When the tide receded, a void remained. It wasn't sand. It wasn't water. It was nothing. Waves did not reach that spot, and so, sound did not either. A fragment of the world was holding its breath.
Koyoi stood at the edge of the void. he started to extend a foot, then pulled it back. It wasn't that he would sink if he stepped there; it felt as though the very fact of his stepping would simply drop away the moment he did.
Kuon spoke.
“A void in the tide is a void in the Record. ...If you drop a word here, you can never pick it up again.”
Asahi snorted.
“So, we can’t pass?”
“We can. ...Just don’t make it a matter of record that you did.”
Koyoi remained silent, unable to grasp the meaning.
Kuon tossed a pebble. The stone did not fall. It stopped atop the void and slowly faded into nothingness.
Koyoi’s throat tightened.
“...It’s scary.”
“Fear is the correct response. ...The void wears a gentle face while it takes everything from you.”
Asahi moved first. He thrust his scabbard toward the void and struck the edge. A dry sound rang out. For a fleeting second, the void’s silhouette became visible.
“...Steer clear of this spot.”
Asahi spoke without averting his eyes.
Koyoi nodded and detoured around the void. It did not chase him. It simply existed there.
As he skirted the edge, Koyoi made sure not to hold his breath. A breath held is a breath the void consumes.
Kuon whispered.
“The void looks larger the more you fear it. ...So, don't count your fears. Count your steps.”
Koyoi nodded, counting the rhythm of his feet only within his heart.
When the tide rose, the voids would be hidden. But they would not vanish. Beneath the water, the holes where the Record had been peeled away would remain exactly as they were. Navigating by the sensation of his soles alone, Koyoi avoided those moth-eaten hollows in the seabed. One misstep, and he would fall—his very name falling with him. In silence, the three of them walked, choosing only the path where the Record still remained, picking their way through the spaces between the voids.