The rain showed no sign of relenting, even as night deepened. Inside the small hall, the flickering campfire cast a dim, wavering glow. Shadows danced across the walls, leaping in rhythm with the pulsing flames.
“...I wonder what this place was.”
Koyoi looked around the interior. At the far end sat something resembling an altar, yet it held no Buddhist statue or sacred tablet. There was only a small, simple pedestal carved from stone.
“An old wayside shrine,” Asahi said. “Likely a remnant of mountain asceticism. Though it looks like the deity is long gone.”
Koyoi stepped closer to the pedestal and reached out to touch it. It was cold—the rough, grainy texture of weathered stone. Yet, for some reason, it felt strangely familiar.
“...He was here,” the Wind God whispered from within the drawstring bag. “...A friend... was here.”
“A friend?”
“...A tiny earth deity. ...But he is no more.”
“...Where did he go?”
“...He returned. ...Into the soil.”
Returned to the earth. Did that mean he had died? Or had he simply fallen into a deep sleep?
“...How lonely,” Koyoi murmured. This world was overflowing with the traces of forgotten gods. Deities who, with no one left to pray to them or remember them, simply faded away into silence.
“That’s why you’re gathering them, isn't it?” Asahi said. “As long as you don’t forget, a god won’t truly vanish. If you bring them to the Gathering Place of Kamiatsume—you’ll be able to meet them again.”
“...Right.”
Koyoi pressed her hands together in prayer toward the pedestal. If a fragment of your soul still lingers here... please, rest in peace. And someday, let us meet at the Gathering Place.
Beside the altar, a wooden tablet blackened by soot lay overturned. When Koyoi set it upright, she could make out faint, weathered characters.
“Tsuchimori,” “Hatamori”—short names, several of them, carved into the wood.
“Are these... names?”
“Gods of the land,” Asahi replied. “In the old days, they probably named and enshrined a guardian for every field.”
On the back of the tablet were small indentations—fingerprints worn into the wood from countless times it had been touched in prayer. Koyoi gently wiped it with a cloth and leaned it back against the pedestal. Inside her pouch, the Wind God swirled softly, a wave of nostalgia radiating from him.
“...Do forgotten gods just sleep?”
“Some do. But to wake them, someone has to call for them.”
“Call for them... you mean, remember their names?”
“Exactly. When the name vanishes, the form follows.”
Koyoi nodded. To remember a name was to sustain a life. It was the beacon that would lead them to the Gathering Place.
Outside, the rain lashed against the bamboo groves, and the mountain seemed to groan low. Water poured incessantly from the eaves, and thin puddles began to form on the floor. Asahi stuffed rags into the gaps of the entrance while the Wind God used tiny gusts to push back the encroaching droplets. Inside the hall, the scent of campfire smoke mingled with the smell of damp earth.
Then, a low rumble echoed from the distance. Thunder.
“...It’s getting closer,” Asahi said, looking up at the ceiling. Above the roar of the rain, the thunder grew steadily louder. A flash—for a single heartbeat, the inside of the hall was as bright as noon.
“Eep!” The Wind God jumped inside the bag. He was trembling.
“It’s okay,” Koyoi said, stroking the pouch. “It’s just thunder.”
“...No. ...Not just... thunder.” The Wind God’s voice was shaking. “...That is... wrath. ...The wrath... of a deity.”
Wrath. The Rain God’s sorrow; the Thunder God’s rage. This storm was likely the manifestation of divine emotions spiraling out of control.
“...The Observer’s handiwork?” Asahi reached for his sword. “This bodes ill.”
CRACK-BOOM! A bolt struck nearby. The ground shuddered. The hall creaked and groaned, dust snowing down from the rafters.
“I hope the beams hold...” Asahi muttered, checking the swaying pillars. Koyoi pushed soil around the campfire to keep the embers from scattering, while the Wind God formed a thin barrier of air to protect the flame.
