The room held through the night. When the dim lamplight faded and the weak glow of morning seeped through the cracks, Radit was still scribbling in his notebook, every word like a desperate prayer. Beside him, Tamari slept lightly, her head resting on his shoulder, clutching her red scarf tight.
The Archivist was the first to move. He stood, joints cracking, and shuffled to a locked cabinet in the corner. From inside, he pulled out a brittle roll of paper tied with string.
"I think it's time you saw this," he said hoarsely.
Radit blinked, rubbing his tired eyes. "What is it?"
The Archivist spread the paper across the metal table. It was a map — or what was left of one. Whole sections had faded to blank white. Others were scribbled over with black ink, jagged lines that seemed to crawl off the page if Radit stared too long.
"This is… the city," Radit whispered.
"It was," the Archivist said. "A map of every street, every building, every alley. I've been updating it for years. Each time something disappears, part of this map turns blank."
Tamari stirred, sitting up slowly. Her eyes went wide as she saw the map. "It's… broken," she murmured.
Radit traced a finger along the paper, the edges crumbling under his touch. "Why show us this now?"
"Because you're not just observers anymore," the Archivist said. He tapped a spot near the center — a patch of half-faded streets. "You're part of the city's memory now. Part of its story. And if we're going to hold it together, we need to start here."
Tamari frowned. "What's there?"
The Archivist hesitated. "It used to be the Old Market District," he said quietly. "Before it started vanishing. I think something… or someone… is accelerating the erasure there. It's spreading faster than anywhere else."
Radit swallowed, feeling the weight of the room around them. "You want us to go there," he said.
The Archivist nodded. "I can't leave this place," he rasped. "This archive is holding the last fragile scraps of the city together. But you two… maybe you can stop whatever is feeding the blankness."
Tamari looked at Radit, her face pale but determined. "I'm going with you," she said. "I won't stay behind waiting to disappear."
Radit nodded, squeezing her hand. He glanced at the Archivist. "What do we look for?"
"Anything," the Archivist whispered. "Messages. Cracks. Those hollow figures. Write it all down. And whatever you do… don't let yourselves stop believing the city is still there. That's how it fades fastest."
Radit folded the map, tucking it into his bag with his notebook. Tamari stood beside him, clutching her scarf.
They stepped toward the door, and Radit felt a chill run down his spine as he glanced back at the Archivist hunched over the table.
"Good luck," the old man said softly. "And remember… every word matters."
Radit gripped the doorknob, took a shaky breath, and pushed it open.
Beyond lay the dark tunnel, pulsing with the soft static of the cracks. The city was waiting.