The color of the sand shifted just before the break of dawn.
The reddish hue of the earth began to give way to a pale gold. As the eastern sky turned white, each individual grain of sand began to catch the light. Koyoi felt the change through the soles of his feet as he walked. The temperature of the sand was dropping; the chill of the night still clung to the ground.
"There it is."
Asahi came to a halt.
Beyond the ridgeline, the silhouettes of buildings appeared—low, square outlines huddled together. This was the settlement of Sunamine.
As they drew closer, the structures came into focus. Stone walls were half-buried in the drifts, with only the edges of the roofs jutting out from the earth. They must have been two-story buildings once, but now the ground floors were entirely submerged beneath the sand. One had to walk across the rooftops to reach the entrances.
"It's being swallowed by the sand," Koyoi whispered.
"The sand didn't increase. The records grew thin, and the land shriveled."
Kuon’s artificial eye flickered with a faint light as he surveyed the settlement.
"When a name is lost, the land loses its substance. This place used to be much higher. Every time a name vanished, the ground must have sunk further down."
The morning light began to illuminate the Sunamine settlement.
Traces of characters were visible on the surface of the stone walls. Though faded by wind and rain, they were undeniably engraved there. On gateposts and the corners of walls, the same strings of text appeared repeatedly in the same script. Koyoi approached one and traced it with his finger.
He couldn't read it, but he knew it was writing.
"It’s a record," Kuon said. He opened his ledger, the blue light of his artificial eye illuminating the script on the wall.
"The buildings themselves serve as the recording medium. By carving names into stone, they ensured they could withstand weathering. They are vulnerable to the Bleaching, but they are resistant to physical destruction."
"Who carved them?"
"The people who lived here, most likely. They carved them into the walls to protect the names."
In the center of the settlement stood a well.
A circular rim of stonework rose above the sand. It sat higher than the surrounding buildings, seemingly the only thing that hadn't sunk. The stone rim was thick and meticulously laid; each stone was polished smooth, as if it had been stroked by a thousand palms.
Koyoi placed his hand on the rim. It was cold. The stone held its own temperature, refusing to absorb the heat of the sand.
"I can't see the bottom," Asahi said, peering in.
The depths of the well were dark, but not entirely. Far below, something golden shimmered faintly.
"That’s not water," Asahi remarked.
"Names."
Kuon directed the light of his artificial eye toward the bottom of the well. The blue beam pierced the darkness, revealing the light below.
"The roots of the names are converging at the bottom. This isn't a well for drawing water. It’s a well for submerged protection—a place to keep names safe."
Koyoi looked at the coping stones of the well again.
Characters were carved into the surface—deeper and more delicate than those on the walls. There were signs that they had been re-etched over and over, as if in defiance of the elements.
He traced them, character by character.
It was a name.
A short name. Two characters. He didn't know how to pronounce them, but the shapes were clear. The strength of the person who had carved the stone remained etched in the script.
His drawstring pouch pulsed.
A single, powerful throb. Koyoi instinctively pressed his hand to his chest. Through the fabric, he could feel the trembling of the names within. They recognized it. The twenty-two souls inside the pouch knew the name carved into the well’s stone.
"They’re reacting," Koyoi’s voice was thin. "They... they know this name."
Kuon spread his ledger open. Golden lines began to race across the pages. The roots of the names rising from the depths of the well were attempting to permeate the paper.
"They're connected... even all the way out here?" Kuon exhaled softly. "It’s the same as the Well of Hoshino. The roots are linked underground. This well is part of the network."
Asahi stood on the opposite side of the well, keeping watch. Sunamine was silent; only the sound of the wind and the dry rasp of sand against stone echoed through the ruins. There was no sign of life.
"Are there no inhabitants?"
"They likely left after submerging the names," Kuon said as he began writing in the ledger. His artificial eye darted between the walls and the well, scanning and recording. "The names here haven't been bleached yet. The stone is protecting them. They've weathered, but they haven't been erased."
As the sun climbed higher, the temperature of the sand began to rise.
The stone walls absorbed the heat, and a slow warmth began to spread through the settlement. Koyoi sat on the edge of the well, the pouch resting on his lap. The pulsation of the names continued—a gentle warmth radiating from the cloth in response to the golden light at the bottom of the well.
"Can we take the names from here?" Asahi asked.
Kuon shook his head.
"A name etched in stone cannot be peeled away. They were sealed there for protection. To take them, we would have to move the stones themselves, but that would snap the roots."
"Then what do we do?"
"We record them. We note the location and the names in the ledger. We leave proof that names existed here before the Bleaching arrives."
Kuon increased the output of his eye, reading every character etched into the well's rim. He transcribed them into the ledger in fine, precise handwriting.
Koyoi watched Kuon’s hand, then pressed the pouch to his heart. The pulsing was slowing, settling into a calm rhythm. Perhaps they could sense that their kin were being remembered.
"There are still names left in Sunamine," Koyoi said softly. "I'm glad we came south."
Asahi said nothing, but tapped the hilt of his greatsword—a gesture of silent agreement.
Kuon closed the ledger and stood up.
"Next is Nagisawa. It’s a two-day journey. We’ll need water."
He peered into the well, thinking for a moment.
"It’s a well for names, but that doesn't mean there isn't an aquifer. I'll see if we can draw any."
Kuon reached inside the stone rim. The moment his fingertips touched the inner wall, he felt a faint moisture. The roots of the names were carrying water. It was a thin trickle, but it might be enough to quench a traveler’s thirst.
The three of them spent half a day in the Sunamine settlement.
The water they drew from the well tasted faintly sweet. It tastes like names, Koyoi thought. While Kuon finished recording the inscriptions on the walls, Asahi patrolled the outskirts of the settlement to check the path ahead.
The southern sands never rested. With every gust of wind, footprints vanished and the landscape shifted. But the markers remained—old wooden pillars, buried deep but still pointing the way.
Two days to Nagisawa.
Koyoi gripped his pouch and stood up. He touched the name carved into the well’s rim one last time. Beneath the cold stone, a lingering warmth remained.
He didn't say goodbye.
Instead, he brought the pouch close to the stone. The names inside pulsed in unison, and the name on the well gave a faint, answering shimmer.
They were calling to one another.
Once he was sure of it, Koyoi turned to follow the others. The morning sun of Sunamine shone against their backs, and three long shadows stretched out toward the south.