It hadn't rained.
And yet, the stone wall was wet.
It wasn't the spray carried by the sea breeze; they were far from the shoreline. Here, in the back alleys of the port town, stood a high stone retaining wall. Upon its surface, moisture was slowly, steadily seeping out.
Koyoi came to a halt.
Something was emerging on the face of the wall. Beneath the thin film of water, there were characters.
"…Kuon, look."
Kuon turned around. The blue light from his artificial eye swept across the wall like a tongue licking the stone.
"Names," he said.
Faint ink characters were bleeding out onto the wet stone. One character, then two. The ghost of a brushstroke remained. Someone had written names upon this wall.
On the dry surface of the stone, nothing could be seen. Only when the wall took on moisture did the letters surface.
"The surface was erased. An 'Observer' scraped the ink away. But the stone is deep, and the ink had settled into its heart. When water soaks in, the ink from the depths floats to the surface."
Kuon placed his hand against the wall. His fingertips glowed blue, peering through the cross-section of the stone as if it were transparent.
"…It’s sunk as deep as the third layer. These are ancient. A considerable amount of time has passed since they were erased."
Koyoi pressed his own fingertips to the wall. It was cold. Not the simple chill of water, but the coldness of forgotten time.
With the pad of his finger, he traced the characters.
The first stroke. A horizontal line. The second stroke. A downward plunge, then a flick to the right.
It was part of a name. Within the crumbling glyphs, someone’s identity was still, surely, drawing breath.
"…I can read it," Koyoi murmured. "Minato."
the moment his voice touched the stone, the moisture trembled. The characters surfaced vividly for a heartbeat before quietly sinking back in. By being called, the name had woken up for a fleeting instant.
Asahi, standing with his back to them at the alley's entrance, spoke up. "There are more."
They looked further down the retaining wall. Ten paces, twenty paces. As far as the stone wall stretched, wet patches were dotted along its length. In each damp spot, a different set of characters shimmered.
Koyoi walked along, tracing them one by one.
"Shizuku."
"Kanata."
"Aoba."
Every time he spoke them aloud, the characters shivered. And every time, they grew a little fainter. A name reaches the world of the living by being called, but the caller’s voice is also slightly scraped away in the process.
The back of his throat began to sting. By the time he had called the third name, his voice had grown husky.
"…Koyoi, stop."
Kuon grabbed his shoulder.
"Your voice is thinning. Don’t call too many at once."
Koyoi looked at his own hands. His fingertips were white. It wasn't that the blood had left them; the very color itself was fading. With every name he summoned, his own outline grew a fraction more blurred.
"…I’m fine. I can still read them."
"You aren't fine, which is why I’m telling you to stop."
Kuon’s voice was cold, but the hand gripping his shoulder was firm.
Asahi stepped in front of the wall. "I’ll read them. You rest."
Before Koyoi could shake his head, Asahi had already placed a finger on the stone. His rugged fingertips traced the characters with surprising gentleness.
"…How do you read this one?"
"‘Tsumugi.’"
"Tsumugi."
Asahi’s voice was thick and low. It resonated against the wall like a strike. The characters shuddered violently, and a single drop of water fell from the stone. Within that falling drop, a single thread of light was entwined.
A name had descended back to the earth.
Kuon opened his catalog and recorded the name that had fallen. His artificial eye moved busily.
"The way they descend changes depending on how they are called. With Koyoi’s voice, the names wake up quietly. With Asahi’s, they are jolted awake. Which is better depends on the name itself."
Koyoi leaned against the wall. The color slowly returned to his fingertips. Inside his pouch, the Shizuku pulsed with a warm heartbeat, sending out heat as if to replenish the color he had lost.
Further down the alley, the wet walls continued.
Countless names were waiting for moisture deep within the stone. Erased but not entirely gone, they showed their faces for a mere second every time the rain came or the sea breeze blew.
Koyoi stood up.
"I might not be able to do them all, but I’ll call the ones I can see."
"Then we go in turns. Don't carry it all on your own."
Asahi stood beside him. Kuon held his catalog ready, prepared to record.
The three of them began to walk along the wall.
They would read a wet name, and when a voice grew thin, they would switch. The summoned names dripped from the stone, soaked into the ground, and sank into the earth. Searching for a well.
By the time they reached the end of the wall, Koyoi’s fingertips were chilled to the bone. But the pulse in his pouch was warm, and that warmth supported his feet as he headed toward the next wall.
As they emerged from the alley, the sky was beginning to turn white.
Beyond the wet stone wall, the roar of the sea echoed low in the distance.