Nautical charts do not depict what lies beyond their edges. The page Kuon showed him was cut clean at the margin. It wasn’t torn; it had simply never gone any further.
"…This is the end," Kuon said.
Koyoi stared at the white space of the page. Seeing the lines simply cease made a faint ache tighten in his chest—the phantom pain of a severed path.
"What’s beyond the edge?"
"Beyond the edge isn't a map. It’s… the 'outside.'"
Asahi let out a short laugh. "So we just step outside, right?"
Kuon nodded. "You just step out. That’s why it’s frightening. Outside the map, names are the first things to die."
Koyoi gripped his drawstring pouch, feeling for the warmth of the Shizuku. The warmth was there. But the lines of the path were gone.
Kuon placed a finger on the edge of the page and traced it slowly.
"The edge of the chart is also the edge of the boundary. Once you cross it, you’re the one who has to draw the line to lead you back."
Koyoi caught his breath. "Shiori-san said the same thing. 'From here on, you are the one who writes.'"
Kuon gave a thin smile. "It’s the same thing."
Asahi tapped the hilt of his sword. "If you’re going to write, then start walking."
The three of them closed the book and turned toward the fog ahead. The edge of the chart. It wasn’t a destination; it was a brink from which to step out.
Kuon tapped the white margin one last time. The paper gave a faint, sharp click.
"The edge is scary. But if all you do is fear it, you’ll be trapped inside the lines forever."
Koyoi nodded. He tightened his grip on the notebook Shiori had left him.
"…If I’m going to write, I suppose I should start with a single line."
The edge of a nautical chart is white. That is why the first stroke of a pen is so vivid.
Koyoi opened the notebook. He pressed a brush, still dark with ink, against the blank page. He drew a single line. It was short.
Yet, it was the very first path ever drawn outside the map.
The fog began to thin, and beyond it, the silhouette of a land that did not yet have a name began to rise.