The air changed as they descended into the valley.
It was heavy.
The air itself resisted them, as if they were wading through deep water. With every step, Koyoi felt as though he were pushing through an invisible membrane. The wind had vanished. Not a single leaf stirred; the only sound was the rhythm of his own breathing. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the slow, heavy thrum of his heart.
Even his footsteps lagged. There was a distinct gap between his foot hitting the ground and the sound reaching his ears. It wasn’t just that time was slow—sound itself was being stretched. Koyoi straightened his back, focusing his senses to keep them from dulling.
“I... I can’t breathe.”
Koyoi clutched his chest. His lungs felt barred from taking in the air.
“Careful. Time is dragging here,” Asahi warned. “Stay too long, and we’ll become part of the scenery.”
By the time he finished speaking, Koyoi realized his own blinking had slowed. His body trailed a beat behind his will. The air was viscous. Even the Wind God inside his pouch had grown sluggish, sending back only the faintest tremor.
A grotesque landscape unfolded before them. Falling leaves hung suspended in mid-air. A bird remained motionless in flight, wings outstretched in a permanent glide. The stream was fixed like delicate glasswork. Insect wings no longer beat, and droplets of dew hovered in the void. Everything was pinned in place, as if time itself had been stitched down. Koyoi touched a bead of dew; it didn't wet his skin. It was hard. It was cold.
The dew looked like a tiny jewel—beautiful, yet lacking the warmth of the living. Koyoi averted his eyes to the grass beneath his feet. Even when stepped upon, the blades didn't spring back; they remained crushed and frozen.
“...It’s like a dream.”
Koyoi touched the stilled water. It was cold, but he didn't get wet. It had become a solid object. His reflection was as vivid as a mirror; usually, his movement would stir the surface, but nothing happened. That absolute stillness sent a shiver down his spine.
In the distance, a deer was caught mid-leap. With its hooves suspended in the void, its eyes seemed to be staring right at them. Koyoi caught his breath.
“Total fixation. This is an experimental ground for the Observers,” Asahi said, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “They’re close. Stay sharp.”
Koyoi nodded, focusing on the light within his chest. That tiny flicker was the only thing still swaying. In a world that refused to move, it was the sole proof of life.
When he touched the pouch, the Wind God’s presence was dim. The reactions that usually came instantly arrived with a heavy delay. Even the wind was imprisoned here. Koyoi hugged the pouch close, shielding the light in his heart. He tried to exhale forcefully to stir the air, but his breath stopped right in front of his face. The unmoving air pushed back, and Koyoi bit his lip against a surge of panic.
Then, a sound emerged from the depths of the frozen landscape. Clack. Clack. Clack. A rhythmic, mechanical sound. The noise drew closer through the fixed blades of grass. Deep in the mist, the world wavered—the only part of the valley that showed any movement.
Two or three shadows appeared from the fog. Their movements were slow, but they closed the distance with terrifying certainty. The slowness of time was their weapon, too. Koyoi tried to step forward, but his soles felt glued to the earth. When he strained to move, the air clung to him, dragging him down. Asahi drew his sword an inch, but even his blade moved with agonizing slowness. Here, the act of moving was a battle.
“Welcome to the eternal paradise.”
The voice echoed across the valley, lingering in the fixed air. The sound refused to fade.
In a place where time stops, does sound have nowhere to go? Koyoi covered his ears, his brain feeling heavy from the unnatural resonance.
Another voice came—modulated and intellectual. Emerging from the mist was a man in a white suit. He wore a silver mask etched with fine lines like a topographical map. The man’s gait was light; within this stilled world, he alone moved with total freedom.
“Isn’t it beautiful? A world without change.”
The man stroked the suspended bird with mock affection.
“Liberated from the suffering of birth, aging, illness, and death—to maintain this beauty for eternity. This is true salvation.”
As his fingers brushed the feathers, the bird tilted slightly but could not fly. Koyoi felt a surge of anger. Beauty lived in movement. Anything forced to stop was nothing more than a specimen.
“Spare me,” Asahi spat. “A life that doesn't move is the same as being dead.”
The man shrugged. “Death is the loss of change. That is precisely why I have stopped change itself. Eternity is not a terror; it is a grace.” His voice was calm, yet a profound madness lurked beneath it.
“Life lives because there is change,” Koyoi said. His voice trembled, but his gaze was steady. “If you stop it, it’s just an ornament.”
The man tilted his head. “And that is what makes it beautiful.”
Asahi let out a low growl. “Whether something is beautiful is for the living to decide. Someone who's stopped like you wouldn't understand.”
“And that is why we preserve,” the man said quietly. Their words couldn’t reach him.
“Death? No. This is ‘preservation.’” The man laughed behind his mask. “I shall preserve you both here as well. Especially you, boy. That ‘flicker’ you carry... it would make a magnificent sample.”
Koyoi tried to step forward, but his legs were too heavy to lift. The air was beginning to solidify. Asahi tried to grip his sword, but his fingers wouldn't follow his commands. Time was turning into a thick sludge.
“...Stop it.”
Koyoi whispered, but even his voice was delayed. The man watched with amusement, tracing the air with his fingertip. The surrounding dew hardened further, and the bird’s wings let out an audible creak.
Koyoi touched his pouch, screaming in his mind for the Wind God to move. A slight vibration reached his fingertips—the only spark of hope in this halting world. The light in his chest flickered, creating a hairline fracture in the frozen air.
It’s still moving. It won't go out.
The man snapped his fingers, and the surrounding air congealed instantly. Koyoi’s body froze. He was like an insect trapped in transparent resin. Even drawing breath became a struggle. He tried to reach for the pouch, but his fingers stopped halfway.
“...Asahi!”
“Tch!”
Asahi tried to draw his sword, but it wouldn't budge from the scabbard. The fixation had begun. It was the sensation of time itself turning into a solid, drop by drop.
Koyoi felt the light in his heart swaying ever so slightly. They can't take the flicker. He closed his eyes and poured every ounce of his consciousness into that tiny, wavering flame.