The moment the train began to move, Koyoi saw the shadows left behind on the platform.
Three sets of shadows remained, etched into the stone as if they were impossible to peel away. Even as the train car slid forward, the shadows stayed there, standing still.
“...Kuon.”
Koyoi pressed his forehead against the window. The cold glass bit into his skin.
“The shadows... they’re being left behind.”
Kuon sat up from the opposite seat and looked out the window. The pale blue light of his prosthetic eye reflected off the glass, casting a sapphire streak across the cabin.
“They aren’t shadows. Those are the traces of coordinates. The records of those who stepped onto this station have been stained into the stone.”
The platform receded into the distance. The three shadows did not move. They remained upright in a posture that suggested they were seeing the train off, slowly sinking into the thickening mist.
Koyoi looked down at his own feet.
The shadow stretching out beneath his seat was strangely long. Given the position of the oil lamp, it shouldn't have reached that far. The tip of the shadow had crept past the legs of the seat, crossed the aisle, and reached the opposite wall.
“My shadow... it’s acting weird.”
“Don’t touch it.”
Kuon’s voice was sharp.
“Your shadow is stretching because it is gathering the residue of Names. This train runs along the path of Names. Your shadow is soaking up the fragments of Names scattered across the tracks.”
Asahi dropped to one knee in the aisle and peered at the tip of Koyoi’s shadow.
“...There are characters.”
Faintly glowing characters were surfacing within the darkness of the shadow. They were illegible, yet they were undeniably part of someone’s Name.
“This thing—” Asahi looked up. “It’s what’s left of the shadow we cut at the railroad crossing. Someone who had their Name stolen must have dropped their shadow onto these tracks.”
The train accelerated. The clatter of the wheels grew louder. Outside the window, the mist thickened, beginning to choke out the light. The flame of the oil lamp tilted to the side, and the shadows on the walls swayed in unison.
Koyoi’s shadow swayed too—but in the opposite direction of the others.
The drawstring pouch at his waist pulsed. It felt warm. Shizuku was reacting to the Name inside the shadow.
“This Name... maybe it’s someone Shizuku knows.”
Koyoi placed the pouch on his lap. Through the cloth, he could feel a small, steady heartbeat.
Kuon opened his Catalog. On a blank page, the lines of a nautical chart remained faintly visible—the three lines they had traced at the harbor: North, West, and Down.
“Names can travel through shadows as well. If the true essence is a thread of light, then the shadow is the reverse side of the Name. Unless both the front and back are gathered, a Name cannot return to its complete form.”
Koyoi looked at his shadow once more.
At the tip of the elongated shadow, the characters were slowly fading. Every time the train passed through, the fragments of Names upon the tracks were being scattered by the wind.
“Can’t we pick them up before they disappear?”
“To pick them up, you must call them. But it is still too early. If you call out now, you will reveal our location to the Observers.”
Asahi leaned his back against the window, crossing his arms and closing his eyes.
“Don’t hurry. Shadows don’t hurry. Those who rush are the first whose shadows tear away.”
The train continued its journey through the mist.
Nothing could be seen through the windows. There was only sound: the rhythmic beat of wheels striking the tracks and the low, metallic groan of the couplings. Between those two sounds, there was one more—a faint, delicate noise.
It was the sound of Names rolling along the tracks.
It was a small, rounded sound, like pebbles tumbling along a riverbed. Koyoi strained his ears. The sound flowed in the opposite direction of the train’s progress. The Names were heading away from them.
“They aren't going North,” Koyoi whispered. “This sound... it’s flowing backward. The Names are going back.”
Kuon turned a page in the Catalog. The lines of the chart were trembling slightly on the paper.
“They aren’t going back. They are being pulled back.”
The blue light of his prosthetic eye intensified. Kuon’s expression was grim.
“It’s the Observers. They are trying to re-collect the Names released from the Repository. They’ve set a trap on the tracks, using the fragments left in the shadows as bait.”
The train jolted.
The oil lamp nearly flickered out, plunging the cabin into darkness. Koyoi’s shadow expanded and contracted repeatedly on the floor, and with every pulse, the characters within the shadow flashed.
The pouch pulsed violently. It was almost painful.
Shizuku was pleading—begging to save the Name within this shadow before it was pulled away.
Koyoi wrapped both hands around the pouch.
“It’s okay. You’re still here.”
His voice was small, but it sent a ripple through the cold air of the carriage.
The characters in the shadow flashed brilliantly for a single heartbeat. Then, they sank quietly into the darkness, vanishing as if dissolving into Koyoi’s own shadow.
The train did not stop. The mist did not clear.
But the warmth of the pouch remained, a steady presence against the palms of his hands.