How long had it been since Shiori vanished into the dark? The campfire was down to dying embers. Koyoi rose to his feet.
“...I have to go.”
He clutched his pouch. It was cold; the gods inside were shivering.
“...Yes.” “...Hurry.”
The gods answered in faint whispers.
He extinguished the fire completely and returned to the mountain path. The half-moon hung over the ridge, its pale light casting the long, skeletal shadows of trees across the ground. The path beneath his feet was pitch black, and he nearly tripped over tangled roots time and again. Still, he couldn't stop.
Shiori’s words echoed in his mind.
“They’ve already started taking your measure, too.”
Measuring. They were trying to capture his outline. Once they caught it, he would be fixed—pinned in place—just like Kirihara Town, or the village that had disappeared.
The path climbed gently. His breath grew ragged and his legs felt like lead, but even though he knew his body was reaching its limit, he couldn't afford to rest. Something was behind him. He couldn't see it, but he knew it was there.
The darkness deepened as the moon slipped behind a cloud, until he couldn't even see his own feet. He moved by touch, feeling for tree trunks to confirm his direction, his fingertips so numb that all sensation was fading.
“...Where?” he whispered to the pouch.
“...Ahead.” “...Cross the mountain.”
The voices of the gods were fragmented.
“...Aim for... the Boundary.”
The Boundary. The First Boundary. Shiori had said he would be somewhat safe once he crossed it.
The trees began to thin and the wind picked up as he neared the ridge. Koyoi quickened his pace. The moment he reached the crest, the world opened up. The view stretched out in three directions, with mountain ranges rolling away toward the southwest. Moonlight washed over the exposed bedrock, turning it a ghostly blue. Far below, he sensed the presence of a valley, though it was too dark to see the bottom.
Koyoi caught his breath and looked back.
He saw a light.
To the northeast, on the mountain slope, a white light was blinking. It wasn't just one—three, four, five lights were pulsing in a steady, rhythmic beat.
Koyoi gasped. It was that light—the one he had seen from the ridge before, blinking in the distance. It was closer now.
“...That.”
The pouch suddenly grew heavy.
“...The things... that measure.”
The voice of the God of the shrine was trembling.
“...Run.”
The God of the Vacant Lot followed.
The lights were far off—two kilometers, maybe more—but they were fixed unmistakably in his direction. They looked like white dots clinging to the mountainside. Koyoi stared at them. They blinked with a mechanical rhythm: two seconds on, one second off. It lacked the flickering, organic waver of a flame held by human hands. Each light blinked at equal intervals. Eyes without will. These were the lights of the Observers.
For a moment, he couldn't move. Watching the lights made his body freeze as terror crawled up from the soles of his feet.
“...Move,” the voice of the God of the shrine called from inside the pouch. “...They are... watching.”
Those words snapped him back to reality. They were looking at him, trying to find him.
Koyoi scrambled away from the ridge, heading west toward the Boundary. His legs moved as if by their own accord. As he hit the downward slope, the shadows of the trees returned. He looked back to see the lights still blinking through the gaps in the branches; they were supposed to be far away, yet they felt terrifyingly close.
He walked for ten minutes, then twenty, his breathing harsh and his legs shaking. He glanced back over his shoulder again and again. The lights had multiplied—what had been five was now six, then seven.
They were definitely gaining on him.
The lights looked larger now, the rhythm of their blinking sharper and more vivid. What had been distant foxfire now appeared as bright as hand-held lanterns.
“...Faster,” the pouch vibrated. “...They will... catch us.”
The voices of the gods were bordering on screams.
Koyoi broke into a run. He bolted down the dark mountain path, nearly tumbling over as branches lashed his face. He felt his ankles twist, but he didn't stop.
How long had he been running? His lungs were burning, his side ached, and his throat was parched. His legs were starting to refuse to obey.
He saw a massive rock—two boulders leaning against each other to form a hollow just large enough to hide a single person. Koyoi slid into the space and held his breath, curling his body into a ball as the chill of the stone seeped into his back.
For a while, he couldn't think. Only his ragged gasps echoed in the hollow, his heart hammering so hard it felt like it might break. As his sweat cooled, his back turned icy; he bit his lip to keep his teeth from chattering.
He felt as if something had passed overhead, above the rock. The direction of the wind changed.
When his breathing settled slightly, he cautiously peered out through the gap in the rocks.
He saw the lights. They were close—so much closer than before.
They couldn't be more than a kilometer away. Seven lights moved in single file, blinking in perfect, rhythmic unison as they headed straight for him.
Koyoi stopped breathing and pressed the pouch against his chest. The gods were shivering, cold as ice.
The lights didn't stop. Slowly, but with absolute certainty, they drew nearer.
Koyoi curled tighter in the shadow of the rock. Even with his eyes closed, the white light pulsed against the back of his eyelids in that rhythmic blink. There was nowhere to hide. Behind him lay the dark forest; ahead of him, the lights of the Observers. He didn't know if he could outrun them, but he knew that if he stayed here, they would surely catch him.
“...I have to go.” His own voice was trembling.
“...Yes.” “...Together.”
The gods answered in small voices.
Koyoi crawled out from the shadow of the rock and stood up on shaking legs. He faced the west. Beyond the gaps between the dark trees, he could still see the descent stretching on.
And then he began to run.
Behind him, the lights continued to blink. Seven lights, moving steadily and inexorably toward him. Their flashing burned itself into the backs of his eyelids, over his shoulder. If he looked back, he was still being chased. The interval of the blinking never changed. The downward slope was growing steeper still. His legs were already at their limit. Even so, he had no choice but to step forward into the dark.