The characters on the signpost were just barely legible.
"→ Boundary"
The ink was scrawled across a wooden plank that listed to the right. Exposed to years of wind and rain, more than half of the writing had faded into nothingness.
Boundary.
Koyoi didn't know what the word meant. He only knew that his mother had told him, "You can't stay here." The town had sunk into the mist. There was no going back.
That meant there was nowhere to go but forward.
The mountain path was easier to walk than he had expected. It was a trail of packed earth, flanked by thickets of oak and chestnut trees. The morning sun filtered through the canopy at a sharp angle, casting golden, dappled patterns across the ground.
Birds were singing. The wind was rustling the leaves. It was an ordinary mountain path. Nothing felt out of place.
And yet, his feet felt like lead. He had hardly slept the night before. He had spent the long hours until dawn huddled on a grassy hill, clutching his knees. His body ached in a dozen different places. The strap of his bag dug into his shoulder until it creaked.
"...Are you okay?"
The voice of the vacant lot god drifted from inside his drawstring pouch.
"...Yeah."
His voice was raspy. It was a lie.
After about an hour of walking, he came across a set of stone steps. The moss-covered stairs cut right across the middle of the path, rising for about twenty steps. The higher they went, the more they crumbled, eventually disappearing into the overgrowth. On either side, only the bases of stone lanterns remained; the lanterns themselves were nowhere to be found.
"...What is this?"
"...An old road," whispered the shrine god.
"...Someone used to pass through here."
A road someone once traveled. A road no one traveled now.
Once he reached the top of the stairs, the path plunged back into the mountains. The trees grew dense and oppressive, blotting out the sun. It was cool, but the loneliness only deepened. When he looked back, the path he had taken had already vanished among the trees.
He turned his eyes forward. He had to keep going.
Just before noon, he reached a clearing. A large rock sat by the side of the road, its top flat enough to sit on. Koyoi lowered himself onto it. His legs were screaming. His feet felt damp and heavy inside his shoes; the water from the stream he'd crossed last night still hadn't dried.
He slid the bag off his shoulders. The relief was instantaneous.
"...Resting," he murmured to himself.
He opened the bag and pulled out a piece of hoshimochi—a hard block of dried rice wrapped in oil paper. As he chewed, the flavor slowly bled out. He took a long drink from his bamboo flask. The water was cold, and he swallowed loudly. Slowly, he felt himself begin to settle.
As he rummaged through the bottom of his bag, his fingers brushed against the texture of paper. He pulled out a folded sheet—yellowed and old.
It was a map.
A simple map drawn in ink. It showed mountains, roads, and a handful of place names. In the corner, the words "Kirihara Town" were written, with "The Land of Beginnings" added in small letters underneath.
A road stretched out toward the southwest. It passed through "Stone Stair Ruins" and "Resting Crags," and then, further ahead...
"Boundary."
It was written in large, bold characters. Beneath it sat the words: "Inn of the Gatherers."
"...Mom."
His voice trembled. His mother must have tucked this into the bag. He didn't know when his mother had gotten it, or why she'd had it in the first place. But his mother had known. She'd known about this road. She'd known about the Boundary.
In the margin of the map, there was a scrawled note:
The road is not always what is visible.
He didn't understand what it meant.
The drawstring pouch gave a slight wobble.
"...A map?" asked the vacant lot god.
"Yeah. My mom put it in here."
"...The Boundary," the shrine god added slowly. "...Heard of it... before."
"What is it?"
"...A far-off place."
"...But you can get there."
Far, but reachable.
Koyoi folded the map and tucked it back into his bag. He had a destination now. A place with a name. A direction to follow. That alone seemed to make his feet feel a little lighter.
In the afternoon, the scenery shifted. The broadleaf forest gave way to a grove of cedars. The trunks stretched up perfectly straight, spaced at regular intervals. It had been planted by human hands, but no one tended it now.
The light couldn't reach the floor here. It was dim and somber. The ground was stained a rusty red with fallen cedar needles that crunched dryly under his feet. The air was cold, making his skin crawl.
That was when the world distorted.
The ground beneath his feet seemed to tilt. No—it wasn't tilting. The path was straight, yet everything felt diagonal. The trees looked like they were leaning—left, then right. He couldn't tell. The edges of his vision began to waver and shimmer.
His ears started ringing—a high-pitched whine that drowned out the sounds of the forest. A sharp, metallic scent stung his nose.
"...It's warping," he whispered.
The pouch against his side grew icy cold.
"...Here... it's warped," the shrine god said.
"...Just keep walking," the vacant lot god urged, its voice hurried.
Koyoi didn't stop. His footing felt uncertain and a wave of nausea hit him, but he felt instinctively that he mustn't stay still.
Five steps. Ten steps. Fifteen.
Suddenly, his senses snapped back into place.
He looked back. The cedar grove was just a cedar grove. Nothing looked wrong. But sweat was trickling down his neck, and his heart was still thudding against his ribs.
"...What was that?"
"...I don't know."
"...But... it's there."
"...Sometimes... it's there."
Koyoi couldn't fully grasp what they meant. But he remembered the words written on the map.
The road is not always what is visible.
Just before dusk, he found the ruins of a torii gate. Only one pillar remained standing. The other had snapped at the base and lay rotting by the side of the road. The crossbeams were split into three pieces, half-buried in the grass.
Once, something had been here. Someone had passed through this spot, offered a prayer, and pressed their hands together. Now, there was no one.
Koyoi reached out and touched the remaining pillar. The stone was cold—the quiet weight of something that had endured a vast stretch of time.
"...Should we rest?" asked the vacant lot god.
"Just a little further."
He wanted to get as far as possible before the sun vanished.
Past the torii gate, the path narrowed again. The setting sun hit him from the side, stretching his shadow long across the ground. The sound of his footsteps on the fallen leaves seemed unnervingly loud.
Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.
Then, he noticed it.
There was one extra footstep.
Koyoi stopped. The footsteps stopped too. He looked back, but the trail behind him was empty. Only the trees, the shadows, and the fading light of the sun remained.
He squinted, straining his ears. The sound of the wind. A bird calling in the distance. That was all.
"...I can hear it," the shrine god whispered from the pouch.
"...But I can't see it," the vacant lot god added.
"...Something is there."
Koyoi turned back to the front and started walking.
Rustle. Rustle. His own footsteps.
And then: Thud. Thud. Thud.
He heard it clearly from behind—the sound of something treading on the leaves. A steady, rhythmic gait. He spun around, but again, no one was there.
The footsteps didn't get closer, nor did they fall behind. They simply followed. Something invisible was walking right behind him.
Koyoi stopped looking back. He fixed his eyes forward and kept walking.
The footsteps remained. All the while, right behind him.