Koyoi walked along the mountain stream, dragging his feet, stumbling with every step.
Blood still seeped from his right hand. The wounds on his left arm and knee had dried, the fabric of his clothes crusting against the skin. His whole body ached, but he couldn't stop. Not yet.
The sky was beginning to pale. Dawn. Faint streaks of light began to filter through the canopy of trees.
"...Just a little further."
A faint voice drifted from inside the drawstring pouch.
"...So close."
The voices of the gods spoke, offering their quiet encouragement.
The sound of the rushing stream was a balm to his ears. The biting morning air brushed against his cheeks. He was alive. He was still alive.
He looked back. He couldn't see the light of the Observers, but he knew they were out there. They might still be hunting him.
He tried to quicken his pace, but his body refused to listen. One step. Then another. Even that took everything he had.
The path led into a ravine. Rock walls towered on either side, perhaps fifteen meters high. The way grew narrow, littered with stones slick with moss.
Then, beneath his feet, he felt stone.
Paving. It was ancient, carpeted in moss and half-buried in the earth. Someone had built a road here, ages and ages ago.
"...The path," the voice from the pouch whispered.
"...The path to the Border."
He followed the stones. Every so often, he passed a fallen monument. Characters were carved into the surface, but they were too weathered to read—remnants of signposts from a forgotten era.
The ravine remained draped in shadow. It was still too deep for the morning sun to reach the floor, and the damp air clung to his skin.
He lost track of how long he walked. Time had lost its meaning. There was only the mechanical movement of his legs.
Then, something appeared ahead.
A gate.
An ancient stone gate stood at the far end of the ravine. It was about three and a half meters tall and two and a half wide, carved from heavy gray stone. Though overgrown with moss and pitted by time, it stood firm, resolute, as if it had been waiting there forever.
He came to a halt. At the top of the gate, a pattern was engraved—strange, illegible symbols like mirror-writing. The pillars bore the remains of worn carvings, though their original shapes were lost to history.
"...Here," the pouch murmured, growing warm against his side.
"...The Border."
"...The First Boundary," the gods said softly.
The First Boundary. Shiori had told him about this.
"If you can just cross the First Boundary, you'll be somewhat safe."
He stepped toward the gate. As he stood beneath it, the very air felt different. Up until now, the air had been oppressive, as if something were constantly weighing down on his shoulders. Now, that weight began to lift.
He looked back one last time. Down the ravine, back the way he had come. He saw no light. He felt no presence of the Observers. And yet, the feeling that they were lurking somewhere just out of sight persisted.
"...You can do it," the voice in the pouch urged.
"...Cross over."
He took a breath and stepped forward. He passed through the gate.
Click.
A faint, sharp sound rang out from somewhere. A metallic snap. It reminded him of that "Measurement Complete" chime he'd heard when Kirihara Town sank.
But this was the reverse. It wasn't the sound of something ending; it was the sound of something shutting.
The atmosphere shifted.
The weight vanished. Whatever had been pressing on his back simply slipped away, and breathing suddenly felt easy.
He stopped and turned around.
He could still see the path he'd just walked, but something was off. On the other side of the gate, the world looked washed out, draped in a grayish tint. On this side, the colors were vivid. The air was clearer, the light sharper.
The presence of the Observers had vanished completely. That stinging gaze at his back, the sensation of being measured—it was all gone.
"...We crossed it," the pouch said, sounding relieved.
"...The measurers cannot come here."
"...A different law," the gods continued.
From here on, a different law held sway. A place beyond the reach of the Observers. A world that refused to be measured.
He took a deep breath. It smelled of wood and soil—the scent of something living.
He moved on, putting the gate behind him. His body still screamed in pain, and his wounds hadn't closed, but his heart felt lighter.
The path opened up into a forest of ancient, broad-leaved trees. The morning sun streamed through the branches, dappling the ground with patterns of light and shadow. He could hear birds calling; he could hear the wind. The world was alive.
As he neared the entrance to the woods, he froze.
Something was there.
He couldn't see a shape, but he felt it. A presence. It wasn't like the Observers—there was no sense of being measured—but someone was definitely watching him.
"...Who's there?"
His voice was a raspy ghost of itself. There was no answer.
He gripped the pouch. The gods didn't seem alarmed, but they were silent, watching the situation unfold.
"...In this place," the shrine god whispered.
"...Something else dwells."
"...Friend or foe?" the vacant lot god added.
"...We do not know yet."
Deep in the forest, the trees swayed. It wasn't the wind; something had moved. He couldn't see it, but it was there.
He stood his ground. Should he run? Should he push forward? His body was at its limit; he couldn't run even if he wanted to. If he were hunted now, there would be no escape.
And yet, he felt no malice. No sensation of being measured. He was simply being watched—assessed.
"Who's there?" he asked again.
"I'm Koyoi. I'm carrying the gods. I'm heading for the Border."
Silence was his only answer. The forest said nothing, but he knew it was listening.
A shadow shifted at his feet. It wasn't his own—it was larger, more indistinct. It was moving toward him from the depths of the trees.
He couldn't move. He had no strength, no will left to flee. He simply waited to see what would emerge. Friend or foe.
The shadow stopped among the trees. He still couldn't see a face.
Then, a voice spoke.
"A Gatherer?"
The voice was low. Not an old man's voice, but something younger, deeper. He couldn't tell if it belonged to a man or a woman, but it held no enmity.
"Yes," he managed to answer. "Maybe."
The shadow moved slowly, stepping into the light. He squeezed the pouch tight. Whatever happened, he wouldn't let go. He had come too far to fail now.
As the figure stepped into a patch of sunlight, their form became clear. The figure was human. A tall person wearing a long cloak, though their face was still obscured.
"You're injured."
The voice was closer now.
"Were you pursued?"
He nodded. It was all he could do.
"They won't follow you here. The laws of the Border are different."
The figure stepped fully into view. It was a person—tall, wearing a long cloak. Their face was still hard to make out, but he knew one thing: they weren't an Observer. They weren't a measurer.
His knees finally gave out. He couldn't stay upright any longer.
"Are you all right?"
The voice moved toward him.
"Rest for now. We can talk later."
His consciousness began to flicker and fade. His body had finally passed its breaking point.
The last thing he saw was the sunlight filtering through the leaves. It was bright. It was warm. The light from beyond the boundary.
"...From here on," a tiny voice whispered from within the pouch.
"...It is another world."
He let go, and drifted into the dark.