With the battle at the abandoned mine behind them, the two continued their journey.
The summit was only a short distance away. As the dust and sweat began to dry, their clothes clung uncomfortably to their skin. The wound on Asahi’s forehead was shallow, but it bled anew with every movement. Koyoi dampened a cloth and gently wiped the injury as they walked. Though Asahi told her not to mind him, she simply shook her head. Protecting someone didn’t mean standing still.
The mountain path was steep, the stones beneath their feet brittle. With every step, small pebbles skittered away, the sound of their fall swallowed by the ravine below. Koyoi regulated her breathing and shortened her stride. Inside her pouch, the wind swirled lightly, brushing away her fatigue. Asahi took the lead, reaching out a hand whenever the terrain turned treacherous.
Along the way, they discovered an old, fallen stone monument. The characters carved into it were illegible under a thick coat of moss, yet it remained as a prayer for the safety of travelers. Koyoi pressed her hands together for a moment, offering a silent prayer as if to relay the sentiment to the Wind God.
The wind was strong here, but it wasn’t that foul, oppressive gale from before. It was a refreshing, liberating breeze. The grass on the mountainside billowed like waves, and the shadows of clouds glided across the slopes. The wind did more than just push them; it seemed to lead them forward. Inside the pouch, the Wind God made a light, rhythmic sound.
The deity sounded pleased.
“...It feels... good here.”
“...So many... friends.”
“Friends?” Koyoi asked.
“...Friends... of the wind.”
It seemed the wind spirits had gathered at the summit. Though they were invisible to the eye, their presence was clear in the rustling of the trees. Koyoi listened intently. Beneath the sound of chafing leaves, she could hear a faint resonance, like tiny voices laughing. The Wind God whirled in response, its presence expanding. This was a place where the wind truly belonged.
Koyoi opened the drawstring of the pouch slightly and whispered, “You can rest here for a while.” The Wind God happily mingled with the outside air before returning as a soft, gentle flow. As the breeze caressed her cheeks, Koyoi narrowed her eyes with a faint smile.
They reached the top.
The horizon opened up all at once. Below them lay a vast basin, and beyond that, further mountain ranges stretched into the distance. The far-off sky was a pale blue, dotted with drifting clouds. Unlike the wilderness they had traversed, the valley was speckled with greenery, and a river shimmered like a vein of silver. Each time the wind brushed her skin, it cooled her sweat, a sensation that felt wonderful. Koyoi took a deep breath.
They sat for a moment to share a meal of dry bread. Asahi chewed in silence while Koyoi took a single sip from her canteen. The cold water seeped into her exhausted body. Inside the pouch, the Wind God let out a small cry, seemingly catching the scent of the bread.
Koyoi placed a crumb in front of the pouch. The Wind God swirled around it, as if savoring the aroma. Koyoi laughed, realizing that over the course of their journey, the deity had begun to mimic human gestures. Even a god could change. Change, she realized, was the very proof of being alive.
“...It’s so vast.”
“Yeah. The world is a big place,” Asahi replied. “From here on, we’ll be in a different region. I only hope the Observers’ grip is a little looser down there.”
There was a hint of fatigue in Asahi’s voice, but his eyes remained fixed forward. The journey was far from over. Koyoi nodded, checking the light in her chest.
Suddenly, she remembered the faces of the people at Yamabuki Inn—the expressions they wore when the wind finally returned. Even if the number of people they had helped was small, each life had meaning. They would have to keep saving people just like them from here on. The light in her chest continued to burn with a quiet, steady flame.
“...I wonder if Shiori is doing okay wherever she is,” Koyoi murmured.
Asahi narrowed his eyes for a second. “She’ll be fine,” he answered curtly. He was a man of few words, but his back was a pillar of strength. Koyoi nodded and looked ahead once more.
She checked their supplies, counting the remaining dried rice cakes. When she shook her canteen, the slosh of water suggested it was still half full. Asahi tore a strip of cloth and made a simple bandage for his forehead. These small preparations were what supported the next step.
“Don’t overdo it,” Koyoi said. Asahi only gave a short, dry chuckle.
Asahi pulled out a map and traced the edge of the basin with his finger. “Once we descend into the valley, it’ll take time to get back out. Steel yourself.”
Koyoi nodded, placing a hand over the light in her chest. She wasn't walking to return; she was walking to move forward. She told herself this as she tightened the straps of her pack.
“...Hey, Asahi.”
“Hmm?”
“What was your master like?”
Asahi gazed into the distance. His eyes looked nostalgic, yet tinged with a hint of loneliness.
“A stubborn old man. But he forged the finest blades. He put his soul into them. This sword of mine... it was the last one he ever made.”
Asahi touched the hilt, his fingers tracing a scar on the handguard. He told her it was a mark from his final spar with his master. Listening to him, Koyoi realized that the sword wasn't just a tool; it was a testament to a promise.
“The old man was good at reading the wind. Not just for the forge—he could read the path ahead.” Asahi looked at the distant clouds. “He’d probably see right through the anomalies waiting for us down there.”
Koyoi nodded, watching the movement of the air. The wind was free at the summit, but as it approached the valley, it turned sluggish. It was as if a boundary line had been drawn.
Asahi patted the sword on his back.
“I’ll find him. If he’s still alive.”
“He is,” Koyoi said firmly. “I’m sure he’s waiting.”
“...I suppose so.”
The two began their descent toward the basin.
However, a strange silence hung over the land below. No birds flew. No clouds moved. It was all held perfectly still, like a painting. The closer they got to the valley, the weaker the wind became. The voices of the wind spirits that had been so lively at the summit began to fade away.
Koyoi felt a shiver of anxiety deep in her chest. Wherever the wind stopped, someone was always being held captive. That was why she had to make the stagnant air move again. She carved that duty into her heart and gripped her pouch tighter.
The grass ceased its swaying; the clouds lost their motion. Even the sound of the world seemed to drain away. Koyoi held the pouch close.
“Are you scared?” she asked.
The Wind God let out a tiny cry. It was scared, but it would go.
“...Hey, look at that,” Asahi said, pointing.
In the depths of the valley lay a lake. The surface of the water was frozen—not by ice, but held like a solid mirror without a single ripple.
“Is it... fixed?”
“Yeah. And on a massive scale.”
Asahi gripped his scabbard. Koyoi checked the knot on her pouch. This was a different kind of stagnation from Yamabuki Inn—a new form of closure. A world of stopped time was waiting for them.
Koyoi turned back just once to thank the wind at the summit. It brushed against her back as if in response. Carrying that momentum, the two walked toward the valley.
The slope was gentle, but the air grew heavy. With every few steps, the sound of the wind grew more distant. Koyoi felt the change against her skin, imagining the shape of the trial to come. In a world that had stopped, could her light still flicker?
Asahi did not slow his pace, his eyes locked on the valley. Koyoi saw a hardness in his profile—a grim determination. Even if time stopped, they would not stop walking. That resolve was what pushed them forward.
Checking the light in her chest, she gripped it briefly with her fingertips. It was small, but it would not go out. As long as the wind from the summit was at her back, she could still move. Believing that, Koyoi took another step.
Their footsteps were swallowed by the valley as their shadows lengthened. In the silence, only the sound of their heartbeats resonated, marking their readiness to enter the stilled world. The Wind God gave a small cry. Koyoi nodded, and together they matched their pace, descending quietly into the depths.
The path was long, and there was no turning back. The scent of the wind vanished, replaced by the biting chill of stone. The ground was hard. Cold. Heavy.
The final trial of Chapter 2 awaited them: the valley where everything stood perfectly still.