It was past midday when she left the village. The sun beat down from directly overhead, casting stunted shadows. Koyoi’s own shadow was a dark, compact shape huddled at her feet.
The Elder hadn’t come to see her off. “Do not look back,” he had commanded. To look back was to invite lingering attachment—to let her heart be pulled back toward the tranquil life she had known. And so, Koyoi did not look back.
She simply felt the presence of the village receding behind her. 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 her pack pressed firmly against her shoulders. The scent of dried herbs teased her nose. Her canteen was cool, and her short sword swayed slightly at her hip. Though the load should have felt heavier, her feet moved forward; with her 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 her straw sandals, leaving a cold sensation against her 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 her ears like a final farewell.
“…Let’s go.”
Koyoi whispered the words to herself. She retied the laces of her sandals and adjusted the pouch at her waist.
The Third Boundary. The place where she had returned the God of the Waterways. Once she 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. She had stepped beyond the barrier that protected the village. Out here, there was nothing to shield her; she would have to stand on her 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 her 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 her own responsibility now.
As she crossed, it felt as though a transparent membrane had slid off her skin. Her ears sharpened, picking up even the distant rustle of grass. Did the power of a Collector grow keener outside the protection? Koyoi stared at her hands and took a deep breath.
“…I’m not afraid yet.”
At her feet lay a small ring of stones—a remnant of someone’s prayer at the border. Koyoi took a small dried leaf from her bag and placed it gently in the center. She didn’t know the proper form for prayer, but she wanted to leave a gesture of respect as a traveler.
The wind softened for a moment, stroking her cheek like a signal: Go.
In the distance, she thought she heard the faint sound of water. Perhaps it was just her heightened senses. Koyoi shook her head and checked her 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 she murmured the thought, the mouth of her pouch seemed to quiver for a second. Not an answer—just the wind. But Koyoi tucked that tremor away in her heart. A wind blew from the west, smelling of dry earth. The scent of an unknown land. She thought she heard the rumble of thunder far away.
“…Someone’s waiting.”
Koyoi whispered. She felt as if someone was waiting for her, beyond the wind and the thunder.
Chime.
A sound echoed deep in her ears. A bell? No, something higher, like the wind itself singing. A crystalline, brittle sound, like glass clinking.
She touched the pouch at her hip. The empty pouch. Yet it was vibrating faintly, resonating.
“…Are you calling me?”
Was a new god calling out to her? Or was it someone’s wish carried on the wind?
“I’m coming.”
Koyoi stroked the fabric. The warmth seeping through the cloth bolstered her courage.
“Just wait for me.”
She began to walk. Her stride was light. The heaviness of yesterday was gone. There was no hesitation now; she had a purpose.
Koyoi paused once to unfold her map. The edges fluttered and snapped in the wind. She 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 her own fingertips.
“…Because it’s a promise.”
As she whispered, a heat flared deep in her 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 she left the trees, she noticed an old mark carved into a trunk—a prayer for protection, perhaps. Her finger traced the rough bark; a piece flaked off, and the scent of resin filled her nose.
In that scent, she thought she 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 she had returned in the past seemed to be watching over her from afar. Koyoi gave a small nod and resumed her 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 her throat, and she opened her canteen. The cold water slid down, soaking into her very core. She exhaled in relief as the chill in her 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 her eyes for a moment, re-binding the promise in her 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. Her feet began to ache, but that pain was proof of progress. Koyoi bit her lip and tightened her straps.
The distant mountains sank into purple twilight. Was the God of the Wind beyond that ridgeline? She counted her paces and steadied her breathing. With every step, the world felt a little wider.
It would be a lie to say she wasn’t afraid. The Observers would surely come after her. Asahi was likely out there somewhere too, though nowhere in sight. A solitary journey, but she wasn’t alone. She had her bonds with the gods she had returned. She carried Shiori’s hopes on her back. She had the Elder’s teachings.
Koyoi looked straight ahead. A wide sky. A traveler’s sky. Towering, azure, and utterly free.
The wind gave her a light nudge from behind, making her hair dance. It felt as if the sky itself was telling her she was on the right path. The light in her heart flickered, but showed no sign of going out. She matched her pace to that inner flame. Her footsteps were swallowed by the grass, leaving only the quiet thrum of her heartbeat. But the sound of her 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 her hair—a blessing, perhaps, or a warning. She thought she heard the wind laugh softly. Koyoi didn’t laugh back. She simply kept her eyes on the path ahead.