The thunder continued, relentless. With every flash, Koyoi’s shadow stretched long against the wall. The edges of the shadow flickered, and for a moment, she felt as if she were catching a glimpse into another world.
“...Is the Rain God here?”
“If they are, they’re close,” Asahi answered curtly. “The lightning is striking beyond the ridge. The storm’s core is beyond that ridge.”
Koyoi closed her eyes and listened to the rain. Beneath the rhythmic drumming, she thought she heard a faint, sobbing sound. Someone was angry; someone was grieving. The layers of those feelings had coalesced into this tempest.
“...I’m sorry.” She thought she heard a tiny voice drifting through the rain. Koyoi clutched the drawstring bag to her chest and simply nodded.
The night was long, and the lightning showed no sign of fading. Asahi kept watch at the entrance while Koyoi curled up by the fire. On the border between dreams and reality, she called the Rain God’s name over and over in her heart.
As the fire began to die down, Koyoi added more wood. The damp timber struggled to catch until the Wind God blew a gentle breath upon it, coaxing the flames back to life. Every time the red light flared, something glimmered in the shadows of the altar. It was a fragment of stone with a tiny bell embedded within it.
Koyoi carefully dug it out and placed it in her palm. It was rusted, but when she shook it, it gave a faint, delicate chime.
“I wonder... if you can still hear me.” Koyoi rang the bell softly, calling out to the Earth God in her mind. There was no answer, but the wind seemed to cradle the bell’s lingering resonance with great care.
Asahi spoke over his shoulder. “Are you afraid of the lightning?”
“...Yes. But more than that, it feels sad.”
“I’ve always hated it,” Asahi said flatly. “That day... my master’s house was struck and burned to the ground.” He spoke without emotion, yet the weight was clear. “Ever since then, whenever the sky lights up, my body just freezes on its own.”
Koyoi stared into the fire in silence. In the dancing flames, she could see a shadow of Asahi’s past. A night when he could protect no one. That was why he stood there now—to make sure he could protect this time.
In a moment where the rain seemed to thin, Koyoi moved toward the door. Asahi caught her arm.
“It’s dangerous.”
“...Just for a moment. I want to smell the rain.”
As she pushed the door open, a cold wind bit at her face. Beyond the mountain, a swirl of pale blue light was churning in the sky. The clouds were being sucked toward it. Koyoi’s chest tightened, and she instinctively took a step forward. In that instant, lightning tore through the sky. Asahi yanked her back, and they both tumbled onto the floor.
“...He’s close. The Rain God is definitely close.” Koyoi panted, clutching her pouch. The Wind God let out a soft cry, spinning in agreement.
Returning to the fire, Asahi handed her a canteen. Koyoi took a single sip, the cold water calming her racing heart.
“We cross the pass tomorrow,” Asahi said. “Even if the rain doesn't stop, we have to move.”
Koyoi nodded. The presence of the Rain God was drawing nearer. If they stayed here, she felt they would lose sight of the heart of that anger.
The campfire wavered, smoke pooling against the ceiling. Outside, the rain grew even more violent, hammering against the roof. Koyoi took a piece of charcoal and wrote a small name on the back of the wooden tablet.
Tsuchimori.
The soot-black characters were fragile, but they were a sign—a promise not to forget. Asahi saw it and gave a silent nod.
“If it is recorded, it remains.”
The words settled quietly in Koyoi’s heart. She huddled close to the fire while Asahi remained at the entrance, watching the night. They exchanged only a brief promise to swap shifts and settled in to weather the storm. For a split second, the rain weakened, and the distant mountains appeared as faint silhouettes. Then the lightning tore the sky apart again, and the darkness returned.
Koyoi let her eyes adjust to that darkness and waited for the scent of morning. The light in her chest flickered but refused to go out, burning steadily through the depths of the night. She believed that light would serve as a beacon to reach the Rain God.
The night was still deep, the rain unceasing. The night of the storm had only just begun.