Morning light filtered through the gaps in the old inn's wooden frame, piercing the room with the thinness of a razor. As Koyoi slowly opened his heavy eyelids, the scent of thick mist—a lingering remnant of last night’s tragedy—still stagnated secretly in the corners of the room, mingling heavily with the damp, grassy smell of the aging tatami. Into his body, where the heat of the fierce battle had yet to fully dissipate, the pitiless morning chill seeped, causing the stiff muscles of his shoulders to shiver in small, convulsive tremors. Unconsciously, he pressed a cold hand to the pouch at his waist.
Beneath the thick cloth, he could feel three different divine presences overlapping into a single, massive, yet peaceful pulsation. The Wind God was light, as if defying gravity; Bidro’s glass was proud and hard; and the newly added Moon God was cold with an absolute silence, like spring water from deep within a mountain. Yet, strangely, the moon’s coldness did not sting like pain; it quietly calmed the fever in his palm that had dominated him until moments ago, as if with compassion.
A slight ridge in the pouch's seam met his fingertips, and that spot alone felt unnaturally hard. The form of what he had to risk his life to protect now existed there with a vivid outline, its mass understandable simply by touch.
"...Good morning, everyone. Did you sleep well?"
There was no clear, expected answer. But from deep within the pouch, he felt as if the Moon God’s gentle breathing continued, like the faint sound of a silver bell being shaken. For a fleeting second, Koyoi held his own breath, letting his gaze wander as he carefully traced the complex grain of the wood on the ceiling. Then, making up his mind, he placed his frozen fingers on the knot of the pouch.
The hemp string had absorbed the night’s moisture and felt startlingly chilled, causing the pads of his fingers to go momentarily numb upon contact. Still, he did not undo that tight knot. For now, protecting the gods within this small, dark cage was a higher priority than exposing them to the world outside. Deep within the cloth, Bidro clicked with a clear sound, and the Wind God cried out, wrapping that hard resonance in a soft melody.
As he descended the long staircase one step at a time, the cold air stagnating in the dirt-floored entryway brushed his cheeks like a damp cloth. Asahi was already seated on the bench, and upon his sturdy knees sat his unsheathed greatsword in silent repose. Every time the familiar deerskin slowly rubbed against the sharp blade, the dry sound of the steel screaming reached Koyoi's ears with a slight delay, slicing through the silence. The heavy scent of oil and the smell of sharpened iron mingled with the damp morning atmosphere, piercing his nostrils thinly but sharply.
The morning sun, beginning to filter in, caused the fuller of the blade to glow dully. To ensure that the violent reflection did not strike his eyes, Asahi carefully adjusted the angle of his second self by the millimeter, cherishing it.
"You're early, Asahi-san. Are you already prepared to leave?"
"Yeah. We should leave this place while our bodies still move. It's as clear as day that those Observer bastards will be sniffing around this area relentlessly after what happened last night."
The heavy scabbard rang with a hard, metallic click as it welcomed the blade, rudely shattering the peaceful silence of the inn. Asahi rose from his rock-like seat and powerfully tightened the cloth of the pack biting into his shoulder. A faint, dry scent of the blood from last night's battle still remained there, thrusting the magnitude of the fate he carried back upon Koyoi.
"Let's go. If you stay in one place too long, the predator's fangs only get closer."
"Yeah. ...Let's go."
As they threw open the heavy doors of the inn, the town of Tsukimidai was submerged deep within a thick, milky-white mist, like a sunken ship. The smell of damp steam rising from someone's kitchen flowed in from across the road like a stagnant pool, and the rhythmic sound of a bucket being placed on the ground bounced unnaturally within the film of mist before vanishing. The people passing by all had their gazes dropped to the ground, hurrying toward their respective daily lives. They would never speak of the ominous color of the moon that had burned atop that mountain last night.
There was only a stagnant smell of rejection throughout the entire town, a desperate wish to simply "forget." While Koyoi felt saved by the people's indifference, the depths of his chest froze as if a single cold wind had blown through. The world they had risked their lives to save continued its morning with a nonchalant face, as if nothing had happened. That sight made it feel as if they alone were foreign objects left behind by the world, and the back of his throat tightened in a thin, painful constriction.
When the old stone gate that marked the town's exit began to appear dimly through the mist, a single unmoving shadow stood there like a statue. At the feet of the Jizo statue beside the stone gate, someone had offered a small cluster of nameless flowers that had been beaten down by the rain. The petals were wet with night dew and heavy as lead; when Koyoi touched them softly with his fingertips, the sensation of cold soil clung slickly to his skin. The smell of absolute cold emitted by the old stone drifted toward him, and he felt the skin of his palm contract.
