“Hey. There’s something out there.”
Asahi pointed out the window.
Amidst the sea of liquid records, a gray mass jutted out. Its edges had been rounded by the steady erosion of the current, yet it was clearly man-made—a stone pylon.
“The remains of a harbor.”
Kuon cross-referenced the sight with the nautical charts in his index.
“Yoinamihama once had a port. It was built for transporting names. Long before it became a penal colony, it served as a transit point for them.”
A second pylon appeared.
Then a third.
They were spaced at regular intervals—the skeletal supports of what must have once been a pier. Their heads barely broke the surface, enduring the weight of the flow.
“If we get down there, we’ll have a foothold,” Asahi said, his gaze fixed on the pillars.
“And once we’re down? Are you planning to dive into the fluid?”
“I’m not diving in. We’ll use those pylons as a platform to dip Koyoi’s manuscripts into the liquid. We’re going to fish for the names.”
Kuon fell silent. His artificial eye whirred as it observed the pylons.
“...The logic is sound. The manuscripts are paper specifically meant for recording names. Once a name has dissolved, it inherently seeks to adhere back to its original recording medium. If we use the manuscripts like a net—”
“Exactly.”
Asahi crossed his arms. The train began to slow, and the rhythm of the wheels shifted.
It was no longer the sound of metal on track. It was the sound of something sliding over liquid.
The rails were starting to melt.
“If we keep going, we’ll derail. The nearest solid ground is—”
Kuon checked the charts again.
“The old pier at Yoinamihama. Right where those pylons are. That’s the only place where a firm foundation remains.”
The train came to a halt.
The sensation of the wheels sinking into the liquid vibrated through the floorboards and into the soles of their feet.
Koyoi pulled the seven manuscripts closer to his chest. Outside the window, the three gray pylons stood defiant against the current. Around one of them, he saw it: a faint, shimmering shroud of golden light.
The light gathered at the base of the pillar, swirling in a vortex beneath the surface. They were the shadows of dissolved names. Fragmented characters huddled together, as if trying to remember the shapes they once held.
The same golden blur haunted all three pylons. The names were trying to return to the harbor they once knew.