A flash.
It wasn't merely that her vision had turned white; it felt as if she had been crushed from above by a massive, merciless weight of light. Behind her eyelids, a roar like reality itself tearing apart echoed violently. A sharp, needle-like ringing pierced the innermost depths of her ears, rendering them temporarily useless. Deep in her lungs, the acrid stench of scorched metal clashed with air so cold it felt airless.
Driven by an impulse of suffocation, Koyoi exhaled every bit of breath she held. The white mist of her breath clung to her cheeks like a damp shroud before scattering into the veil of night. The sensation of the earth beneath her feet reached her a half-beat late, and she was seized by a precarious sense of weightlessness, as if she might be swallowed whole by the abyss of the sky.
In her palm, the glass core—the Vidro—radiated heat that transcended its limit. That heat seeped relentlessly into her nerves, determined to char her skin. Her fingertips were parched from tension, and the sensation of the glass surface nearly slipping away was terrifying. Koyoi knit her brows against the stinging pain of the burn, but she did not let go.
Using the hard fragment that had once been part of a god as an anchor, she forced her gaze upward toward the fatal apex of the crimson barrier.
A single sliver of silver light drove itself like a wedge into the thickest part of the red membrane. The surface buckled and warped like fabric pulled to its breaking point. From within the dark stagnation, the distorted geometric lines of the Observer’s ritual rose to the surface, only to collapse miserably.
With every crumbling shard, the air crackled with an ominous, static-like sound, scattering an afterglow of magical power that made the fine hairs on Koyoi's arms stand on end. Even the sound of her swallowing rang out strangely loud in the vacuum-like silence. Conversely, the faint, fading breaths of the Moon God from the deepest part of the cage sounded cruelly distinct.
"What...?! Impossible! The calculations... every value is inverting!"
The man in the black robes could not hide his panic behind his mask; his voice cracked sharply. His ragged breathing caused the cloth over his mouth to quiver, and his hand, clutching a black bell, slipped in frustration.
"A fluctuation not in the records! Unobservable energy is backflowing through the circuits!"
He swung his staff in a frenzy, the bell ringing with a high-pitched peal that sliced through the night. But the sound was swallowed by the death-rattle creaking of the dying red membrane.
"The power of a god we should have managed... she’s using it against us, funneling it back this way?! How could a human—!"
The man gasped for air, the handle of his bell sticking to his palm, slick with the sweat of his desperation.
Kuon clenched his teeth against the taste of blood and let out a short, brittle laugh. His breath hitched, his throat making a dry, rattling sound.
"Of course," he spat, his voice carrying the weight of his soul. "For every bit you measured, bound, and twisted to suit yourselves—I’m throwing it back with that exact same weight."
Kuon finished the sentence in a single, determined breath, swallowing the metallic tang of blood. His fingers flicked the edge of the Star-reading Board, completing the final adjustment. The sound of his skin scraping the metal rim was cold and dry, piercing the eardrums. The glass eye in his left socket flared with a violent blue flame, and the needles of the board began to spin with a feral speed that no human eye could follow.
Cold sweat trailed down his temples, freezing instantly upon contact with the night air and sending a shiver of impending death across his cheek. He had been clenching his jaw so hard that the iron-like taste of blood leaked from his tongue.
A sound like space itself screaming as it tore apart echoed through the clearing. Lightning-like fissures raced across the surface of the crimson barrier.
From those cracks, excess heat erupted, melting the surrounding rock into sludge. The scent of damp earth instantly turned to steam, rising in a suffocating cloud. The smell of scorched metal mingled with a scent like rotting tree sap, stinging Koyoi’s throat. The nameless wildflowers at her feet shriveled into black husks and turned to ash in an instant. The red light, having lost its destination, transformed into a massive, raging vortex, painting the sky in colors more ominous than any nightmare.
"It's at the critical point! We'll be swallowed by the blast! Everyone, get back!"
Asahi’s hoarse scream tore through the chaos. The masked men lost their coordination and recoiled in unison. Their feet slipped on the crumbling ground, and their weapons struck the stone tiles with a hollow, dry clatter. The fear of death they had kept hidden seeped out through the cracks of their composure.