Koyoi quietly pressed his hands together and let out a short breath, as if in prayer. The white breath he exhaled held its shape for a moment before the cold stone, flickering, and was immediately sucked into the abyss of the morning mist.
"...You're far too late. Are you both walking at a tortoise's pace?"
Kuon stood with his back against a crumbling stone wall. He was carrying a massive travel pack, nearly as tall as himself, in an unpracticed manner. With his arms crossed irritably, he directed only his piercing gaze sharply toward them. The shoulder straps of the pack bit deep into the cloth of his thin shoulders, and every time Kuon inhaled, the faint scream of dry hemp cloth rubbing together could be heard. His left glass eye efficiently gathered the surrounding morning mist, glowing with an eerie blue light that refused to leave the edge of Koyoi's retina even when he intentionally looked away.
"...The old pharmacist woman practically forced this on me. Honestly, the meddling of the elderly is such a troublesome thing."
From the hemp bundle Kuon carried drifted the scent of the shop where he had been raised—the unique, stinging bitterness of medicinal herbs. The surface of the cloth was unnaturally coarse, perhaps from the rain, and within the gaps of the fibers, the weight of their parting had soaked in as moisture. Kuon tightened his grip on the pack's straps until his knuckles turned white and rigid; in that moment, the tips of his short-trimmed nails caught violently against the fibers of the cloth.
"Kuon...? Wait, have you been waiting here all this time?"
"Don't get the wrong idea. This isn't a send-off for the sake of lingering goodbyes. ...I'm accompanying you on your journey. I only just decided it now."
"What...? Really? You're coming with us?"
"Yeah. I'm leaving this tedious, narrow town of my own will. I don't need any more reason than that."
Koyoi lost the words to say next and swallowed all the air in his lungs. Before the pure joy of gaining an unexpected companion could take hold, the cold weight of responsibility—the fact that his own decisions would now place this boy's life in danger—pressed heavily upon his chest. The pouch at his waist swayed irregularly with his steps, and the serene coldness emitted by the Moon God was transmitted to Koyoi's hip bone through the cloth. That pure, clear coldness once again quietly calmed his thoughts, which had been on the verge of becoming clouded.
As he carried his heavy luggage, the sweat seeping into his back had grown thin and cold from the morning chill, and the areas where the shoulder straps touched clung unnaturally to his skin. Every time the number of existences he had to protect increased, the physical sensations he received from the world were also amplified sharply and heavily. Koyoi told his own soul that this was a proud weight, meant to ensure he never again fled from reality.
"This cursed artificial eye of mine can decipher even the slightest fluctuations of divine energy in the atmosphere, just like a mathematical formula. ...With the Moon God added to your pouch now, you'll be as conspicuous to those bastards as a lighthouse in the dark."
"...Yeah. I felt that, too."
"The Observers will surely follow. My knowledge is indispensable for erasing the god's traces and deriving the shortest escape route. ...It's simply a rational survival strategy."
Kuon's choice of words was as icy and indifferent as ever. Yet, Koyoi did not miss the fact that his unnaturally clenched fingertips were repeating a minute tremble, almost invisible to the eye. While Koyoi pretended not to see that small agitation, he steadied himself with slow, deep, repeated breaths. Kuon's blue glass left eye did not waver even within the deep morning mist, steeped in an eternal azure light, making it seem as if the world's timeline had stopped in that spot alone.
Koyoi dropped his gaze to the ground and powerfully stepped once on the chilled stone at his feet. The hard feedback returned directly from the sole of his foot to his spine, finally settling his hesitating heart on a single point.
"...I see. Glad to have you. Let's go together, Kuon."
Kuon exhaled a short breath through his nose as if exasperated and looked awkwardly to the side. The white breath he exhaled was instantly snatched away by the pitiless morning mist, dispersing without holding its shape.
"...Hmph. Let me tell you, I have no intention whatsoever of playing friends. I'm simply going to utilize the power of the gods you carry for the sake of my own revenge."
Asahi watched the exchange between the two and laughed, awkwardly shrugging his shoulders. The leather belt wrapped around his waist made a dull creak with his movement, and the hilt of his beloved sword made a small, certain sound as it contacted his thigh. The breath Asahi exhaled was short and sharp, and his throat's mucous membrane seemed slightly raspy from the freezing mist. Still, his way of placing his feet upon the ground was full of an overwhelming stability that would never waver, no matter how violent a storm might blow.
"Hey, hey, don't just go increasing our numbers on your own. Let me tell you, if anyone becomes a burden, I'll leave them by the side of the road without mercy."
"Who's a burden? ...You're just a crude man who relies on muscle and intuition to swing a lump of iron around."
"What'd you say? Does this brat not know a thing about respecting his elders?"
