The crystals of frost clinging to the windowpane began to melt ever so slightly, yielding to the touch of Koyoi’s body heat. Faint trails of moisture crawled down the glass in irregular patterns, a map traced by an invisible fingertip. Every breath inside the carriage carried a chill that pricked their lungs like needles; the white plumes of mist exhaled by the three travelers were the only evidence that life still flickered within this space.
Old cotton dust leaked from the cracks in the seats, dancing like motes of ash in the lanterns’ pale glow—the dying embers of countless records casting their final, sorrowful light. Beneath Koyoi’s feet, a faint draft rose through the gaps in the floorboards, as if the myriad memories frozen at the bottom of the train were slowly beginning to thaw.
The lantern flames suspended from the ceiling flickered in time with the carriage's unstable vibrations, making the shadows of the seats stretch and contract like living things.
Echoing the movement of those shadows, fragments of memory from the travelers who had once boarded this train rose from the floorboards in faint whispers. Koyoi pulled his drawstring pouch close to his chest, pressing his lips tight as he sought the warmth of the Drop pulsing quietly within. Sensing its master’s anxiety, the Drop wrapped around Koyoi’s palm through the fabric, glowing stronger and warmer than usual.
The faint pulsation held a steady rhythm, an echo of a distant prayer. Clinging to that warmth, Koyoi fought to keep his eyes fixed on the torrent of information transforming violently outside the window.
When this storm finally subsides, what kind of landscape will be waiting for us?
Would it be hope, despair, or something nameless that was neither? Koyoi didn't know yet, but one thing remained certain: as long as he was with these two, he could face whatever answer awaited them. That conviction was unshakable.
Kuon was deciphering the pages of the Catalog.
His artificial eye flickered with a pale blue light.
The strings of formulas on the page shifted their arrangement with every catch of the light, writhing like living serpents. Kuon’s slender fingers trailed the fluid clusters of text across the page, finally coming to a halt. The blue light from his eye flared. The sharp lines of his grimace deepened in the pale glow.
Shock at his discovery and the weight of duty warred within his expression. Kuon took one deep breath before speaking in a voice as cold as the ice outside.
"...Look. The coordinates are being 'overwritten' right before our eyes. The Observers... they’re using the Original Catalog at the heart of the Repository. They’re trying to forcibly nullify this stolen information."
The moment those words shattered the silence, the silver particles of information swirling outside shifted in unison. Pulled by some unseen magnet, the countless points of light coalesced into a single Great Vortex—an ominous beacon far in the distance. Kuon’s artificial eye caught the anomaly, flashing violently in warning.
Mirroring his agitation, the Catalog's pages began to dissolve into chaos. He clicked his tongue and pinned the book against his knee. Strings of formulas strained to rise from the paper with a will of their own, but the light from his eye held them fast. He looked like a beast tamer pinning down a thrashing predator.
"Overwritten? Then... does the place we’re heading to even exist? Or is it all just a... 'lie'?"
Koyoi’s voice misted in the cold air and vanished. His fingertips trembled against his pouch, but the tremor wasn't just fear. Responding to his question, the Drop inside radiated a faint heat. Relying on that small warmth, Koyoi looked up at Kuon. The light of his artificial eye wavered, betraying a flicker of impatience he usually kept hidden.
Even so, he stared straight ahead, willing his voice to remain steady. Even if it were all a lie, he wanted to believe the warmth in his hands was real.
Asahi tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, keeping watch.
The center of the shadow—he was certain now that it was no longer a physical location, but something that existed within their own will. Rising from his seat, Asahi stepped to the window. Outside, the Great Vortex was shifting into the silhouette of a massive gate. He touched the hilt of his sword with his right hand and the throat of the scabbard with his left, confirming their presence.
There was not a shred of hesitation in his movements; he possessed the sharpened stillness of a swordsman who had survived countless bloodbaths.
"...The record will not yield to haste. The true Awakening only comes once this storm of information has frozen solid."
Asahi’s voice was low but weighted, permeating every corner of the carriage. His knuckles were white with the intensity of his grip. Bathed in silver light, his back stood before Koyoi and Kuon like an unyielding wall of steel.
In response, the train’s vibrations ceased for a single heartbeat. A heavy silence fell, as if the world were holding its breath. Beyond the storm, a faint band of light flickered. Whether it was their destination or a snare set by the Observers, they could not tell.
But watching Asahi’s unwavering profile, even that distinction seemed trivial. Koyoi cradled the pouch to his chest and nodded softly. Kuon, too, kept the Catalog open, silently dwelling on Asahi’s words.
Beyond this storm, there was still someone waiting for them. Within the freezing carriage, their shared conviction became a small but certain flame—quietly, yet persistently, it continued to burn.