The third time they reached the heart of the shadow, it was different from the previous two.
The grey was no longer uniform.
Fissures had formed in the layer of grey that had once been as thick as a wall. Thin cracks spider-webbed across the surface, and from within them, color was leaking out.
It wasn't red, and it wasn't blue. It was a color that had no name.
Koyoi pressed his forehead against the window, staring intently into the openings.
"It’s cracking."
"Those are fissures," Kuon said, scanning the view outside with his prosthetic eye. An azure light pierced through the grey layer, probing the structure beneath. "Maintaining bleaching and freezing simultaneously requires an immense amount of power. That power is beginning to wane. From the points where it has reached its limit, the records that were meant to be sealed away are leaking out."
"Is it breaking?" Asahi asked, leaning forward.
"It is not breaking. It is fraying."
The moment the train passed near a fissure, the carriage jolted violently. Outside the window, the light erupting from the crack flared for a heartbeat before vanishing back into the dark.
In Kuon’s hands, the pages of the Index began to change.
The text was no longer being eroded by the grey; instead, the characters were becoming vivid and clear. The records leaking from the fissures were flowing directly into the copy of the Index.
"…This is—"
Kuon’s voice shifted. His prosthetic eye widened, and he brought the pages closer to his face. The azure light flickered intensely as he deciphered the newly surfaced text, character by character.
"It’s an Order Record."
Koyoi and Asahi both turned to Kuon at once.
"A record of the order to freeze the names. The date, the target, the method. And—the one who gave the order."
"Can you read it?" Asahi pressed.
"Only fragments. It will vanish once the fissure closes."
Kuon pushed the output of his prosthetic eye to its absolute limit. The azure glow grew so fierce it looked as if it might char the pages; sweat beaded on his forehead and trailed down his jaw. His lips moved, reciting the words in a breathless whisper.
"…The deepest part of the Sutra Repository. The primordial—"
The fissure closed.
The grey rushed back in to seal the gap, and the interior of the carriage plummeted into darkness. The light from Kuon’s eye dimmed sharply. As a reaction to the overexertion, the azure glow flickered unsteadily.
"It’s gone." Kuon clicked his tongue in frustration. "But I saw enough. Only fragments, but I know the direction now."
The train emerged from the heart of the shadow.
The grey peeled away, and color returned to the world. But this time, the transition was different. Where before the grey had vanished evenly, it now remained in mottled patches—the lingering scars of the fissures.
Kuon rested the Index on his knees and wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.
"In the deepest part of the Sutra Repository, there is a primordial record. The record of the one who first ordered the freezing of names. If we read that, everything will finally connect."
"The one who first ordered it," Koyoi murmured. "The one who built the System?"
"Older than the System. The very reason the System was deemed necessary is written there."
Kuon gently stroked the grey-stained pages of the Index. The echoes of the records that had leaked from the cracks still held the faint shape of letters, but it was only a matter of time before they faded entirely.
Koyoi looked out the window. There were places where the grey was thin. Only around the areas where the fissures had run did the original colors seem to return with a deeper intensity.
"Kuon-kun. Doesn't the grey look thinner where the cracks were?"
"Yes. Those are the places that resisted bleaching until the very end. The fissures appeared in the spots where the original colors remained the strongest. Whether the resistance summoned the cracks, or the cracks enabled the resistance, I cannot say."
Asahi gave a short, sharp huff. "Doesn't matter. Whoever designed this System didn't make it perfect. Whether by intent or by accident, there are holes."
"Not holes. Seams," Kuon said softly. "Every system has seams. Wherever a creator stitches things together, thread marks are always left behind. We are simply following those threads."
The train began to decelerate. Outside the window, familiar pale-blue lights drifted into view.
It was Churyo Station.
Koyoi clutched his drawstring pouch to his chest. The pulse of the Shizuku inside was slightly stronger than before. Perhaps the gem, too, had sensed something in the records that had leaked from the cracks.
The three of them stared at the lights approaching through the glass. The answers they sought were waiting just ahead.
The train’s wheels let out a piercing screech. The metallic wail trailed off, and then, finally, everything went still.