He ran. He ran blindly through the darkness. He didn't have the luxury of looking back. The light was chasing him.
He couldn't see his feet. The moonlight filtered through the trees, but it didn't reach the ground. He tripped over roots. He slipped on stones. Branches lashed across his face. Still, he couldn't stop.
"...Run."
The pouch was trembling.
"...If you stop..."
The voices of the gods trailed off.
He reached a steep slope. His foot slipped. His body was thrown forward. There wasn't even time to brace for the fall.
He tumbled. Fallen leaves and dirt filled his vision. He slammed his arms. He struck his knees. After rolling for about five meters, he finally came to a halt.
"Ngh..."
It hurt. His left arm felt hot. He had scraped it raw. Blood was seeping out. His left knee throbbed, too. His clothes were torn. The palm of his right hand was cut. He must have sliced it on a stone.
He looked back. Above the slope, between the trees, he saw the light. It was blinking. In a steady, rhythmic pulse. It was close. Much closer than before.
He pulled himself up. His legs were shaking. His knees were buckling. Still, he began to run again.
He entered a cedar grove. The trees stood in even rows. A man-made forest. It was easier to run here. There was little undergrowth. But there was also nowhere to hide.
He wove his way between the trunks. Ducking under branches. Leaping over roots. His breath came in gasps. His lungs felt as if they were burning.
He glanced back. The light was still there. Blinking, it pursued him. Five of them. No, six. They were multiplying.
"...Hurry."
A voice like a scream came from inside the pouch.
"...They'll catch you."
He kept running. He didn't know how long he had been at it. He had no sense of time. He only moved forward. Forward.
The cedar grove ended. He found a crumbled stone wall. It was old, covered in moss. Perhaps the remains of terraced fields.
There was a space in a gap in the wall. Koyoi slid into it. He curled into a ball. He held his breath.
His heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it might break. When he tried to steady his breathing, his throat constricted. Blood was dripping from his right hand.
He squeezed the pouch tight. It was cold as ice. The gods were shivering. They were beyond words.
He waited, motionless. The cold of the stone seeped into his back. His wounds ached. His whole body was in pain.
The light was approaching. The blinking grew brighter. The shadows of the trees were wavering.
He stopped breathing. He pressed a hand over his mouth. He felt as if the sound of his own breath might be heard.
The light passed just beyond the stone wall. The blinking was seared into the backs of his eyelids. A white light. Rhythmic. Mechanical.
It passed. But it didn't stop. It might come back.
He crawled out from the wall. He started running. It wasn't over yet.
He descended the slope. His legs tangled. He nearly tripped many times. Blood flowed from his wounds, soaking into his clothes.
He saw the valley. Dark. Deep. The bottom was invisible. He couldn't cross. He couldn't jump.
A dead end.
He looked back. He saw the lights. Five of them, in a line, approaching. The distance might be less than two hundred meters.
He looked left and right. A steep cliff. A rocky wall. Neither could be climbed. There was no escape.
"...What should I do?"
His voice was trembling.
"...Run."
"...Where?"
The voices of the gods were trembling, too.
He ran along the edge of the valley. The rim was prone to crumbling. If he slipped, he would fall. Still, he had no choice but to run.
He saw a fallen tree. A large cedar lay along the slope. There was a space beneath it. Small. But he could fit.
He dropped to his stomach. He slid under the fallen tree. It was narrow. Not even forty centimeters high. He twisted his body and ducked deeper into the back.
He tucked the pouch under his chest. He closed his eyes. He held his breath.
He smelled leaf mold. The scent of damp wood. The scent of cold earth. An insect crawled over his arm. He couldn't move. He must not move.
He waited. He didn't know how long passed. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Perhaps more.
The light approached. The blinking illuminated the top of the fallen tree. The shadows swayed.
He stopped breathing. His whole body went rigid. He felt he could hear the sound of his own heart through the ground.
The light passed directly above him.
The blinking crossed before his eyes. A white light. A bluish white. The light of machines. The light of the Observers.
It stopped. The light stopped. Directly above.
Koyoi closed his eyes. As if in prayer. No, he was praying. Please don't let them find me. Please don't let them catch me.
The pouch was cold as if it had frozen solid. The gods were still. They were holding their breath. Just like Koyoi.
An eternity seemed to pass. In reality, it might have been only a few seconds.
The light moved. It passed by. The blinking receded.
He was still holding his breath. He still couldn't move.
The light returned. Once more, it passed directly above him. This time, it didn't stop.
Again, it receded. The blinking grew smaller. It vanished beyond the trees.
Koyoi still didn't move. It might come back. It might come directly above him again.
He waited. An hour. Two hours. His body felt as if it were freezing. His wounds ached. The blood was drying. But he couldn't move.
The sky began to pale. Dawn. A thin light began to filter through the trees.
Koyoi moved slowly. Stretching his arms. Twisting his body. He crawled out from under the fallen tree.
He tried to stand. His legs shook so much he couldn't. Staying on his knees, he looked around.
The light was nowhere to be seen. The lights of the Observers were gone.
"...Are they gone?"
He asked the pouch.
"...Yeah."
"...Now, we..."
The voices of the gods answered softly.
"...This way."
"...I hear water."
He strained his ears. In the distance, there was the sound of water. A mountain stream.
He stood up. His legs shook. His body was heavy. Step by step, he walked toward the sound.
Emerging from the trees, he found the stream. A small river, about three meters wide. Water flowed with a gentle murmur.
He collapsed on the riverbank. His body would no longer obey him.
He checked his wounds. The scrape on his left arm had dried and turned dark. His left knee was the same. His clothes were stuck to it. Blood was still seeping from the cut on his right palm.
He washed his wounds with the water. It was cold. It hurt. But it calmed him, just a little.
The air felt different. Lighter. Clearer. Different from the heavy, cold air of moments ago.
The temperature of the pouch was beginning to return. It was cold, but no longer like ice.
"...Here," the voice of the shrine's god spoke.
"...Slightly closer to the Boundary."
"...We haven't crossed it yet."
The voice of the vacant lot's god followed.
"...But, a little relief."
Koyoi stared at the stream. The water was flowing. It was alive. He was still alive.
He had escaped. He had crossed the night. But his body was at its limit. Blood was still seeping from his wounds. His clothes were covered in mud and torn. His whole body was in pain.
He tried to stand. His legs shook, and he collapsed again.
"...You must rest," the voice of the pouch said.
"...But not for long."
"...We must move soon."
He knew. The Observers were still out there. They might come after him again. But for now, he couldn't move. Just a little. After a short rest, he would walk again. He would head for the Boundary. Shiori had said that if he crossed the First Boundary, he would be a little safer.
Listening to the sound of the stream, Koyoi lay down. The sky grew brighter. The night was ending. A new day was beginning.
Blood was dripping from his right hand. Red droplets stained the stones of the riverbank.