Her feet would not move. The Observer’s gaze held Koyoi in a tight, invisible bind.
The Observer approached slowly. There were no footsteps. Even though his feet were clearly treading upon the earth, he made no sound. One step. Then another. The distance between them closed.
The surrounding villagers stood as if frozen in time. No one tried to run. No one screamed. They all simply stared at the Observer; all they could do was stare.
“...Found you.”
The Observer’s voice rang out—low, flat, and devoid of inflection. A mechanical voice.
“I have been searching for you. The Gatherer.”
The Gatherer. The word sent a chill down Koyoi’s spine. He knows. This man knows who I am.
The Observer stopped three paces away. His face was now clearly visible: pale skin, thin lips, and grey eyes. Only the eyes felt unnervingly alive—observing eyes, measuring eyes, cold and precise.
“...Who are you?”
Her voice trembled.
“I am the Observer,” he replied matter-of-factly. “One who measures. One who records the world as it should be.”
The tool in his hand emitted a faint glow. It was shaped like a drafting compass, made of metal, with a sharp, pointed tip.
“...What are you going to do?”
“Fixation.”
The Observer’s eyes locked onto Koyoi and did not let go.
“I shall fix you in place as well.”
Fixation. The word Shiori had used. The word the Elder had used. Once you are measured, you are fixed. You can no longer move. You can no longer change.
“...No.”
Koyoi took a step back. Just one step. But her feet felt like lead.
“Running is futile.”
The Observer did not pursue her. Instead, he began to speak slowly.
“You can be at peace.”
Koyoi stopped at those words.
“Once you are fixed, you will be liberated from suffering. You will no longer need to walk with that heavy burden. There is no need to gather the gods, nor any need to deliver them. Everything... will end.”
The Observer’s voice was calm—calm and bone-chillingly cold.
“Total Fixation.”
He took a step closer.
“I will turn the world into a specimen. I will erase the fluctuations. I will stop the change. Forever, just as it is. Would that not be beautiful?”
Koyoi began to understand the meaning of his words, bit by bit. A specimen. The motionless butterflies she had seen in the science lab—butterflies pinned behind glass, trapped in a box. The patterns on their wings remained beautiful and their colors never faded, but they could no longer fly. They could no longer feel the wind or drink nectar from a flower. That is what I would become. Alive, but unable to move. Existing, but unable to change.
“...Why?” Koyoi asked. “Why would you do such a thing?”
The Observer tilted his head. It was a human gesture, yet it felt profoundly unnatural.
“The world fluctuates too much. There are too many uncertainties. Gods are born, they vanish, they move; they are never constant. Humans waver, they change, they die; they are unpredictable. That instability is what is breaking the world.”
The Observer’s eyes narrowed.
“We will correct it. We measure everything, record everything, and fix everything. Then, the world will be perfect. Unchanging. Unbreakable. Forever, just as it is.”
The drawstring pouch felt cold as ice. The God of the Shrine and the God of the Vacant Lot were shivering inside.
“...That is not right.”
She could hear the faint voice of the God of the Shrine.
“...That is wrong.”
The God of the Vacant Lot joined in.
“...A world that does not move.” “...is dead.”
Koyoi gripped the pouch tight. The gods were terrified, yet they were fighting back. A world that does not move is dead. Those words resonated in her heart.
“You are a carrier of fluctuations,” the Observer said. “The gods themselves are the very essence of fluctuation. As long as you carry them, the world will continue to waver. Therefore, I will fix you. You, and your gods.”
The tool glowed again—brighter this time. The Observer’s eyes were glowing as well.
“What do you say?”
The Observer reached out his hand.
“You can be at peace. You will not have to walk anymore. You will not have to worry. You will not have to lose anything. Everything... will end.”
His hand looked freezing. It felt as if she would turn to ice just by touching it. His fingers were long, white, and devoid of any sign of circulating blood. Even his fingernails were perfectly manicured; it was a hand that looked human, but was not.
Koyoi stared at that hand. You can be at peace. For a fleeting second, the words sounded alluring. The heavy pouch. The long road. The days of constantly running from the Observer. If it all ended, she would be at peace. But...
The face of the God of the Roadside Marker flashed through her mind.
“...I do not know.”
I do not know if we will ever meet again. Those words were still lodged in her chest.
The word *“Shin-shū”*—the Great Gathering—surfaced in her mind.
All the gods gathering in one place. Until that day comes, she must keep delivering them. That is the work of the Gatherer.
If she were fixed, she could not deliver them. If she could not deliver them, the gods could not gather. If they could not gather, the Great Gathering would never happen.
Koyoi looked directly at the Observer’s hand—the cold hand, the hand of the end.
“...I refuse.”
The words left her lips. They were trembling, but she said them clearly.
The Observer’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“...I see.”
His voice was hollow, devoid of emotion. He did not sound disappointed, nor did he sound angry. It was simply the voice of someone confirming a fact.
“In that case...”
The Observer raised his tool.
“I shall use force.”