It was in the dead of night when Kuon’s voice broke the silence.
The campfire had long since burned out, the charcoal cooling to a pale, ashen white. Kuon’s voice startled the three of them awake where they camped in the woods—a place known as the Domain of the Nameless God. There was a sharp intake of breath, then a short, choked sound, as if something were caught in the back of his throat.
"Kuon?"
"…Wake up. Both of you."
Koyoi kicked off his blankets. Beside him, Asahi’s eyes were already open. He reached for the hilt of his sword, but stopped when he saw the state Kuon was in.
Kuon had the Record spread across his lap. The azure glow of his mystic eye was pulsing with an unusual intensity, and his fingertips were trembling ever so slightly. He was pointing to the back of a well-worn page. Under the faint light, characters began to emerge.
"…Has that always been there?"
"It has. From the very beginning. But the control layers of the Great Order were blocking our very perception of it. It erased the fact that these words even existed from the consciousness of anyone who read it."
"Then why can we see it now?"
"Because of the Hoshino. The Order’s control is weak here. Ever since we entered this forest, the sensitivity of my eye has been heightening."
Koyoi leaned in, squinting at the page. It wasn't ink. The characters had been etched into the paper, the fibers crushed by a fingernail or some other hard object. It wasn't Kuon’s hand, nor was it the handwriting of the Observers. It was much older. Every stroke was imbued with such force that it felt like a prayer.
"I’m going to read it."
The light from his eye stabilized, making the script clear.
—Names were designed as things that circulate.
—From the earth, a voice is born; the voice becomes a name; the name summons a god; and the god returns to the earth.
—That cycle is what I called the Design.
—The Stagnation was never part of the original specification. To stop a name is to kill the cycle.
—Someone added to the script later. They distorted my design, halted the names, and imprisoned the gods.
—Even my own name will, eventually—
The writing cut off there. The final stroke vanished at the very edge of the paper.
Kuon’s grip on the Record turned his knuckles white. The light of his eye flickered unsteadily.
"…The one who wrote this."
"It was written by… the First God."
The forest groaned. It wasn't the wind. A low vibration rumbled through the tree trunks in resonance, and the sensation of roots pulsing deep underground rose up through the soles of their feet. The pouch at Koyoi’s waist grew hot. The Divine Droplet inside was trembling violently.
"The being who designed the circulation of names… the sentence is cut short. They might have written this just moments before their name was taken."
Asahi stood up, gripping his sword as he scanned the darkness of the woods.
"Kuon. You found that Record in the Scripture Hall, didn't you?"
"Yeah."
"And where did the materials for the Scripture Hall originally come from?"
Kuon caught his breath, realizing the weight of Asahi’s question.
"I heard it was built using ancient timber from the Hoshino region. It’s possible this Record originally belonged to this land."
"If that’s the case…" Asahi said, his eyes still fixed on the forest. "The god who wrote this is the god of the very forest we’re standing in right now."
A heavy silence fell over them. Koyoi clutched his pouch with both hands. The trembling of the Divine Droplet gradually subsided, but the warmth remained.
"The Design was actually a letter."
"It says 'Design,' but it reads like a letter. A letter hidden away in the hope that someone, someday, would find it."
Kuon looked down at the back of the page once more.
"…A letter with no addressee. And yet, it arrived."
"It reached us," Koyoi whispered.
The forest let out another low, resonant hum. Kuon didn't close the Record. He left it open to the hidden page, resting on his lap. For the first time in centuries, the concealed words were touching the night air.
Asahi let go of his sword hilt and sat back down.
"Look for the rest of it. There has to be more after the part where it cuts off."
Kuon nodded. He began to turn the pages one by one, shining his light on the back of each one.
Koyoi rested his pouch on his knees and stared into the darkness. A god who designed names, had their own name stolen, and yet still managed to leave a letter behind. He knew he would never forget this night.
From the depths of the Hoshino forest, a warm vibration rose up, enveloping the three of them.