The buildings lining both sides of the street were nothing more than frozen husks of history, entombed in ice.
Perhaps they had once been merchant houses; through the gaps in the lattice doors, one could glimpse frozen ledgers and abacuses, each warped and distorted beyond recognition under the crushing weight of Universal Logic. As Koyoi felt the frigid air leaking from those slivers of space, his heart ached. Countless memories of ordinary life were trapped within, destined to remain frozen and unread by any soul.
The droplet within his silk pouch trembled faintly, pulsing in sympathy with its master’s sorrow. Particles of information began to drift down like snow, piling upon his shoulders. When he reached up to brush them away, his fingertip brushed against a single grain; for a fleeting heartbeat, the laughter of someone from a distant age echoed in the depths of his ears, only to vanish as quickly as it had come. With every step along the stone pavement, the temperature plummeted further, sending a piercing chill through the soles of his sandals.
Koyoi gritted his teeth, forcing himself forward one steady step at a time. The pale blue light bleeding from the windows of the frozen buildings cast a row of jagged, uneven shadows along the street, creating the haunting illusion of an invisible crowd watching their every move. The silence that followed the fading strike of the wooden clappers was deeper than before—a void so heavy it threatened to swallow even the sound of their three heartbeats.
Kuon sat with the Catalog spread across his knees, the azure glow of his prosthetic eye casting a sharp light onto the pages.
Asahi kept his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his gaze fixed on the furthest reaches of the street. Each time Kuon’s arcane eye scanned the text, it left a trail of blue light hanging in the air like an afterimage, swirling with the drifting information particles to form strange, intricate patterns. The pages of the Catalog seemed to be drinking in the dregs of the records accumulated in this place; new characters began to bleed onto what should have been blank margins. Kuon’s brow furrowed deeper as he read, enduring a dull, grinding pain that emanated from deep within the socket of his eye.
Asahi’s hand remained motionless upon his hilt, his senses perfectly attuned to the presence of the unseen threats lurking within the chill wind blowing from the street’s end. His eyes shone with the sharp intensity of a predator prowling the dark, piercing through the deep gloom of the Frozen Tier. Standing between the two of them, Koyoi clutched his pouch to his chest, listening intently to the echoes of memories vibrating from the frozen buildings on either side.
Only the faint, rhythmic warmth of the droplet against his chest served as an invisible thread, tethering the three of them together in this world of ice. The sound of the clappers rang out again from the distance, their resonance reflecting off the icy walls and layering upon itself until the street was filled with a chorus of lament.
“...Don't call out. The moment you call for the morning of Namizato, your ‘True Name’ will slip away with it.”
When Kuon looked up, the light in his eye flickered for an instant, revealing a flash of hidden agony that Koyoi didn't miss. The fact that calling a name in this place was synonymous with surrendering the very core of one's being lay heavy in the frozen air. The flickering of the lanterns grew violent, and the darkness surging from the depths of the street began to lap at their feet.
Kuon quietly closed the Catalog, pressing his palm against the cover as if to steady his own breathing. When he pulled his hand away, a white, frosted print of his palm remained on the leather. If one were to lose the anchor of their name, their soul would be swept away by the currents of Providence, never to regain its original shape.
Through his eye, Kuon had witnessed that cruel reality more times than he cared to remember.
“...I know. But... I can hear them. The voices of those children... they're calling out so desperately from beneath the ice.”
Koyoi answered with his head bowed.
His voice was small, yet it carried a weight that made the air tremble. As he pressed the pouch against his chest, the warmth of the droplet synchronized with his own heartbeat through the thin fabric. The voices he claimed to hear rising from beneath the frost were the final cries of the gods, audible to his ears alone.
Deep within the frozen records, those stripped of their names were reaching out, their ghostly fingertips straining for salvation. Every time he sensed them, Koyoi felt as if his heart would burst; a stinging heat rose behind his eyes. He bit his lip hard to keep the tears at bay, the metallic taste of iron spreading across his tongue.
Yet even that pain was a trivial thing compared to the sheer desperation of the voices echoing from the depths. Koyoi wound the drawstring of the pouch around his finger, clenching his small fist tight, determined never to let go of the droplet’s warmth.
Asahi stood behind them, his back to the group as he guarded their retreat. He tightened his grip on his sword, his piercing gaze cutting through the shadows swaying on either side of the street.
He sensed instinctively that in this place, the very path they had taken could vanish at any moment, rewritten by the laws of Providence. It was for this reason he stood like a fortress behind them, prepared never to take a single step back. He didn't even bother to brush away the information particles piling on his shoulders; he simply drove his existence into the boundary between the darkness ahead and the light behind like a wedge.
The wind howling through the icy street whipped his hair, but his frame remained as immovable as an ancient trunk. Whatever waited for them at the end of this frozen path, Asahi remained certain in the silence: as long as he had his blade and his two companions, a path would be carved.
“...Let's move. We left the answers back there.”
Asahi spoke as he shifted the weight of the sword on his shoulder. There wasn't a trace of hesitation in his voice; it possessed a vivid sharpness that seemed to cleave through the frozen air. The blade caught the lantern light as he moved, flashing white for a brief second—a flash that drew a thin line of light deep into the darkness of the street.
Koyoi followed that trail of light with his eyes, feeling the temperature of the unwavering resolve radiating from Asahi’s back. Kuon rose without a word, tucking the Catalog into his robes before turning his gaze toward the depths. The three of them began to walk further into the Frozen Tier, brushing the accumulating information particles from their shoulders as they headed toward the place where the unseen truth waited.
The resonance of memories leaking from the frozen lattice doors trembled faintly, as if reacting to the rhythm of their footsteps. It was as though the trapped souls had woken for a single heartbeat, stirred by the warmth of the living, only to sink back into a profound slumber. Their footsteps carved a steady meter into the stone pavement—the only remaining proof of life in that desolate, frozen world.
The darkness of the Frozen Tier was deep, appearing to stretch on for eternity, but the three did not falter. Their journey continued.