At the very tip of the cape stood a small shrine.
It was a crude thing, little more than three stones piled together, lacking even a roof. Its edges had been rounded by the relentless salt wind, its surface worn so smooth that even moss failed to take root. Yet, propped against its center was a bronze mirror, no larger than a palm.
"A mirror," Koyoi murmured.
Its surface was choked with green verdigris, reflecting nothing at all. It looked like nothing more than a weathered scrap of ancient metal.
Kuon stepped closer, narrowing his artificial eye. The moment its pale blue light swept across the mirror’s surface like a searching tongue, the bronze shuddered.
A faint vibration. It traveled through the stone pedestal, reaching the soles of Koyoi’s feet.
"It’s responding," Kuon whispered.
He gradually increased the intensity of the artificial eye. As the blue light focused at the center of the mirror, the original reddish luster of the copper began to bleed through from beneath the green patina.
The mirror was waking up.
Koyoi held his breath. An image was beginning to coalesce on the surface.
The reflection did not show the three of them.
It showed the shrine. The very same shrine—yet different. It had a roof. Sacred shimenawa ropes were strung across it, and a stone path was laid before the base. Tiny white flowers peeked through the cracks in the paving stones; he didn't know their name, but they swayed gently in the salt breeze.
"It’s the past," Kuon said, his voice taut. "This mirror isn't reflecting the 'now.' It has preserved the sight of this place from before the Observer erased the record."
Asahi peered into the mirror. "…There’s a well."
Koyoi leaned in as well. To the right of the shrine within the mirror, he saw a well made of fitted stone. It had a mossy curbstone and a wooden lid. Resting atop the lid was a small ladle.
He looked around at the actual cape. There was no well. Not even a trace of stonework remained. The ground was nothing but flat bedrock; not a single fragment of evidence suggested that something had once stood there.
"It was erased," Koyoi’s voice trembled. "The well, the roof, the flowers—everything."
Kuon focused his gaze even more intently on the image. As the blue light of his eye intensified, the scene within the mirror grew vivid. He could see characters carved into the curbstone of the well.
"There are names. The names of the donors are engraved on the rim."
"Can you read them?" Asahi asked.
Kuon strained his vision, the blue light tracing the characters stroke by stroke.
"Three of them. Shioji, Nagisa, Asanagi. The names of those who dug this well."
Koyoi pulled out the transcript. He cross-referenced the names with the ones they had yet to find among the fifty-one. His fingers shook.
"Shioji is here. Number seventeen in the transcript."
"Nagisa, too. Number twenty-three."
Kuon nodded. "This well was a place meant to hold names. The Observer knew that, and so they erased the well entirely. They struck it from the records and wiped it from the earth. But only the mirror remained."
"Why just the mirror?"
Kuon paused for a beat. "Because a mirror is a reflection, not a record. A record can be deleted. But a reflection—as long as there is light, it does not vanish. The Observer’s erasure targets the record. The medium of 'reflection' fell outside the scope of their deletion."
Koyoi started to reach for the mirror, then stopped himself. If he touched it, it might break. This single, thin sheet of copper was the final proof that a well had once existed here.
Inside the mirror, the surface of the well water rippled slightly. Catching the light, a silver ring of ripples expanded outward.
"There’s water."
"Water from the past. It’s gone now."
Kuon looked away from the mirror. As the light from his artificial eye faded, the mirror returned to a simple slab of copper covered in verdigris. The image vanished. The well vanished. The flowers vanished.
But the names remained, etched into their transcript.
Asahi stood at the very edge of the cape, looking down at the sea. Gray waves were battering the rocks.
"The well is gone. But we retrieved the names. That should be enough."
"Like hell it is," Koyoi said in a low voice. He was surprised by the flash of anger in his own tone. "There’s nothing left where the well used to be. The place where flowers bloomed is just bare rock. I don’t want to just 'pick up the names' and call it finished."
Asahi looked at Koyoi. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then returned his gaze to the sea.
"…I suppose you’re right."
Kuon noted the mirror's location in his ledger. The coordinates of the well. The names of the donors. The layout of the past as preserved in the mirror. One by one, he translated the images memorized by his artificial eye into text.
"It’s best we don’t break the mirror. If there are other erased locations, there's a chance we can see their past using the same method."
The three of them left the shrine behind.
The bronze mirror stood silently atop the stones in the salt wind. It reflected nothing. But deep inside, it still cradled the light from the time when this place was alive.
Koyoi turned back just once. The surface of the verdigris glowed dully, catching the light of the setting sun.