It was past midday when he left the village. The sun beat down from directly overhead, casting stunted shadows. Koyoi’s own shadow was a dark, compact shape huddled at his feet.
The Elder hadn’t come to see him off. “Do not look back,” he had commanded. To look back was to invite lingering attachment—to let his heart be pulled back toward the tranquil life he had known. And so, Koyoi did not look back.
He simply felt the presence of the village receding behind him. The sound of the well, the laughter of children, the scent of cooking fires—one by one, they dissolved into the wind and vanished.
The gatekeeper bowed in silence. Koyoi returned the gesture. No words were needed. The gatekeeper’s eyes said it all: Come back alive.
The weight of his pack pressed firmly against his shoulders. The scent of dried herbs teased his nose. His canteen was cool, and his short sword swayed slightly at his hip. Though the load should have felt heavier, his feet moved forward; with his resolve set, the burden felt lighter.
The stone-paved path came to an end. From here on, it was a road of earth—the long highway stretching west. It was overgrown with weeds, the ruts of old carriage wheels nearly faded. Few traveled this way now. The dampness of the grass clung to his straw sandals, leaving a cold sensation against his soles.
Small stones marking the village limits lined the roadside. Round stones wrapped with white cloth strips fluttered faintly in the breeze. The soft rasp of cloth against cloth lingered in his ears like a final farewell.
“…Let’s go.”
Koyoi whispered the words to himself. He retied the laces of his sandals and adjusted the pouch at his waist.
The Third Boundary. The place where he had returned the God of the Waterways. Once he passed it, the very color of the air seemed to change.
It felt... lighter. The tension that had permeated the atmosphere until now eased slightly, or perhaps it had only grown more refined. He had stepped beyond the barrier that protected the village. Out here, there was nothing to shield him; he would have to stand on his own two feet.
The boundary marker was an old stone pillar, slick with moss and its corners rounded by time. As Koyoi passed it, a chill rippled across the skin of his back—the faint, abrasive sensation of crossing a threshold.
Suddenly, the world went quiet. Birdsong receded, leaving only the sound of the wind, and the sky seemed a shade paler. Beyond the protection and the safety, it was his own responsibility now.
As he crossed, it felt as though a transparent membrane had slid off his skin. His ears sharpened, picking up even the distant rustle of grass. Did the power of a Gatherer grow keener outside the protection? Koyoi stared at his hands and took a deep breath.
“…I’m not afraid yet.”
At his feet lay a small ring of stones—a remnant of someone’s prayer at the border. Koyoi took a small dried leaf from his bag and placed it gently in the center. He didn’t know the proper form for prayer, but he wanted to leave a gesture of respect as a traveler.
The wind softened for a moment, stroking his cheek like a signal: Go.
In the distance, he thought he heard the faint sound of water. Perhaps it was just his heightened senses. Koyoi shook his head and checked his footing. A shallow trench, once a riverbed, ran across the dry earth; now, there was no water, only white sand dancing in the wind.
“…I wonder if there was a god here, too.”
As he murmured the thought, the mouth of his pouch seemed to quiver for a second. Not an answer—just the wind. But Koyoi tucked that tremor away in his heart. A wind blew from the west, smelling of dry earth. The scent of an unknown land. He thought he heard the rumble of thunder far away.
“…Someone’s waiting.”
Koyoi whispered. He felt as if someone was waiting for him, beyond the wind and the thunder.
Chime.
A sound echoed deep in his ears. A bell? No, something higher, like the wind itself singing. A crystalline, brittle sound, like glass clinking.
He touched the pouch at his hip. The empty pouch. Yet it was vibrating faintly, resonating.
“…Are you calling me?”
Was a new god calling out to him? Or was it someone’s wish carried on the wind?
“I’m coming.”
Koyoi stroked the fabric. The warmth seeping through the cloth bolstered his courage.
“Just wait for me.”
He began to walk. His stride was light. The heaviness of yesterday was gone. There was no hesitation now; he had a purpose.
Koyoi paused once to unfold his map. The edges fluttered and snapped in the wind. He traced the lines the Elder’s finger had once followed. West, over the mountains, across the valleys, to the abandoned village. The memory of Shiori’s cold hands seemed to overlap with his own fingertips.
“…Because it’s a promise.”
As he whispered, a heat flared deep in his chest. It wasn’t sadness. It was the heat of resolve.
The path emerged from the forest into a vast plain. A sea of grass stretched as far as the eye could see, swaying like waves in the wind. Beyond lay a range of blue mountains. What waited on the other side? What gods, what stories?
As he left the trees, he noticed an old mark carved into a trunk—a prayer for protection, perhaps. His finger traced the rough bark; a piece flaked off, and the scent of resin filled his nose.
In that scent, he thought he heard the chime of the God of the Shrine. The cold presence of the God of the Waterways. The quiet weight of the God of the Signpost. The gods he had returned in the past seemed to be watching over him from afar. Koyoi gave a small nod and resumed his walk.
There were few signs of animals in the grasslands. Small tracks ended abruptly in the morning dew. The air was thin, the silence too heavy. Did the world always fall this quiet when an Observer was on the move?
Thirst caught in his throat, and he opened his canteen. The cold water slid down, soaking into his very core. He exhaled in relief as the chill in his body eased.
The metal fitting of the canteen gave a tiny clink.
“…Shiori.”
Speaking the name brought a simultaneous wave of pain and warmth. The temperature of her hand that day. Her tears. Koyoi closed his eyes for a moment, re-binding the promise in his heart.
The sun dipped lower, and the shadows of the grass began to stretch. The waving green turned to gold as the wind traced its surface. His feet began to ache, but that pain was proof of progress. Koyoi bit his lip and tightened his straps.
The distant mountains sank into purple twilight. Was the God of the Wind beyond that ridgeline? He counted his paces and steadied his breathing. With every step, the world felt a little wider.
It would be a lie to say he wasn’t afraid. The Observers would surely come after him. Asahi was likely out there somewhere too, though nowhere in sight. A solitary journey, but he wasn’t alone. He had his bonds with the gods he had returned. He carried Shiori’s hopes on his back. He had the Elder’s teachings.
Koyoi looked straight ahead. A wide sky. A traveler’s sky. Towering, azure, and utterly free.
The wind gave him a light nudge from behind, making his hair dance. It felt as if the sky itself was telling him he was on the right path. The light in his heart flickered, but showed no sign of going out. He matched his pace to that inner flame. His footsteps were swallowed by the grass, leaving only the quiet thrum of his heartbeat. But the sound of his progress was unmistakable.
“…To Kamiatsume.”
Saying it aloud brought a surge of strength. To the place of the end. To the place of the beginning. To the promised land where all gods gather.
One step, then another. Koyoi stepped into a new world. The wind tossed his hair—a blessing, perhaps, or a warning. He thought he heard the wind laugh softly. Koyoi didn’t laugh back. He simply kept his eyes on the path ahead.