A suspension bridge spanned the ravine. It was a fragile thing, fashioned from weathered wooden planks and coarse rope. It swayed with every step, and a glance downward revealed the river foaming in the depths far below.
Koyoi moved forward, one cautious step at a time. The pouch was heavy. His body felt leaden. Even maintaining his balance was a struggle. He gripped the rope railing until his knuckles whitened as he made his way across.
When he finally reached the other side, a voice called out from behind him.
"So, you made it across."
He turned to find a young man standing there. He was from the Village of the Boundary; he recognized his face.
"The Elder told me to keep an eye on you. He said to watch in silence and see how far you could get on your own."
The young man let out a small sigh, looking slightly exasperated.
"But picking up a third spirit along the way was not part of the plan. …I couldn't just stand by and watch anymore. I'll guide you to the enshrinement site."
Relief washed over Koyoi at the prospect of a guide. He had reached his limit walking alone.
The young man frowned as he took in his condition.
"…That looks heavy."
"…Yeah."
"With three spirits, I’m impressed you’re still standing."
They set off along a path through the woods. The young man was a person of few words, speaking only when necessary. Even so, he made sure to match his pace to Koyoi’s.
After they had walked for about two hours, something appeared by the side of the road. It was a stone monument. Old, and smothered in moss.
The young man came to a halt.
"That is the grave of a predecessor."
Koyoi stopped as well. A grave. Someone had died here.
He stepped closer to the monument. It stood about chest-high to him, a pillar of grey stone etched with characters. Its surface had been ground down by the long passage of years, and moss filled the cracks. Beaten by rain and carved by wind, it nonetheless remained standing. There had once been a name at the top, but it was now weathered beyond recognition.
Only the word "Gatherer" remained faintly legible.
"A Gatherer from long ago," the young man said quietly. "I heard he was an exceptional man. He saved many gods."
Koyoi stared at the stone. Wildflowers had been left as an offering. Someone was still tending to it even now.
"…Why is there a grave here?"
"Because this is where he died." The young man’s voice grew low. "He couldn't let go, right until the very end."
Koyoi caught his breath at those words. "…He couldn't let go?"
"No. He couldn't place even a single god." The young man continued, his eyes fixed on the grave. "He clutched every god he found to his chest. Even when he reached the enshrinement sites, he couldn't bring himself to part with them. He would say, 'I want to be with them just a little longer,' or 'I'm still okay.' And so, the number just kept growing."
Koyoi felt a sharp pang in his chest. It was exactly what he had been feeling. The fear of letting go. The desire to stay together. The desperate wish to believe he was still okay.
"In the end, he broke," the young man’s tone was flat. "Both he and the gods. They say even the pouch shattered. He held onto too much, and he could no longer bear the weight. Finally, he collapsed on this road and never moved again."
The wind rustled through the trees. In the silent forest, only the sound of swaying leaves echoed. Dappled sunlight moved slowly across the face of the stone. Time alone flowed on, quiet and indifferent. Long after this man had died, the seasons continued to turn; the trees dropped their leaves, budded anew, and dropped them again. Over and over.
"…So sad."
A faint voice drifted from inside the pouch. It was the voice of the god from the small shrine.
"…I know… this person." "…He was… a kind… man."
Koyoi gripped the pouch tight. The gods had known him. And perhaps, they had witnessed his end.
Near the base of the monument, more characters were engraved. These were clear, having escaped the worst of the weathering.
"DO NOT CLING"
The words jumped out at him. Do not be greedy. Do not hold on too tight.
"The village people carved that after he died," the young man said. "As a warning to the Gatherers who would follow."
Koyoi gazed intently at the words.
"Do not cling."
Perhaps they were words the dead Gatherer had left behind, a final lesson born of his own regret. Or perhaps the villagers had carved them to ensure the same mistake was never repeated.
Either way, the words were heavy. He felt as though they were directed specifically at him.
"…Please… remember…" The small voice of the god from the vacant lot reached his ears. "…Don't… forget…"
Koyoi nodded. He wouldn't forget. Not this grave. Not these words. He would not let himself end this way.
He stood before the grave for a long while. The young man waited for him in silence.
Eventually, Koyoi began to walk again. His body was heavy, and the pouch was a weight he bore, but somehow, he felt his heart had grown a little lighter.
Letting go wasn't a bad thing. A Gatherer's job was to deliver them. Holding on wasn't the same thing as being kind.
"…We're almost there," the young man said. "A little further, and we'll reach the first enshrinement site."
Koyoi looked straight ahead. The path stretched on, but now he could finally see where it led.
The two characters etched into the headstone repeated in his mind, a final teaching left by the Gatherer who had fallen. Koyoi carved them into his own heart.
Do not fear letting go. Do not hesitate to deliver them.
He felt the pouch grow just a little bit warmer.