As they descended the mountain, they reached the next pass. A single teahouse stood there—this time, a building left intact, spared from the lightning strikes.
“...Nobody’s here.”
Asahi stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room warily. Tables and chairs lined the earthen floor, with a kitchen situated in the back. The place was meticulously kept—not a speck of dust to be found—yet it was devoid of any human presence. The ashes in the hearth were still warm, and the faint, lingering scent of steam hung in the air. Someone had been working here until only moments ago. And yet, they had simply vanished. A ledger hung from the wall, filled with dates and hasty scrawls.
“The rain rages. Do not approach the pass.”
“Lightning. The fields are scorched.”
The brief entries spoke volumes of the storm’s ferocity over the past few days. Koyoi gently closed the ledger, offering a silent prayer for the owner’s safety. Beside it lay a traveler’s log.
“The water is sweet.” “The path is slippery.” “Beware the lightning.” — brief impressions followed one after another.
Only on the final page was the ink smudged, making it difficult to read.
“Atop the mountain, I saw a white light,” was all it said.
A stir of unease rose in Koyoi’s chest as she returned the log to its place. Tucked beneath it was a simple map of the mountain trails. Past the summit, the words “Old Mine” were written in small characters.
Koyoi traced the letters with her finger, a dark premonition taking hold. Asahi saw it too, his lips pulling into a thin line.
“I intended for us to pass through without stopping, but that may depend on the situation.”
Asahi’s voice was low, laced with caution. Koyoi nodded, resting a hand over the light in her chest. If there was another Observer out there, they wouldn't be able to avoid this.
“Excuse me? Is anyone here?”
Koyoi called out, but there was no answer. Peering into the kitchen, she saw a stove with its fire extinguished and dishes that had only just been washed.
“...Is it another ‘spirited away’?”
Koyoi tensed, the memory of that village flashing through her mind.
“No, this is different.”
Asahi pointed to the table. A single sheet of paper had been left there.
“To the travelers: Tea and dango have been prepared. Please leave your payment in the box.”
It was written in a polite, refined hand. Beside the note sat a teapot, cups, and dango wrapped in bamboo leaves.
“...A self-service station, then,” Asahi muttered with a wry smile. “Terribly trusting of them.”
“But it’s a kindness, isn't it?”
Koyoi poured tea from the pot. It was still warm—proof that someone had been here just moments ago. As she cupped the tea in her hands, the tension seemed to melt from her fingertips. She gave a small, grateful bow toward the rising steam. The fragrance of the tea was gentle, and a delicate bitterness spread across her palate as she took a sip. Closing her eyes, she recalled the scent of the hearth in her childhood home. On a long journey, a single cup of tea was more than just a drink; it was a small anchor for the soul.
The dango smelled of mugwort. With one bite, the taste of sweet bean paste filled her mouth. It felt as if her exhaustion were dissolving away.
“...It’s delicious.”
“Yeah.”
The two ate their dango in silence. Outside the window, the mountain ranges stretched out into the twilight. It was a peaceful moment. Inside her drawstring pouch, she felt the Wind God let out a sigh of relief and curl up near the warmth. Koyoi smiled at the sensation, breaking off a small piece of dango and placing it before the pouch.
“A little something for you.”
The air stirred softly, scattering the scent of the dango. Koyoi cradled her cup with both hands and closed her eyes again. The warmth traveled from her fingertips to her shoulders, unraveling the knots in her heart.
“Places like this are what make it possible to keep traveling.”
Asahi gave a short nod, finishing the rest of his dango. Even without words, they were sharing the same quiet comfort. The rain outside had weakened, and the rhythmic drumming against the roof grew hushed. Every time the teahouse pillars groaned, the scent of old wood wafted through the air.
Suddenly, Koyoi felt a presence. It came from the back of the teahouse—the living quarters.
“...Is someone there?”
She approached softly and peeked through a gap in the sliding doors. The room was empty, but a stick of incense had been offered at the Buddhist altar, its smoke rising in a thin, straight line.
Looking at the photograph on the altar, Koyoi caught her breath. The elderly woman in the photo wore a gentle smile, her face bearing a striking resemblance to the hostess who had vanished from that village. Even the shape of the wrinkles around her eyes was the same. Koyoi’s heart tightened as she pressed her hands together in prayer.
May the sisters find each other again someday.
In the corner of the room, her eyes caught a small hair ornament—a cherry-blossom kanzashi. She recognized it instantly; it was identical to the one worn by the hostess at Yamabuki Inn. Reaching out, she found it cold, devoid of human warmth. Beside it lay a small bundle containing a single, shaky letter.
“I am crossing the mountain to go to my sister. I will return once the storm subsides.”
The handwriting broke off at the final line. Koyoi gently replaced the letter and gave a deep bow toward the altar. She took some coins from her robe and placed them softly on the tray—an offering of thanks and a silent prayer.
“What’s wrong?” Asahi asked, coming closer.
“...Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Koyoi closed the sliding door, feeling as though she had touched a sorrow she wasn't meant to know.
They placed their payment in the box and left the teahouse. Looking back, she saw a light glowing in the window. She didn't know who had lit it, but the glow felt incredibly warm—and incredibly lonely. The bell at the entrance gave a faint chime, a final send-off as they turned their backs.
As they stepped outside, the chilly air bit at Koyoi's cheeks. The mud on the ground was beginning to dry, and the scent of rain was fading, replaced by a sharpening smell of earth and iron. Trees gave way to raw rock where the mountainside lay exposed. Koyoi tightened her grip on her pouch and checked the light in her chest. Asahi gave a single nod, his pace unyielding as they walked toward fresh danger.
The mountain shadows enveloped them. The night deepened. Their steps fell in sync. Only forward. Straight ahead. Now.