The harbor was silent after the lighthouse light flickered out.
The shadow host had scattered, and the pale blue glow clinging to the cobblestones was beginning to fade. On Asahi’s blade, the last traces of shadow evaporated into the night air, vanishing to the final wisp.
At the furthest edge of the harbor sat a well. It was made of stone, but its shape differed from the ink well back in the Scripture House. Its rim was high, reaching up to a man's waist.
Carved into the inner side of the rim were spiral grooves. There were traces of something having once flowed through them—not water, but something more viscous, like ink.
“It’s the master plate for the Sea Chart.”
Kuon rested his hands on the rim and peered inside. The blue light from his prosthetic eye reached the very bottom. There was no water; instead, several stone slabs lay stacked upon one another. Lines were etched into the surface of the stones, intersecting, branching, and merging in a complex web.
“These lines... they are paths. The routes the Names were carried. A record of how they moved from the Scripture House to the various Frozen Lands.”
Koyoi stood on his tiptoes to peek over the edge. It was dark. Only the blue light from Kuon’s eye illuminated the depths. Under the glow, the lines on the stone slabs seemed to flicker. No—they weren't just flickering. Tiny specks of light were moving along the lines like ants.
“They’re still moving,” Koyoi whispered.
“Yeah. The chart is still updating even now. Every time a Name moves, the path is rewritten. Even if the Scripture House falls, this record lives on.”
Kuon placed the Catalog on the rim of the well. The golden veins on its cover reacted to the lines on the stone slabs. They began to trace the paths, etching the Sea Chart onto the Catalog’s blank pages.
“I can’t get all of it. There are too many lines,” Kuon muttered, clicking his tongue. The Catalog was only able to capture the lines where the specks of light were currently in motion.
“Just the ones moving now is enough,” Koyoi said. “If they’re moving, it means there are still Names at the end of those paths, right?”
Kuon looked at him. For a split second, his expression softened. He masked it immediately, but Koyoi didn't miss it.
“...Right. Exactly.”
While the Catalog was copying the lines, Asahi paced the perimeter of the well.
“Hey. There are footprints here.”
On the cobblestones behind the well, a set of large footprints remained. They were pressed clearly into the thin layer of sand covering the stone.
“The First God?” Kuon examined them with his prosthetic eye. “They’re old, but they haven't faded. It means he came here too. He was using the Sea Chart to confirm where the Names were headed.”
The footprints stopped at the rim of the well before continuing away from the harbor. North.
Toward Hoshino. The drawstring bag at Asahi's side grew warm, pulsing silently as he faced the tracks. If they followed this path, they would find where the First God had hidden the Names.
On the pages of the Catalog, the lines of the Sea Chart began to glow. Three lines shone brighter than the rest—paths where Names were moving at this very moment. One to the North. One to the West. And one... down.
“Down?” Koyoi tilted his head.
“Underground. Some of the Names aren't moving across the surface of this world; they're traveling through the depths.”
Beyond the harbor, the light on the Stairway of Principles flickered. The air was beginning to change. They couldn't stay much longer.
Kuon closed the Catalog, searing the lines of the Sea Chart into his memory. The three of them left the well and walked toward the back of the harbor. The footprints remained on the stone, though the sea breeze was slowly wearing them away.
The scent of paper and ink thickened the moment they stepped inside the train car.
A white cloth was draped over the back of one of the seats. Faint lines were appearing on its surface—the same patterns they had seen on the Sea Chart at the bottom of the well. Kuon lifted the cloth. Though it was light, the parts where the lines were etched felt strangely heavy.
“Traces of where the Names passed. This cloth is designed to capture their travel routes.”
Koyoi traced a line with his fingertip. It was warm. The heat of the Names' passage still lingered in the fabric. The lines would break off and restart elsewhere—proof that they had submerged underground before resurfacing.
Asahi looked out the window. The train was stationary, yet the scenery outside was slowly flowing past.
“...It’s the world that’s moving,” he muttered.
Kuon laid the white cloth over the Catalog. The two sets of lines overlapped, filling in the gaps. The Sea Chart drew one step closer to completion.
The air in the car grew cold and clear. One final line on the white cloth pulsed with a faint light. It was the path leading North. Silent and steady, the cloth pointed the way toward their destination.