Then, from the zenith of the heavens, a voice—cool and crystal clear—fell softly upon them.
“...I am, truly, here.”
“...I am no nameless light to be managed. I am the Moon itself, which illuminates the world.”
The voice was as clear as spring water. It did not reach Koyoi through her ears, but rather sank directly into the innermost depths of her chest. The sphere of light that had been trapped within the cage slowly began to reclaim its original silhouette. The light, once clouded, turned translucent, rising quietly into the night with the nobility of a pearl.
As the Moon's pulsation aligned with the rhythm of the universe, the light in Koyoi’s own chest returned as a warm throb. The frost that had frozen her fingertips began to thaw.
"Koyoi! Are you alright?!"
Asahi’s voice was rough, parched by the heat of the battle. Blood flowed from the deep wound on his shoulder, staining his heavy sword. The smell of iron mingled eerily with the night breeze.
"Now! Don't hesitate! Tear the remains of that filthy cage out by the roots!"
Asahi scattered the mud-puppets attempting to resist and stepped forward, his foot planting firmly into the cold earth. Every time his sword slashed through the dissipating red light, the remaining heat scattered as sparks, stinging Koyoi’s cheeks.
Koyoi took a fresh breath of cold air, suppressing the trembling in her throat.
"...Yeah. I'm okay now."
The words were small, nearly lost to the wind. But the light in Koyoi’s chest never wavered. She held the Vidro up toward the peak of the night sky. Though she squinted against the heat searing her palm, she did not look away. The glass sphere was burning hot, yet its solid weight connected her to reality.
“...Stronger. Entrust your feelings to me.”
The glass core pulsed in response to her soul's heartbeat. The voice of the Vidro was as clear as a sharpened blade, touching her mind directly. Koyoi let out a short, hot breath and fixed her gaze on the rift in the barrier. Inside her pouch, the Wind God swirled affectionately, the breeze brushing her cheek with a sudden tenderness.
The pure silver light emitted by the Moon God stretched out like a gossamer thread, weaving itself into the layers of the Vidro.
"Please."
"I won't let you be sent back to that sad place again. Break this cage. Let the Moon God out into the real world!"
Her voice trembled. But even while trembling, Koyoi gave voice to her will.
Immediately after she spoke, the light in her chest shook more violently than ever before. A transparent sound—like the laws of space shattering—echoed through the night.
It wasn't the sound of glass breaking. It was the sound of the invisible skeleton of that loathsome membrane snapping. A massive shockwave arrived a moment later, and Koyoi staggered. A small, hard pebble caught under her sandal; the dull sensation of stone grinding against stone anchored her to this cruel and beautiful reality.
Fragments of shattered red light fell from the sky like pieces of dead stars. When those shards touched her fingertips, they were hot enough to burn, but they instantly turned to white smoke and vanished. From the other side of the collapsed barrier, a dazzling silver moonlight overflowed as if a dam had burst, gently stroking Koyoi’s burned skin. The temperature was as cold as ice, yet it didn't hurt. It was pure, filled with mercy.
"Ah... the light... it's like my eyes are being washed...!"
A single, hot tear spilled from her eye. It couldn't keep up with the cold on her cheek, leaving a warm trail across her skin.
The masked men let out one final, desperate scream, their voices thinning within the spreading moonlight. Their distorted bodies unraveled at the edges and crumbled away like sand in an hourglass.
Only the white masks remained, falling powerlessly to the ground like empty shells. The sound of them hitting the stones was unnaturally dry. The dark shadow of the masked captain flickered violently in the air like smoke. A foul, scorched wind struck Koyoi’s cheek, but the stench was pushed back by the purifying light. Behind his mask, he tried to say one last thing, but before the words could take shape, he was sucked into the void.
"...How... our records... our perfect observations... would return to dust...?"
The final breath he exhaled was white and hollow. The voice cut off, and the original silence of the night returned to the mountain peak. For a while, only the sound of that loss continued to echo in the depths of Koyoi's ears.
