of both hands, the mud from the Town of Sea Charts traced dry, brown streaks. The lines ran along the creases of the skin like the veins of a map.
Then, Koyoi looked at the drawstring pouch. Traces of the three wells had stained the fabric's surface. The ice crystals, the ring of water, and the color of the mud overlapped without ever mingling.
“...We already have them.”
Kuon nodded.
“What remained in our hands after passing through the three wells—those are the keys. Yae knew that. That’s why she told us in the form of a prescription. So we would take it naturally, as if taking medicine.”
“We didn’t need to prepare anything. We just had to realize it.”
“Yeah. We weren’t searching for the key. By walking the path, we became the key.”
Asahi looked at his own palms. The traces of mud, the coldness of the water, and the whiteness of the frost. The three were overlapping.
“Did that woman see all of this from the very beginning?”
“It’s not that she saw it.”
Kuon closed the Register. Yae’s writing had set into the page, no longer bleeding. She had used one of the few remaining precious pages, but Kuon didn’t complain.
“She paved the road so it could be seen. That is the healer’s way. Guiding the patient in an order that doesn’t hurt, so they can walk on their own.”
Asahi gave a small grunt of acknowledgement, but he didn’t disagree.
Koyoi pressed their mud-stained fingertips against the fabric of the pouch.
Three temperatures mingled upon their palms. Coldness, lukewarmness, and warmth. A frozen record, a flowing record, and a sunken record. All of them were the shapes of names.
The pulse of the pouch quickened slightly. It was still faint, but the throb was steadier than before. Perhaps Yae’s words had reached it, or perhaps it sensed that the three keys had finally been gathered.
Outside the window, a sliver of light appeared. A faint streak of white pierced the edge of the gray landscape. It looked like the ridgeline of a mountain, or perhaps the roof of a distant building.
Kuon looked out the window.
“It’s Churyo.”
Koyoi gently closed their hands, stained with mud, frost, and water.
The key was right here.