The buildings surrounding the station were swallowed by a uniform, oppressive grey.
Walls, roofs, and cobblestones alike had been stripped of every drop of color. It was a landscape devoid of life, as if the entire world had been trapped within the confines of a monochromatic photograph. The only things that possessed color were the figures of the three travelers and the drawstring pouch hanging from Koyoi’s waist.
This stark contrast only served to sharpen the alien nature of the place. Even the light from the stone lanterns was tinged with grey, and only the silver chime of a bell proved sound still existed here.
Etched into the ground of the station were circular patterns spaced at regular intervals. These were coordinate-fixing devices installed by the Observers to maintain "Information Stasis." Each pattern acted as a "Wedge of Logic," shackling the surrounding space to prevent change before it begins.
Every time Koyoi’s foot landed on one of these patterns, a sharp, electric prickle ran through his sole. An unpleasant suction tugged at him, as if something were being pulled out from deep within his body. It was evidence that the Information Stasis was attempting to extract the "potential for change" inherent in the living.
The air did not move.
The atmosphere remained in a state of perfect stagnation, as if the phenomenon of wind itself were forbidden at this ground-zero point. When they breathed, their exhaled breath became a white haze that drifted before their faces, lingering indefinitely without ever dissipating. As Koyoi took a step, his footsteps rang out unnaturally loud, rippling through the station like a wave. When those ripples touched the walls, faint cracks spider-webbed across the grey surfaces, allowing thin slivers of light to leak through.
But even that light vanished in an instant, and the absolute grey reclaimed the world once more.
The Drops inside the pouch had remained in an eerie silence since the moment they stepped into this place. Usually, they would shift their warmth in response to their master’s emotions, but now they lay as still as though frozen solid. Feeling a prickle of unease, Koyoi loosened the mouth of the pouch just a fraction and peeked inside.
The Drops were glowing faintly, but the light was no longer their usual warm gold. Instead, it had turned into a silvery-white, as if they too had been conquered by the essence of this place. Koyoi pulled the drawstring tight and cradled the pouch in both hands, sharing his own body heat to tell them, I’m right here. Without letting go, he took his next step with careful deliberation.
With every stride, grey ripples spread out. In the fleeting moment when those ripples met the pouch’s light, there were spots where color momentarily flickered back to life. It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it occurrence, yet it lit a small flame of hope in Koyoi’s heart.
The grey was not absolute.
Color had not been completely stolen. Even the "bleaching" of this place surely had its limits.
Asahi gripped the hilt of his sword, glaring into the darkness that stretched into the depths of the station. There were no enemies to be seen.
Yet, Asahi’s warrior instincts screamed that this was where the most dangerous trap lay. To have no opponent to fight meant having one's very will to fight stripped away. Realizing the fire within him was beginning to flicker and fade, Asahi struck the hilt of his sword sharply.
The ring of steel sliced through the silence. The vibration traveled from his wrist through his entire body, just barely managing to tether his sense of self together.
Kuon’s artificial eye pulsed with a blue light. The characters of the Catalogue flickered into view within that glow. However, even the text of the Catalogue was being encroached upon by the grey; only the brilliance of the blue eye kept the strings of information legible.
Beads of sweat formed on Kuon’s brow, and even those droplets began to turn into grey particles before they could fall. He clicked his tongue and cranked the output of his eye up a notch. The blue light intensified, and the characters of the Catalogue snapped back into sharp focus.
"...Look at this. This is the 'redefinition' of records. They’re trying to physically 'bleach' the very logic of the world before we can even decipher the truth. They want to make it so none of this ever happened," Kuon declared, tracing the edge of his artificial eye with his fingertip.
His voice held less anger and more of a cold, detached admiration for the Observers’ thoroughness.
Bleaching.
That single word perfectly captured the true nature of this ashen world. The blue light of the eye flickered unstably, casting deep shadows across Kuon’s face. The pages of the Catalogue flipped automatically, and as Kuon watched the recorded information being dyed grey line by line, he ground his teeth, swallowing back a curse.
They were running out of time.
That realization made the pulse of his blue eye quicken further.
"...Bleached? You mean even those children’s names will be bleached white?" Koyoi asked, his breath hitching.
His question was thick with a pure, concentrated terror—the fear that the very existence of the gods they had saved until now would be erased. Koyoi pressed the pouch against his chest, confirming the faint light of the Drops within.
The silver-white light was weak, but it hadn't gone out completely.
The names of those children.
That warmth.
That trembling.
The idea that all of it could be bleached into nothingness was something Koyoi simply could not accept. Tears welled in the boy's eyes, and the moment they touched the grey air, they emitted a flash of golden light. It was a small act of defiance—a certain proof of prayer that would not vanish, even here at ground zero.
"...The night is still long. We will drag the true 'answer' of the World’s Logic out from that single point. Until that moment, we don't stop."
Asahi spoke as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. His voice echoed through the station, sending more faint cracks through the grey walls. His words carried a clear rejection of this colorless world.
A long night.
Those words acknowledged that they were currently in the darkest hour before the dawn, but they also carried the unshakable conviction that morning would inevitably come. Asahi struck his hilt again, letting the sound of steel ring out once more.
As if responding to that sound, the Drops in Koyoi’s pouch trembled slightly, and faint streaks of gold began to return to the silver-white light. The three of them left the grey station behind and stepped forward into the next darkness. Behind them, the light of the stone lanterns flickered one last time before fading, and at last, a perfect silence descended.