When the red vortex finally settled, a silence as deep as the sleep of the dead drifted over the summit.
The wind finally regained its autonomy. In place of the foul smell of scorched earth, the fresh scent of leaves wet with dew began to mingle quietly. From the depths of the forest, a single bird chirped once in a clear voice, announcing the rebirth of the world.
In the void above the altar, a small sphere bathed in soft light floated gently. It was the Moon God.
The sphere approached Koyoi slowly and softly touched the back of her wounded hand.
It was cold—an absolute, refreshing cold, like submerging one's fingers into a clear stream in the dead of winter. Yet, that coldness stilled the pain of the burned skin that had been tormenting her.
Koyoi softly let out the breath she had been holding.
"...It's over, isn't it? Is it really over?"
Her lips were frozen, and the words wouldn't roll properly. She could tell her voice was trembling unreliably. She collapsed onto the spot, feeling the damp, cold earth against her knees. Within her palm, the Vidro was already losing its heat, returning to a quiet, beautiful glass sphere.
She wrapped it carefully in a clean cloth and tucked it deep into the pouch at her waist. The hard weight of it felt like a phantom of the intense heat from moments ago, making her heart shrink with a poignant ache.
"Thank you, Vidro. If it wasn't for you, I..."
Her voice cracked with emotion. No answer came back, but she felt as if the glass made a tiny click at the bottom of the pouch. That lingering cold remained on her fingertips.
Asahi sheathed his sword, the clear clink of metal signaling the end. Kuon cradled his board to his chest, took several deep breaths, and exhaled into the night. His breath stretched out white, melting into the silver air.
Koyoi timidly looked up.
The ominous red curse was nowhere to be seen. The silver full moon—shining more proudly than ever before—reigned calmly in the silence. The cold night breeze gently stroked the tips of Koyoi's eyelashes, and the sweat on her cheeks cooled. She could feel the freezing anxiety in her chest slowly unraveling.
"...We saved it, didn't we? The Moon God."
When she exhaled, her chest felt suddenly light, as if a possession had been lifted. The tears she had been holding back began to fall. The heat of the tears mingled with the cold of the moonlight, and her flushed skin tingled with a comfortable numbness. The Moon God nestled softly against Koyoi’s wet cheek, touching her once more with affection.
From there, she thought she heard a tiny, beautiful breath, like the ringing of a silver bell.
"Come. Let's go together, Moon God. Into my pouch."
Koyoi took a short, hot gulp of night air. She didn't avert her eyes from the god for even a second. She felt a faint premonition that if she looked away now, that dark cage might return from the underside of the world.
"I won't let anyone take you again. I promise."
The light in Koyoi’s chest, still brimming with passion, flickered powerfully. Kuon glanced sideways at her and let out a short, exasperated huff.
"...Don't just go making us all comrades. Working as a carrier is a bad business that doesn't pay, no matter how you look at it."
Kuon sighed and lightly tapped the metal rim of his board. His words remained as insolent as ever, but the blue light in his glass eye had lost its icy sharpness, taking on a softer shade of peace. Asahi laughed and firmly retightened the cloth on his shoulder. Though the metallic scent of blood still drifted heavily, the refreshing breeze gradually carried it away.
The moonlight spread to every corner of the mountainside, cooling the earth scorched by the curse. Deep in the forest, the sounds of life returned, and the world reclaimed its heartbeat. Koyoi gently pressed her palm against the pouch at her waist, confirming the pure weight of the god now dwelling there.
The night was quiet.
Listening to the wind return to its gentle melody, Koyoi realized that this silence was no falsehood. It was because it was quiet that she could feel it all the more clearly: the powerful throb of her own heart and the small, precious pulse of the Moon God nestled beside it.
Koyoi exhaled a long breath of relief and stood up, pressing her feet firmly against the cold earth. The gravel in her sandals sent a sharp pain through her soles, and that pain brought back the realization that she was alive. Drawing the pouch close to her chest, the solid presence of the glass and the serene cold of the Moon God overlapped comfortably upon her soul.
The trembling of her body had not yet stopped. Even so, Koyoi’s footsteps would never falter again.