The train pulled away from the station at the Margin’s Light.
For a moment, silver-white pillars flickered past the window. As the train gathered speed, the pillars thinned into single lines before vanishing into the fog. The moment they disappeared, sound came rushing back into the carriage.
The flicker of the oil lamps, the rhythm of the wheels biting into the rails, the soft creak of the seats.
Koyoi tilted his head, listening. The silence of the Margin’s Light still clung to him. Standing in a place devoid of sound made him feel as though his own edges were beginning to blur. Now that the noise had returned, he finally felt like he had crawled back into his own skin.
"How long until we reach the Scriptory?" Asahi asked, his eyes fixed on the view outside.
"Less than an hour on this line," Kuon replied, the Catalog still resting on his lap. "We’ll loop directly under the Margin’s Light and come out at the Scriptory’s station."
He had deactivated his artificial eye, keeping his lids closed to preserve his strength.
Koyoi turned his attention to the Droplet inside his drawstring pouch. It had been trembling with fear near the Margin’s Light, but now it was slowly regaining its composure. Its pulse grew steady, and a faint warmth returned to his fingertips.
"Kuon-kun... what kind of place is the Scriptory?"
"It is where the original Catalog is kept," Kuon answered without opening his eyes. "The Catalog I carry is merely a transcription. The Scriptory holds the master records from before the copies were made. The first decrees to freeze Names. The methods, the reasons... and the name of the one who began the freezing in the first place."
"If we find that out, can we stop it?"
"I don't know if it can be stopped. But if we understand the beginning, we might see the way to an end."
The landscape outside the window shifted.
The fog grew thick, and the air turned heavy—not with moisture, but with the sheer density of information. As they drew closer to the Scriptory, the volume of records woven into the space itself seemed to multiply. Patterns resembling script began to bloom like frost across the surface of the windowpane.
"We’re close," Asahi muttered, tracing a finger through the characters on the glass. Even as he wiped them away, new letters surfaced to take their place. The records were dissolved into the very air.
Kuon opened his eyes. A pale blue light ignited within his artificial eye.
"Once we reach the station, I’ll open the Catalog and begin the synchronization with the master records. We won’t have much time. The Scriptory is under the direct surveillance of the Order. If we linger, we’ll be found."
"And if we are?"
"The Catalog will be confiscated. And our memories... they might be erased as well."
Asahi snorted. "Like I'd let them."
A thin smile ghosted across Kuon’s lips. It lasted only a second before his expression returned to its usual stoney mask.
The train began to slow. The fog outside deepened further, and the station lamps pierced through the gloom with a ghostly blue radiance.
Koyoi clutched the pouch to his chest. The Droplet gave a powerful, rhythmic throb. It wasn't reacting out of fear; it was sensing the atmosphere of the Scriptory. It was responding to the scent of memory.
Their own "originals" were waiting somewhere ahead.
The train came to a halt.
The doors slid open, and the scent of paper and ink flooded the carriage. Ancient air, heavy with the mist, brushed against their cheeks. Kuon pulled the Catalog close to his chest and dimmed the light of his eye.
"This is it. The Scriptory Station."
Asahi stepped out first, his boots hitting the stone floor with a heavy thud.
"It’s quiet."
Kuon followed, and Koyoi was the last to step onto the platform. Still clutching his pouch, he looked down at the flagstones beneath his feet. Faint, ancient characters were carved into the stone.
The entrance to the Scriptory waited for them, deep within the heart of the fog.