The station at *Hoshifuri-machi*—the Town of Starfall—was markedly different from any they had seen before. The stone was black.
Columns, walls, and floors were all fashioned from stone ranging from a deep charcoal to a near-ebony. In the southern post towns, white stone had been common, but here, the stone itself seemed to swallow the light. The flames within the andon lanterns burned a stark white.
Not a warm glow, but a cold, clinical white.
It wasn’t even a pale blue; it was simply white.
The space it illuminated held no warmth, casting only shadows of a sharp, vivid clarity.
“It’s cold.”
Koyoi hugged his arms.
In the south, the mist had a dampness that clung to the skin, but the air here was dry and sharp as a blade. His breath came out in white puffs. The exhaled vapor did not mingle with the particles of the mist; it simply vanished.
“We’re in the north now,” Asahi said, placing a hand against one of the station’s pillars.
The stone was freezing. Yet, deep within that chill, there was a faint vibration.
“The stone... it’s shivering.”
There was no timetable on the station wall. In the southern stops, a wooden board was always hanging—the next train’s destination and time written in bold ink—but here, there was nothing. Only the marks of the mounting brackets remained. It didn't look as though the board had been removed; it looked as if it had never existed in the first place.
“There are no scheduled runs,” Kuon noted, eyeing the marks on the wall. “From here on, the trains have no set time. They come when they come. That is all.”
“Then, how do we get back?”
“We board when one arrives. Otherwise, we walk.”
Kuon’s voice was flat, matter-of-fact.
Koyoi looked toward the station exit. Beyond the stone archway, the town streets stretched into the distance. The cobblestones there were black as well.
The white flames of the lanterns continued in a dotted line. He looked up at the sky. There was mist, but beyond it—he saw light. Small, sharp pinpricks of light.
They flickered and vanished. Then another shone elsewhere and disappeared.
“Stars?” Koyoi whispered.
Kuon looked up.
“Names. Names whose freezing was incomplete are spilling through the cracks in the Logic. They flare for a moment in the air, then sink back into the depths.”
The light flickered again. This time, it was close.
A pale grain of light fell onto the cobblestones just five paces ahead. It vanished the instant before it touched the ground. Koyoi reached out his hand, but it was beyond his grasp.
“Don’t touch them,” Kuon said shortly. “They are unstable Names. They might collapse the moment you touch them. And if they break, they can never be restored.”
Asahi stood at the edge of the station roof, surveying the town. It was smaller than the ones in the south. The buildings were low and huddled together, yet there were many gaps between them. Places where buildings once stood were now nothing but empty lots.
“It looks like a mouth with missing teeth,” Asahi said, his gaze unwavering. “Did they just... disappear? Buildings and all?”
Kuon nodded.
“In regions where the control of the Logic is thin, not only the Names, but the places themselves become unstable. The foundation of existence is brittle.”
More light rained down—three grains at once this time. One hit the roof, another fell further down the street, and the third grazed the side of Koyoi’s drawstring pouch. The pouch pulsed as if it had jumped. Though the falling light vanished, the pouch flared with a momentary, intense heat.
“Was that someone you knew?” Koyoi asked the pouch.
Shizuku did not answer. However, the warmth remained high for a long while.
The three began to walk beneath the white lanterns. Upon the black cobblestones, the light of Names continued to fall.
Koyoi turned back once to look at the station arch. The silhouette of the black stone was momentarily edged in silver by the falling light.
There was no singing. In this town, there were no songs.
And yet, the sound of the Names falling—deep in his ears, it was weaving something akin to a melody. A nameless song. No one was singing, yet he could hear it.
Koyoi kept his ears strained as he walked. The melody did not fade. It stayed, sinking to the bottom of his heart—a nameless song he knew he could never forget.