Beyond the flickering light of the lanterns, the air suddenly grew heavy.
It was neither a station nor a town. In the center of a clearing of white earth sat a single, ancient stone pedestal. Broken statues with gouged-out eyes stood in a ring around it.
"An old god’s bedchamber," Kuon said, his voice low.
Koyoi stepped closer to the pedestal. Its surface was marred by countless scratches—gashes too deep to have been made by human fingernails.
Asahi lightly tapped the stone with the scabbard of his sword. The sound that echoed back was doubled.
"It’s hollow."
A faint light began to seep from the cracks in the stone. It wasn't white, but a stale, aged amber.
The earth gave a single, heavy thrum. The shadows of the statues fell in unison as the air itself seemed to slip out of alignment.
Koyoi instinctively clutched her drawstring pouch. The Shizuku—the Drop—was burning hot. The pulse of the Rain God overlapped with a different, foreign rhythm.
The pedestal ground open. What emerged was not a giant form, but a core fragment small enough to fit in the palm of a hand. Ancient sigils shimmered on its surface, pulsing like a living heart.
"It isn’t the main body that’s woken up," Kuon observed. "Only a fragment of its consciousness."
The fragment drifted into the air, slowly circling the group. Koyoi felt no hostility from it, yet she knew instinctively that this was the kind of power that, once touched, would change a person forever.
Asahi took a step forward. "Should I cut it?"
"If you cut it, the power will only scatter," Kuon replied. "We won't be able to contain it."
Kuon closed his register and turned his gaze toward Koyoi instead.
"Can you wrap it in the Shizuku?"
Koyoi nodded. She opened her pouch and held out her palm. The warmth of the Drop radiated into the air, forming a small, shimmering ring.
The moment the fragment touched the ring, it flickered violently. The cracks in the stone statues creaked in unison, and ancient voices surged from all directions.
There were no intelligible words—only a profound sense of direction that felt remarkably like a prayer.
Koyoi did not retreat. She held the ring of the Shizuku steady.
Eventually, the flickering subsided, and the fragment descended onto her palm. It was neither warm nor cold, leaving only a strange, phantom weight.
Kuon let out a short breath. "That stops the rampage for now. But the fact that it happened won't disappear."
"Then let's move," Asahi said, his eyes still scanning their surroundings. "A god that has turned in its sleep will surely open its eyes again."
Koyoi wrapped the fragment in cloth and tucked it back into her pouch.
The shadows of the statues returned to their original positions. The oppressive weight in the air loosened, if only slightly.
Koyoi understood then: the ancient god hadn't gone back to sleep. It had simply remembered them.
Before they left, Koyoi tied a scrap of cloth to the edge of the pedestal. On the white fabric, she wrote a brief message in ink:
‘The slumber is shallow.’
"A marker?" Asahi asked.
"Yeah. So that the next person who comes through doesn't mistake this for a safe zone."
Kuon looked at the knot in the cloth and gave a firm nod.
"Good. Observers hoard maps; we share what the field is really like."
As they passed through the ring of statues, the amber light flickered one last time. Whether it was a warning or an acknowledgment, Koyoi couldn't say. But the cloth remained there, fluttering in the wind.
In this encounter, the team succeeded not by force, but by adding one tactical step. From the start, Kuon separated what was confirmed from what remained uncertain. After syncing, Koyoi logged those distinctions in her notebook, while Asahi kept his blade sheathed and secured their retreat route. In high-risk situations, a clear first move is what stabilizes everything that follows.