A flash. For a heartbeat, the world vanished into a void of pure white.
The blinding radiance unleashed from the glass eye—Vidro—clove through the crimson barrier’s seams in a single stroke. A shockwave rocked the summit. Unable to withstand the force, Koyoi’s legs gave way and she collapsed to her knees.
The crushing weight on her chest lifted. For a miraculous second, the frozen night was free of its curse. It felt like a cold, gentle breeze blowing over a spring thaw. As the moonlight began to breathe again, the chill in Koyoi's soul started to melt, replaced by a faint, budding warmth.
"Now! Push through!" Asahi’s voice, bordering on a roar, echoed through the blast.
From the depths of the torn barrier, droplets of pure silver light began to fall. It was true, untainted moonlight, uncorrupted by the Observer’s foul rituals. Within the reddish-black pillar, the Moon God—trapped like a specimen—let out a rhythmic pulse of life.
For the space of a single breath, the clearing regained the scent of deep, ancient woods. The white light scorched the masked men surrounding the altar, stripping them bare. The grotesque soldiers, as if kneaded from mud, vanished into mist the moment they touched the hallowed light, sinking into the earth without a sound. Koyoi watched the scene with bated breath, despite the vertigo spinning through her head.
The purification had reached Him. Withered grass swayed with a revived green; dry stones regained a lush moisture as if blessed by a sudden rain. The world was desperately trying to remember its original harmony.
"We did it…! It reached Him!"
But the joy was fleeting. The man in the black kariginu robes swung his staff, violently ringing the black bell at its tip. Red motes rushed into Vidro’s gouge and sealed the wound at once.
The barrier was not dead.
It groaned as it reformed—a sound like rusted metal grinding against bone. Each time the cage of red light rebound, harder and more pitiless than before, Koyoi felt the Moon God’s breathing grow shallow through the vibrations in her kinchaku pouch.
"Your petty resistance is nothing more than dust in the gears of this great Observation," the man said. The voice behind his mask was ice-cold. "The Moon shall never be returned. It is the foundation upon which the new era shall be built."
Koyoi regripped the glass eye with trembling hands. The residual heat stung her palms—a burning heat that carried a clinical rejection, threatening to freeze her soul.
...I can still go on, Vidro’s fragile voice echoed at the edge of her consciousness. ...But if I keep going, I'll shatter. I'm scared. I don't want to be alone.
"You’re not alone," Koyoi whispered. "Asahi-san, Kuon, the gods—we’re all with you."
She bit her lip until it bled, layering prayer upon prayer. The Wind God wrapped Vidro in a thin whirlwind to dissipate the heat, while the Moon God sent a quiet, affectionate light from within the pouch. The individual presences of the gods intertwined, causing the flicker in Koyoi's chest to flare up once more.
"Ngh...!"
The repaired barrier unleashed a wave of force that threw Koyoi back, knocking the air from her lungs.
"Fall back, Koyoi! It's too much!" Asahi rushed to her side, shielding her small body with his massive frame. No matter how he swung his blade, the chains of red light entwined around him like persistent shadows, blocking their path. Kuon held his Star-Reading Disk ready, using his left eye to search for a flaw in the ritual, but the needles spun erratically, refusing to show a solution.
Fresh blood dripped from the wound on Asahi’s shoulder. Kuon bit his lip, his hands—usually steady as a machine—trembling with humiliation.
"...We must retreat. If we stay, we'll all be wiped out," Kuon declared. "The Moon God has awakened, but the outer cage is stronger than we imagined. We need a decisive preparation to finish this."
Koyoi ground her teeth. Her powerlessness felt like a dark hole in her chest, but she knew that staying meant being swallowed by the darkness. Deep down, a small terror crawled up her neck. What if Vidro truly shatters? The thought made her heart flicker.
Even so, she would not stop.
"...Thank you, Koyoi."
A crystal-clear voice reached her from the celestial abyss. It was not a cry of pain, but a voice seeped with tenderness. Within that giant gravestone of a barrier, she could feel the Moon pulsing—slowly, but powerfully. He was still alive.
"Wait for us," Koyoi whispered. "I promise we'll save you."
The three of them scrambled down the steep mountain path, tearing through the silence of the night. Behind them, the ominous red light intensified, staining the forest like a curse. The Wind God conjured small whirlwinds in their wake to hide their tracks and hinder pursuit.
They ducked into the dense thicket at the foot of the mountain, finally escaping the immediate aura of death. Koyoi pressed the kinchaku to her heart, holding it as if it were a part of her own soul. The pouch felt heavier now, carrying the weight of the gods' anxiety and resolve.
Asahi tied a cloth tightly over his shoulder wound, his breathing ragged. Kuon ceremoniously reset the gears of his Star-Reading Disk, his fingertips tracing the flow of red light still burned into his vision.
"...That strike wasn't a failure," Kuon said, breaking the silence. "I have grasped the barrier's structure. Next time, we will converge the light onto the zenith and strike the singularity. But it must be done with absolute precision. The slightest deviation of a hair, and we lose everything."
"Yeah," Asahi nodded. "We won't mess up again."
Koyoi carved Kuon’s words into her soul. Tomorrow night, the life or death of a God would be decided by a split-second judgment. She looked up at the moon, still a murky red, but she felt as though the crimson had thinned, even if only by a fraction. It was the only hope she had left.
They slipped back into the town of Tsukimidai under a mantle of night. The town was as still as a tomb, and the roadside well had run dry—a premonition of something fundamentally broken. The red moon peeked through the roofs, its shadows stretching unnaturally long.
At the inn, the landlady prepared warm water, her eyes full of lingering terror. "The moon is frightening tonight," she whispered. Her words pierced Koyoi like a needle.
Koyoi lay in the dark, clutching the kinchaku. Through the silk, she could hear the Moon God’s weak, flickering breath. It’s okay, she repeated in her heart like a spell. I will save you. She forced herself to rest, knowing the final battle was near. Through the wall, she heard Asahi’s heavy breathing and Kuon’s tense silence. She was not alone.
Outside, a quiet rain began to fall. Listening to the rhythm of the drops, Koyoi felt her own pulse synchronize with the Moon God’s heartbeat. Tomorrow, they would strike the zenith when the stars aligned. With that conviction, she finally sank into a shallow sleep, the scent of rain lingering like a promise.
At the furthest edge of her dreams, she felt as though the Moon God smiled. It was a weak, flickering light, but it was proof. He was still alive.
When she woke, she would not forget this warmth. If that flash of purification existed, the path was open. Before the rooster crowed, she called out one last time to the God in His cage.
"Wait for me."
Holding those words as her protective charm, Koyoi closed her eyes. The night was short, and only the lamp in her chest flickered proudly in the darkness, waiting for the coming battle. Morning was almost there, and with it, the chance to start everything over.