How far had they walked since disembarking from the Mist Train?
At the furthest reaches of the Port of Charts, the scent of cold iron reached them even before the brine of the sea. The stone path stretching toward the water’s edge melted into the fog, its origins lost to some forgotten era. Though the stones beneath their feet weren't damp, they felt bitingly cold, numbing the fingertips at a single touch.
In this place, your body understood instinctively: what "soaked" you here wasn't water, but records.
Beyond the veil, there was a light.
It wasn't a beacon on the shore. Nor was it the glow of a town.
It was a tiny point, so distant its flicker was invisible, yet it remained, stubbornly unextinguished. Someone was holding it up deep within the layers of mist, like a silent signal.
Koyoi forgot to blink. Because it was unreachable, the light seemed composed. A light that remains out of reach leaves little room for lies.
Lies always flicker more flashily, much closer at hand.
"...The distance doesn't add up."
Kuon closed his catalog.
The blue light of his prosthetic eye sharpened for a moment, then dimmed.
"On the map, everything beyond this point is 'white.' Blank space. And yet, there is a light. Someone is writing over the white."
"Someone... you mean, an Observer?" Koyoi asked.
Kuon shrugged. "An Observer, a god, anyone. The question is whether that light is 'measuring us' or 'waiting for us.'"
Koyoi tightened his grip on his drawstring pouch. The warmth of the Droplet vibrated softly deep in his chest, clashing with the coldness of that distant light.
"...Is it calling to us?"
"If it’s calling, it comes with a price," Kuon said, though he didn't look away. His expression wasn't one of fear, but of calculation.
Asahi silently rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, casting his gaze into the fog. "...I like that it's far away."
"Huh?"
"Traps close by have a thick scent. Distant lights smell faint. And if it's faint... that means we can still 'choose.'"
Asahi’s words were blunt, yet they brought a strange sense of relief.
Koyoi exhaled, testing the stone beneath his feet with a step. The light remained distant, refusing to hide from his eyes.
This journey, he realized, was about re-measuring the distance to the light. Not pretending to reach what was unreachable, but walking until he finally did. That simple truth was the hardest thing to hold onto here.
Beyond the mist, the light gave a tiny pulse. It looked ready to vanish, yet it held on. And just around that point of light, the fog seemed a fraction thinner.
"It's waiting," Kuon whispered. "At least for now."
Koyoi nodded.
The bell didn't ring, but the light was alive in the distance.
One light meant one well was still alive. A Name still lived there, keeping the glow burning. As many lights as there were, that many names remained.
But the gaps between them were wide.
Koyoi had noticed it. To the left and right of that first light, there was no sign of another. Long stretches of dark mist passed before the next glow appeared. The further they got into the harbor, the wider those gaps grew.
"...The lights are decreasing."
"Not decreasing. Erased," Kuon said, opening his catalog. Chart lines ran across the pages. As he marked the positions of the lights, it became clear they were once packed much closer together.
"At this scale, there used to be a light every ten steps. Now, there’s only one every three hundred. The shadows left by the Observers destroying the wells... that’s what this darkness is."
Three hundred steps of pitch black. Walking through it without a name.
Koyoi looked at the distant light. Small, fragile, yet persistent. Walking toward it was the only thing they could do.
Asahi took the lead.
"Let’s go. Toward the light. I’ll be the first to step into the dark."
Footsteps struck the stone path. Only the sound of three people's movements echoed rhythmically through the mist.
The light was far.
It stayed far, but it didn't go out. That distance was the most certain compass they had.