True to its name, "The Center of Shadow" was a place where the boundary between light and darkness had utterly dissolved.
Shadow is, by its nature, the antithesis of light. Yet in this space, shadow had become the dominant force, and light existed only in a state of subordination. The flickering of the lanterns was a manifestation of this inverted order; with every pulse of light, the surroundings grew darker, and every time they dimmed, a faint glimmer of brightness returned—an erratic behavior that seemed to mock common sense.
Koyoi found it difficult even to focus his eyes, as the edges of his vision trembled and blurred. The flagstones of the station floor were laid out with an eerie precision, reminiscent of a field of tombstones. Tiny grooves were etched into the surface of each stone, and within those channels, the "margins of Providence" flowed like a viscous liquid. As Koyoi planted his feet on the stones, he felt the chill of that void pierce through the soles of his straw sandals, creeping up his shins to the backs of his knees.
The droplet within his pouch pulsed with a rhythmic warmth, as if trying to shield its master from the cold. But the frigid depths of this "Zero Point of Providence" were so profound that even a divine power could not entirely block them out. In the center of the station, the Mist Train sat in a state of absolute stasis. When its wheels let out one final screech, the sound was instantly swallowed by the void, leaving nothing behind but a perfect, suffocating silence.
This was the true meaning of "information stasis."
Sound froze the moment it was born; vibrations were pinned in place before they could even ripple through the air. Koyoi realized he could no longer hear the sound of his own breathing, and for a fleeting second, he doubted whether he was even alive.
Only the warmth of his pouch managed to keep that doubt at bay. Kuon’s prosthetic eye pulsed with a pale blue light. The pages of the Catalog turned without a sound. In this realm of silence, even the rustle of paper against the air failed to manifest.
As Kuon’s fingertips brushed the edge of a page and his pale blue light scanned the strings of characters, complex calculations whirred deep within his prosthetic eye. The behavior of information at the Zero Point of Providence was fundamentally different from that of normal space. Here, all data existed in a frozen state. To read it, one had to "thaw" the frozen script, character by character.
It was a task that placed a heavy burden even on Kuon’s prosthetic eye, causing the blue light to flicker with an unusual, irregular rhythm.
"...Look. This is the 'redefinition' of the records," Kuon said, his brow furrowed.
His voice barely managed to vibrate the air, struggling against the weight of the information stasis. It was a contest of wills: the force that sought to freeze the sound the instant it was born versus Kuon’s determination to weave his words. The progress of the "bleaching" reflected on the pages of the Catalog was far faster than he had anticipated.
The waves of bleaching sent from the Sutra Repository were no longer targeting individual records. Instead, they were attempting to erase every piece of information in this space all at once. It wasn't a precision surgery; it was a world-scale scorched-earth operation.
"...Bleaching? Does that mean the names of all those children will just... turn white and disappear?" Koyoi asked.
His voice was thin, nearly swallowed by the stasis, but it held its place in the air, supported by the light of the droplet in his pouch. In Koyoi's mind, the names of the gods he had met and saved flashed by like a revolving lantern.
The God of Rain.
The God of Rivers.
Every god who had finally reclaimed their name might be reverted to a blank page. The fear was visceral, cold enough to freeze his very core, and tears welled in the boy's eyes. Before they could track down his cheeks, the frigid air of Providence froze them into tiny crystals that fell onto the flagstones.
Asahi gripped the hilt of his sword with all his might, drawing a final, steadying breath to keep his spirit upright amidst the storm of information. This warrior knew how to fight an invisible enemy. What could not be cut with a blade would be carved open with will.
If the stasis of information sought to freeze everything, he would simply melt it with his own heat.
"...Tonight is a long way off," Asahi snorted. "...Not until I drag the true 'answer' of Providence out from that single point."
That slight exhale sent a faint ripple through the frozen space—the first crack in the stasis of information. It began not with the swing of a sword, but with the breath of a warrior.
Koyoi watched the ripple spread across the flagstones. He wiped the crystal tears from his face, gripped the drawstring of his pouch, and stood tall.
I won't let them erase the names.
That resolve, Koyoi felt, pushed back the chill of the Zero Point of Providence, if only by a fraction.