The cobblestones of Hoshino were splintering, but not as they had before. The golden light bleeding through the fissures was more intense now, surging upward as if being pushed from deep beneath the earth.
Koyoi took his place in the center of the plaza—right where the pedestal had once stood.
This was the spot where he had summoned the very first spirit back. The roots of the names he’d planted here were supposed to have spread deep below ground, but now they were breaking the surface. Golden, vine-like tendrils were creeping out from the cracks in the stone.
They intertwined, coiling into a spiral as they reached upward. They stood about knee-high now, each as thick as a finger.
“It’s a well.”
Kuon watched the vines through his prosthetic eye, his voice trembling.
“The names... they’re building a well.”
The spiraling vines were knitting themselves into a circular structure. This wasn't a well of stone. It was a well woven from the roots of names. It shimmered with a golden heat. When Koyoi reached out to touch it, he could feel it thrumming. The pulse of thirteen spirits was beating here, in unison.
“They made this themselves... to replace the one that was destroyed?”
Asahi reached for a vine. The moment his skin made contact, a golden glow enveloped his fingertips. It was warm.
“These guys... they’re incredible.”
Koyoi knelt, resting his hands on the lip of the new well, and peered into its depths. He couldn't see the bottom, but a breeze came rushing up from the dark. It wasn't cold. It was a warm wind—the very breath of the names.
“This well... it can catch the names as they fall from the sky.”
Kuon was taking measurements. The tips of the vines were still lengthening—slowly, but with absolute certainty.
“Even with the man-made wells gone, the names are fashioning their own. This is...” Kuon trailed off, his mechanical eye fixed on the base of the vines. “It’s exactly what the First God spent a thousand years trying to achieve. The names are creating their own sanctuary—a place to call home.”
A single thread of gold drifted down from the heavens. It fell straight toward the new well. Even without Koyoi’s summons, the well was drawing the name in. The thread vanished into the opening.
A new vine sprouted. That made twenty-two.
Koyoi lifted his hands from the rim, the golden warmth still lingering against his palms.
The wind shifted. It didn't come from the sea anymore; it was a gale of spirits, surging up from deep within the earth. Another vine peeked out from a gap in the stones.