While preparing for the journey, a knock came at the cabin door.
Knock, knock. Reserved but firm—the knock of someone who didn’t hesitate.
"Coming."
Koyoi opened the door to find a boy standing there. He was tall, his black hair cropped short and neat, with a pair of piercing eyes. Over faded work clothes, he wore a leather breastplate; slung across his back was a long, cloth-wrapped object—likely a sword. A frayed travel cloak hung from his shoulders.
It was the youth who had saved Koyoi in the cave.
"…Is your wound alright now?" he asked bluntly. He wouldn't meet Koyoi’s eyes, keeping his gaze averted, but his voice carried a slight tremor.
"Yeah. It doesn’t hurt anymore," Koyoi replied. The gash on the forehead had closed, and the ache in the left arm had receded. The scent of the Elder’s medicine still lingered on the skin.
"I see."
He said nothing more, falling into a heavy silence. He kicked a pebble with the toe of his sandal, staring up at the sky with his lips pressed thin. He clearly had something to say, but the words seemed stuck.
"…Um," Koyoi started, unable to bear the silence. "Thank you for saving me."
"Don’t thank me. I told you before," he said with a scowl. "I just happened to be passing by. …Besides, I knew you were a Gatherer."
"…Are you leaving?" Koyoi asked, taking in his appearance. He was clearly outfitted for travel: fresh straw sandals and a small pouch at his belt that likely held a canteen and dried meat. Even through the cloth, the long bundle on his back seemed to radiate a metallic coldness.
"Yeah," he nodded. "I’ve stayed here too long. Besides, the Observers have begun to stir."
"…You know about them?"
"Tracking their movements is… well, it’s basically my job."
The boy looked toward the distance—to the west. His gaze seemed to be counting something invisible beneath the drifting clouds. It wasn't a look of curiosity or adventure, but a heavier shade, something akin to vengeance, duty, or atonement.
"You’re going too, aren't you?"
He looked at Koyoi. The gaze was sharp, but not cold.
"Yes. I’m going west."
"What a coincidence. I’m heading west as well."
His lips curved just a fraction. It felt like the first time Koyoi had ever seen him smile.
In that moment, a breeze slipped through the doorway, fluttering Koyoi’s hair. The cloth on the boy's shoulder lifted, and the bundle on his back made a dry, clacking sound as it shifted. The scent of iron drifted in—the smell of battle.
Koyoi noticed his calloused knuckles, marked by the countless times he had gripped a hilt. Faint traces of dried blood remained beneath his fingernails. Perhaps sensing the stare, he silently tightened his fist and looked away.
"There is a massive 'Distortion' in the west. It’s where the Observers are gathering."
"…Where the Wind God is?"
"Maybe. They’re after the gods. They want to use the gods’ power to 'fix' the world in place."
He adjusted his pack, the sword on his back letting out a small metallic clink.
"The wind gets wild up ahead. Water is scarce. Don’t stray from the path—there’s a collapsed bridge."
It was a brief warning, but it carried the weight of someone who had actually walked the road. Koyoi nodded, resting a hand on the canteen at the hip. The scent of dry earth already seemed to be wafting in from the distance.
The boy rolled up his sleeve, revealing old scars on his wrist—several hard, white lines. When Koyoi looked, he quickly pulled the sleeve back down to hide them.
"…They’re persistent," he muttered.
Koyoi could only nod. A nameless past seemed to cling to his back.
"If the wind suddenly stops while you’re on the road, stop walking."
"Stop?"
"When the wind stops, it means something is being stolen. …Something humans can’t see."
He spoke with finality, then fell silent. He likely didn't elaborate to avoid causing fear.
"I won't be going with you."
"Eh?"
"I walk my path. You walk yours," he said firmly. "A Gatherer and someone like me don’t travel the same way. …Besides, it’s dangerous to be with me."
"Dangerous?"
"The Observers know my face. If you stay with me, you’ll just be dragged into it."
Koyoi stared into his face. He wasn't avoiding company; he was trying to protect. By keeping a distance, he was keeping Koyoi safe.
"…Well, then, what if I find you collapsed on the road?" Koyoi asked jokingly.
"I suppose I'll have to pick you up then," he shrugged, his mouth softening just a tiny bit.
"…But," Koyoi took a step closer. "The path is the same, right?"
"…Yeah."
"Then we’ll meet again. Won’t we?"
The youth looked slightly surprised, then let out a short breath—half a laugh.
"…You’re unexpectedly stubborn. I thought you were a crybaby, but you’ve got backbone."
He dropped his standoffish act. His voice carried a resonance of camaraderie rather than rejection.
"The paths are connected," he said. "If you’re in trouble, we’ll probably run into each other again. …I’ll lend you a hand then."
"…Okay."
Koyoi nodded. That was enough. Knowing that someone else was heading in the same direction brought a sense of relief; Koyoi wasn't alone.
Reaching into the travel bag for some dried rice cakes, Koyoi paused. "Do you want some?"
"No. I’m used to eating while I walk."
It was an immediate refusal, yet Koyoi didn't miss the small growl from his stomach.
"…Are you resting properly?"
"I rest when I can. You should do the same."
There was a strange kindness buried in the short words. Koyoi took a bite of a rice cake, savoring the hard sweetness. Morning light poured through the doorway, making dust motes dance in the air. A bird chirped once in the distance, and silence quickly returned. The atmosphere itself seemed to signal that it was time to part.
The boy took a step forward, then stopped again. His eyes fell on the drawstring pouch Koyoi held.
"Is it empty?"
"Yeah. I’ll start filling it again now."
"…That bag of yours is a strange thing."
A hint of odd respect seeped into his voice. Koyoi tightened the drawstring, the fabric rubbing softly against fingers.
He turned on his heel. Just as he started to walk away, he paused one last time.
"My name." He spoke with his back still turned.
"…Huh?"
"It’s Asahi."
Asahi. Koyoi repeated the name internally. A name like the morning sun—a light that cuts through the dark night to herald a new day. It suited him perfectly.
"…I’m Koyoi."
"I know."
Asahi raised a hand without looking back, giving a casual wave.
"See ya, Koyoi. Don’t die."
With that, he began to walk toward the village exit. His stride was confident and powerful.
His back faded into the haze of dust. Only the sound of the sword bundle shifting and the rustle of fabric remained. Koyoi whispered the name once more under his breath: "…Asahi." It felt as though remembering the name made a future meeting certain.
Koyoi watched until he was out of sight. Strangely, there was no loneliness—only the feeling that they would meet again.
The paths were connected. Somewhere on the road to the Kamiatsume, surely. That thought remained deep in Koyoi's heart, and he straightened unconsciously.
Returning to the room, Koyoi packed the rest of the gear: dried rice cakes, water, a change of clothes, a map, and a dagger. Finally, the empty drawstring pouch.
Outside, the wind had picked up slightly, blowing in the same direction Asahi had gone.
"…Let’s go."
Preparation was complete. A new journey was beginning. Toward the wind. Toward the western sky where Asahi had headed.
Koyoi took a small, steadying breath.