A light stood upon the sand.
Even as night fell, the sand did not cool. Retaining the heat of the day, it continued to slowly sear the soles of their feet. The three of them walked on even after sunset. Kuon said that the stars did not appear because fine particles of sand covered the sky. The moon was also nowhere to be seen. They advanced through the darkness, relying solely on the sensation beneath their feet.
In that darkness, there was a light.
One in the distance. A small, unwavering light.
"Is it a fire?"
Asahi narrowed his eyes.
"No."
Kuon turned his artificial eye toward it. A blue light pierced the darkness, illuminating the light source.
"It is a sand lantern."
As they drew closer, it took a shape similar to an andon lantern. However, it was made of neither wood nor paper. Sand had hardened to form the frame, into which thin plates resembling glass were fitted. Inside the glass, something golden was glowing.
There was no wick. There was no oil. It was not fire. And yet, it glowed.
Koyoi crouched before the sand lantern and brought his face close to the glass.
Within the golden light, something resembling characters could be seen. They were crumbling so much they could barely maintain their shape, but originally, they had been characters. They had been names.
"A name is burning," Koyoi's voice trembled.
"Inside the glass, a name is burning and glowing."
Kuon directed his artificial eye toward the interior of the sand lantern. The blue light permeated the glass, reading the internal structure.
"It is a fragment of a name. Not a complete name. A portion of a name, like the fragments that rode the wind in Kazasato, is sealed inside the glass. It is oxidizing and emitting light."
"Oxidizing?"
"When names are exposed to the air, they crumble bit by bit. In that process of crumbling, they emit heat and light. The sand lantern traps that reaction within the glass and uses it as light."
Asahi struck the pillar of the sand lantern. The sand frame was hard, absorbing the vibration of his fist.
"So you're saying they're burning names to light the path?"
"Yes. They are shaving away the lifespan of the name and converting it into light."
The sand lantern was not the only one.
Once their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they could see points of light lined up in the distance. At equal intervals, in a straight line. Like a path marked out in the desert, the sand lanterns stood.
The three of them walked along those lights.
The light of the sand lanterns was warm. But it was not the warmth of kindness. It was a calculated temperature. A precisely controlled heat meant to maintain a constant rate at which the names crumbled.
"I wonder how long these lights have been here?"
Koyoi looked up at the second sand lantern. The sand of the frame had become rounded from weathering, its surface polished smooth. It was a shape that had endured many long years.
Kuon stopped before the third sand lantern.
Characters were carved into the surface of the frame. They were different from the records on the walls. One single line, in a refined script. Kuon increased the output of his artificial eye and read the characters.
"It is an inscription."
Kuon's voice changed. It did not carry his usual analytical tone, but held a resonance as though something had struck him.
"What does it say?"
Asahi asked.
Kuon paused for a beat.
"『Before the White comes, I leave a path』"
The three of them fell silent.
Only the dry sound of wind carrying sand and striking the glass of the sand lanterns echoed.
"Does 'White' mean the Bleaching?"
Asahi said.
"Yes. Whoever made these sand lanterns knew that the Bleaching was coming. Foreseeing that names would be erased, they sought to leave a path before they vanished."
Kuon opened his catalog and transcribed the inscription. The blue light of his artificial eye wavered. It was a sign that his emotions were stirred.
"From what era is this?"
Asahi asked.
"I do not know. But judging by the degree of weathering on the sand lanterns, they are considerably old. Before the Bleaching began in earnest. It may even be from before the Observer began the management of names."
Koyoi touched the inscription with his fingers. The characters were carved deeply. Strength was poured into every single stroke.
"This person made the lights for the sake of the future," Koyoi's voice was quiet.
"Knowing that names would be erased, they still tried to leave a path."
Kuon stopped before the fourth sand lantern.
"The light is weak."
When he turned his artificial eye toward it, the gold inside the glass had faded. The fragment of the name was almost entirely burned out. The few remaining slivers flickered as if squeezing out their final light.
The fifth was the same. The sixth was even weaker.
The further they followed the line of lights, the dimmer they became.
"The names are nearly exhausted," Koyoi stopped.
"If names are the fuel, then once the names are gone, the lights will go out too."
"That is correct," Kuon nodded.
"The one who made the sand lanterns sealed in a vast quantity of name fragments, designing them to last for hundreds of years. However, as the Bleaching progressed and the names in the surroundings decreased, replenishment became impossible. The light that remains now is the very last of the embers from the names originally sealed within."
Asahi looked toward the end of the line.
"The lights further ahead might already be extinguished."
"Yes. The reach of the sand lanterns' light may end here."
Koyoi crouched before a dying sand lantern.
Inside the glass, the last fragment of a name flickered. A faint gold. It was less than a single character, a radiance that had almost lost its form.
The pouch reacted.
Small, weak. It was not a strong pulsation like the one before the well. But it was certainly trembling. There was a sensation as if the names inside the pouch were reaching out toward the dying name.
"Can we not save it?"
Koyoi looked at Kuon.
"Could we put the name inside the glass into the pouch?"
Kuon shook his head.
"It no longer maintains the form of a name. Even if moved to the pouch, it would simply collapse as a fragment. One cannot prolong the life of something destined to vanish."
Koyoi placed his palm against the glass. It was warm. It was the heat of a name burning.
"Thank you," he said softly.
For a moment, he felt as though the light of the sand lantern brightened—just once.
The seventh sand lantern was completely extinguished.
The frame remained. The glass was not broken. But the inside was dark. It was an empty vessel, left after the name had burned away. Koyoi touched the dark sand lantern. It was cold as stone. Not even a trace of warmth remained.
The eighth was also dark. The ninth, too.
The path of light was severed in the darkness.
"There are no lights from here on," Asahi said.
"Which means there might not be a path, either."
Kuon closed his catalog and stared into the darkness ahead. Only the blue light of his artificial eye barely illuminated the ground at their feet.
"The path the sand lanterns were illuminating may no longer exist. They had merely been lighting, with the radiance of names, a path that the Bleaching had already erased. Now that the names are exhausted, the path, too, has vanished."
"It was like a ghost of a path," Koyoi murmured.
"The sand lanterns alone were lighting a path that no one walks anymore."
Asahi snorted.
"We can walk even without a path. If there is sand beneath our feet, anywhere is a path."
Kuon smiled faintly. It was a rare occurrence.
"A reckless argument, but not a wrong one."
The three of them began to walk, leaving the line of extinguished sand lanterns behind.
In the darkness, only the blue light of Kuon's artificial eye and the faint gold of the pouch wavered. The sand beneath their feet was soft, sinking with every step. There was no path. For direction, they relied solely on the heading the sand lanterns had indicated.
As he walked, Koyoi thought of the sand lanterns that had gone out.
Someone who knew the Bleaching was coming had created lights using names as fuel. Even if the names were to be erased, they had tried to leave at least a path. For hundreds of years, the names had continued to burn within the sand. And now, they had burned out to the very last fragment.
The lights were gone. But the memory of the path remained in the catalog. The inscription Kuon had recorded, the positions of the sand lanterns, and the direction the light had shown. The will of the lights that had used up their names was passed onto the paper of the catalog.
The pouch was warm.
The names were pulsing quietly. It was a gentle rhythm, like mourning for the names that had vanished.
Koyoi held the pouch to his chest and walked through the dark desert. There were no more lights. However, the sand beneath his feet was faintly warm. The sand, warmed by the lanterns over hundreds of years, still held its heat.
Treading upon that warmth, the three of them advanced toward the south.