The train lurched violently. It wasn't just a shudder—it was trying to come to a halt.
Wheels shrieked against the rails, sending a spray of sparks dancing past the window.
"What’s happening?"
Asahi stood, eyes narrowing.
Shadows flickered against the glass. Beyond the mist, something was keeping pace with the train. They held the shape of men, but they were not human. Their silhouettes wavered, bodies composed of raw information.
"The Observers' retrieval squad," Kuon muttered, clutching the codex to his chest. His prosthetic eye strobed with a frantic, rhythmic light. "They’ve sensed the collapse of the Scriptary. They're here to reclaim the liberated Names. They’re trying to bring this train to a dead stop."
Another jolt rocked the carriage. Their speed began to bleed away.
Outside, the shadows multiplied.
Three.
Five.
Seven...
Koyoi tightened his grip on his pouch. It felt warm, but it was trembling. Shizuku was terrified.
"We aren't getting off," Asahi declared.
His hand went to the hilt of his blade.
"This train isn't stopping. I won't let them stop us."
Asahi strode down the aisle and wrenched open the vestibule door. A blast of frigid air roared into the carriage as he stepped toward the edge, intent on the world outside.
"Asahi!" Koyoi cried out.
He didn't turn back.
"Guard the manuscript. Keep the Names safe. I’ll... I’ll handle the train."
He vanished behind the door, which slammed shut against the gale. From outside, the ring of clashing steel reverberated through the cabin. Asahi’s blade was carving through something. Atop the roof, the screech of metal meeting information echoed.
Slowly, the train began to surge forward again.
Acceleration pressed them into their seats. One by one, the shadows fell away. Through the glass, they saw the shredded remnants of the entities dissolving into the mist. Kuon pressed a hand against the pane.
"His sword... it can actually sever information. He’s physically dismantling the Observers’ soldiers—things no ordinary blade should be able to touch. I have no idea how he’s doing it, but—"
"You don't need to know," Koyoi interrupted.
He hugged the manuscript tight against his heart.
"That’s just who Asahi is."
The door swung open, admitting another gust of cold air and a weary Asahi. He was panting, his shoulders heaving. Dark, oily stains clung to the edge of his blade.
The blood of shadows.
"They're gone. For now," Asahi rasped. "But more will come. The closer we get to Starfall Town, the thicker they’ll be."
He collapsed into his seat. Steam rose from his brow as his sweat hit the chilled air. Koyoi wordlessly held out a flask. He took a single, sharp pull from it before handing it back. The train’s gait steadied.
The rhythm of the wheels returned to a steady, mechanical pulse. Through the window, the distant, hazy glow of Starfall Town began to flicker.
It was still far.
Too far—but they were closing the distance, step by agonizing step.
Asahi handed back the flask and let his head fall against the seat. His sword remained across his knees; his hands never left the grip. The rhythmic thrum of the wheels swallowed their silence, while outside, only the tattered remains of the mist drifted past the glass.