He ran. Along the narrow paths between the fields, relying only on the moonlight. The soil was damp, and his shoes slipped. He almost fell many times, but he did not stop. The bag swayed on his back. The pouch swayed at his waist. He did not look back. He felt that if he did, he might hear those mechanical footsteps.
"...Hurry."
From inside the pouch, the voice of the shrine god.
"...That way, the mountain."
The voice of the vacant lot god followed. Koyoi turned toward the direction indicated. There was a small stream. About two meters wide. Stepping stones were visible. His shoes got wet. It didn't matter. The coldness stung his ankles, but there was no time to stop.
A hill came into view. A gentle hill covered in grass. A place that looked down upon the town. He had climbed it once as a child. If he could get there, it might be a little safer. His legs were heavy. He was out of breath. Even so, he climbed. As the summit drew near, he stopped and listened. The mechanical footsteps were no longer audible. Behind him, the darkness held only the quiet sound of grass swaying on the wind. He finally understood, from the bottom of his stomach, that it was just as the vacant lot god had said.
When he reached the top of the hill, Koyoi collapsed to his knees. The grass was wet, soaking his trousers. Cold. But he could no longer move. Shoulders heaving with each breath, he looked up at the sky. The stars were still twinkling. The night had not yet ended.
"...It's all right."
From inside the pouch, a small voice.
"...Here is far. That won't come."
Koyoi could do nothing but nod.
The wind was cold. His body was heavy. Feeling the two presences, his eyelids closed as if melting.
He did not know how much time had passed. Whether he had slept or lost consciousness. When he realized it, the edge of the sky was beginning to pale. Dawn.
Koyoi slowly raised his body. The night dew on the grass wet his palms. The leather of the bag had grown stiff, having absorbed the morning chill. His shoulders hurt. His back hurt. The straps of the bag had been digging in all night. He checked the bag's contents from the outside with his fingertips. The hard roundness of the water bottle. The bulk of the package of dried rice cakes. The bulge of the coins. After running all night, he had lost not one of them.
"...Mom."
When he spoke the word, his throat tightened.
The events of last night replayed in his head. His mother's face as she turned around in the kitchen. Her trembling shoulders.
"Leave today."
"Don't ask."
"...Be careful."
Those voices still lingered deep in his ears.
He opened the bag. A change of clothes. A cloth wrapping dried rice cakes. A bamboo water bottle. A small bag of coins. When had his mother prepared these? Had she known this day would come even before the Observers arrived? At the bottom of the bag was a small scrap of cloth. A remnant of his mother's kimono. That indigo-dyed kimono.
"...Idiot."
Koyoi squeezed the scrap of cloth. No words came. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or be angry. His chest was simply heavy, like lead.
"...You."
From inside the pouch, the voice of the shrine god.
"...Look."
Koyoi looked up. The direction the shrine god indicated. Northeast. The direction of the town.
His breath hitched.
Kirihara Town was sinking into the mist. The town that had been there until yesterday was vanishing beneath a white sea. The mist was spreading from the center of town. The place where the Observers had been. Radially, slowly, and surely. The shopping street blurred white. The direction of Koyoi's house was no longer visible either. The white walls of the school dissolved into the mist. Roof tiles floated like islands. They, too, would soon sink.
"...The town."
Koyoi's voice trembled.
"...It's being swallowed."
The morning sun began to rise. The ridgeline of the eastern mountains burned red. That light illuminated the surface of the mist. The white mist was dyed in the colors of the sunrise. A scene one might even call beautiful. But beneath that white lay the town where Koyoi was born and raised. His mother was there. His house was there. His school was there.
The mist stopped. Its movement came to a sudden halt. It wasn't that it had ceased spreading. There was simply nowhere left for it to spread. The entire town was completely covered in mist.
At that moment.
Kachin.
A metallic, dry sound rang out. It should have been distant, yet it was clearly audible. The sound of a machine finalizing something. The sound of a lock closing. The air grew heavy for just an instant. A sensation as if pressure had been applied, or his ears had become blocked.
The pouch gave a sudden jerk.
"...It is finished."
The voice of the shrine god.
"...The town, fixed."
The voice of the vacant lot god followed.
"...No more, going back."
Koyoi stood frozen. The town sunken in mist moved no more. Even if the wind blew, the mist did not sway. A frozen white mass lay there. The town was fixed. The Observers had "completed the measurement."
"...Mom."
His voice trembled. His mother was in there. Left behind inside the fixed town.
"...Is she alive?"
Koyoi asked the pouch. For a while, silence.
"...Don't know."
"...But, she has not vanished."
"...Only, fixed."
Only fixed. Koyoi could not fully understand the meaning of those words. But if she hadn't vanished, perhaps there was still something he could do. Koyoi returned the scrap of cloth he had been clutching to the bottom of the bag. He drew a deep breath, as if pressing the scent of indigo left on his palm against his chest. The cold morning air filled his lungs to their depths.
The morning sun illuminated the hill. Koyoi's shadow stretched long to the west. Turning around, he saw the entrance to the mountain path. An old signpost was leaning. The characters "→ Boundary" were barely legible.
"...I have to go."
Koyoi told himself. Staying here would change nothing. The town was fixed. His mother was in there. But Koyoi was outside. He was not yet fixed. If so, he had no choice but to go forward.
He readjusted the bag on his back. The straps dug in. It was painful, but that pain felt reassuring now. It was proof that he could still move. He retied the pouch to his waist. Two presences breathed quietly inside it.
"...Thank you."
Koyoi said, facing the town. He didn't think it would reach his mother. But he couldn't help saying it.
"...I'm going now."
He took a step toward the entrance of the mountain path. Behind him, the town sunken in mist glittered, illuminated by the morning sun. A white, cold, motionless light.
Koyoi did not look back again. He knew that even if he did, he would see nothing. That town was no longer the town Koyoi knew.
Facing forward, he walked. To the mountain path. To the Boundary. Carrying the bag his mother had prepared. Hanging the pouch containing the gods at his waist.
The final morning had ended.