The ground of Hoshino remembered. There, where the manuscripts had been laid out before—along the row of stone monuments—traces of light remained on the earth. They had not faded.
Though faint, they were undeniably glowing. And they had spread further than before.
Roots of light crept through the cracks in the cobblestones, stretching out in all directions.
Koyoi knelt at the base of a monument. As he brought his drawstring pouch closer to the ground, the light pulsed in response. It was stronger now.
The roots began to reach toward the pouch.
"It’s growing," Koyoi whispered.
Kuon peered at the ground through his prosthetic eye, searching beneath the surface.
"The data in the sedimentary layers is activating. By placing the manuscripts here, you’ve stimulated the afterimages of the erased names. One afterimage calls to another, and they amplify each other."
"Amplify?"
"The names are remembering one another. When one name is activated, the one that stood beside it also wakes. It’s a chain reaction."
Koyoi took out the bundle of manuscripts. Fifty-one sheets in total.
He began to lay them out one by one along the row of monuments. Asahi picked up small pebbles and placed them on the corners of the papers to hold them down.
The light intensified. What had been a mere glimmer now clearly illuminated the base of the stones. The characters on the manuscripts and the light in the earth seemed to pull at one another.
"I call them."
Koyoi sat before the first manuscript. He read the name. He gave it voice. It was a small, quiet sound. In the frozen square, only Koyoi's voice resonated.
A spark of light leaped from the ground.
It flared intensely for a single heartbeat. Though it settled quickly, the reaction was unmistakable.
The second. The third.
Koyoi turned the pages of the manuscripts one by one, reading each name aloud. His voice grew hoarse, but he did not stop.
Asahi sat down beside him. When Koyoi read a name, Asahi repeated it.
Asahi’s voice was thick and low.
In a timbre entirely different from Koyoi’s, he called the same names.
The light doubled. Every time their voices intersected, the light on the ground traced complex, intricate patterns. The overlapping of their voices gave the names a clearer, sharper definition.
The seventh sheet. The name of Shizuku’s older brother.
Koyoi’s voice trembled.
The pouch felt hot against his skin. Light spilled through the fabric.
He called the name.
From the sky, a single golden thread descended. It was thin and fragile. It swayed in the wind, looking as though it might snap at any moment. And yet, it descended steadily from the heavens toward the earth.
The name was trying to return home.
The tip of the thread touched the light on the ground. The light burst.
A flash like a miniature explosion illuminated the base of the stone monument.
After the brilliance faded, characters remained on the ground.
It was the name. Faint, but certain, it was etched into the surface of the cobblestones. A name that had previously existed only within the inkwells of the Scriptory was now carved into the earth of this world.
"One has returned," Kuon breathed.
Koyoi reached for the next manuscript. His fingertips were shaking.
He could feel himself becoming thin. His own outlines were starting to smudge and bleed into the air.
Asahi gripped his shoulder.
"Rest. We'll do the rest later."
Koyoi tried to shake his head. Asahi’s grip tightened.
"You can’t do this all in one go. If you vanish, who’s going to call the ones that are left?"
Koyoi’s hand stopped.
The warmth of the pouch merged with the warmth of Asahi’s hand on his shoulder.
The name on the ground emitted a soft, steady glow. It was only one. But it had truly, certainly come back.
The manuscripts laid out along the monuments fluttered slightly in the night wind. The light of the name carved into the earth flickered in rhythm with the characters on the pages, as if they were whispering to one another.
Beneath Asahi’s hand, Koyoi slowly curled his translucent fingers into a fist. The warmth was the only thing that still felt real.