It was strange that while intense sparks were flying from their words, the atmosphere of the place never became heavy or sinister. Koyoi stepped between the two, who were showing signs of immediate conflict, and desperately suppressed the urge to burst out laughing in the back of his throat.
"Okay, okay, that's enough fighting. ...Come on, let's go. To a new place."
As they emerged onto the main highway, the mist surrounding them thinned slightly, and the morning sun, filtering through the gaps in the clouds, vividly stained the edge of the dirt road as a divine golden boundary line. The scent of nameless grass wet with night dew and the quiet smell of the newly awakened morning soil mingled complexly, coldly filling his lungs to their deepest reaches. The shadows of the three, drawn by the morning sun, stretched long and sharp toward the western sky; with every step, the sound of their feet striking stones returned to their ears as a hard resonance.
Deep within the pouch, he felt as if the Wind God circled slightly in a tremble of joy, the cloth swelling just enough to brush against Koyoi's cheek as if in a gentle caress. Only the spot that was touched changed temperature in an instant, and Koyoi realized that his physical senses were sharpened to an unprecedented degree in the aftermath of last night's battle.
"So... in the end, which direction should we head next? Mr. Map-keeper."
Asahi carelessly kicked a small stone that had been rolling by the side of the road. The stone was sucked into the abyss of the pure white mist and vanished, and the sound of its landing fell back to his feet with a delay, only once it had been forgotten. The bouncing sound hit a massive rock at the edge of the road and vanished into the silence as a dry echo, repeating two or three times. From his travel gear, Kuon took out an aged, old map with a ritualistic hand.
The paper had yellowed with the passage of many years, and the four corners were as coarse as old skin from being folded so many times. When Koyoi added his finger from the side, the extremely dry paper fibers caught slightly against the pad of his finger like a sharp blade. The absolute zero cold of the paper remained on his fingertips, and the blue light of Kuon's left glass eye began to glide quietly but precisely over the contour lines drawn on the map.
"It's a massive basin located to the northwest. ...Its name is 'Kyozho'."
Kuon's thin fingertip pointed strongly to a spot on the map, as if not to let it escape. It was a place of deep silence, isolated from the outside world by multiple layers of steep, overlapping mountain ranges. There alone, the boundary line drawn on the map was unnaturally thick and distorted, incomparable to any other. Against the pad of his finger remained the unpleasant coarseness of the map's paper, and the scent of dry, old ink rose just slightly from the frictional heat of his fingertip.
"There is a rumor of a massive underground library that has remained without being lost for thousands of years. ...It's also the place those Observer bastards are searching for with bloodshot eyes."
"Is what they're looking for such a valuable treasure?"
"It's not something as soft as a 'treasure.' What they seek is the 'Correct Record.' ...Because those people intend to rewrite the very history of the world from its foundation, to suit their own convenience."
"In Kyozho, there is a legend that the 'Paper God' resides."
"The... Paper God...?"
"It is said to preside over the records of all things, and to breathe divine life into dead characters. ...If we can encounter that god, we should be able to obtain a decisive clue for approaching the truth—for reaching the time of Kamiatsume."
Koyoi's chest tightened, as if an icy wedge had been driven into it. The word "rewrite," which denied the continuity of life, sounded far too cold. In Koyoi's mind, the fleeting yet dignified profile of "Shiori," whom he had once met, emerged vividly for a moment, and the rhythmic sound of turning pages and the fragrant yet cold smell of ink rose to the surface of his consciousness at the same time. What that girl had risked her life to protect must surely have been the same thing Kuon just spoke of—the "true form" of the world.
Koyoi gripped the pouch at his waist as if to protect his own heart, confirming the absolute hardness of Bidro's glass through the cloth. The slight heat of his palm was sucked into the fibers of the cloth, and in its place, the serene coldness emitted by the Moon God quietly returned to Koyoi's soul.
"...We have to go. So that we can protect what she protected, this time with our own hands."
Those words resonated with a strength and determination that far exceeded his own expectations. The back of his throat burned hot, and Koyoi was surprised that the breath he exhaled did not turn white even in the cold of the mist. Asahi returned a short but powerful nod, a testament to his trust.
"It's settled then. Before the sun rises to the zenith of the heavens, first we'll crush and cross that mountain right in front of us."
Suddenly, a dry west wind blew through strongly. That wind violently kicked up the dust of the highway, splashing away the heavy dew that had collected on the roadside grass. The ice-cold droplets of dew struck Koyoi's bare ankles without mercy, and he hunched his shoulders slightly from the cold. Deep within the pouch, the Wind God cried out in a high-pitched voice, as if in celebration of the beginning of their journey.
The pure, clear coldness of the Moon God gently wrapped that wind, and the hardness of Bidro's glass firmly supported the core of that unstable divine energy. The mass of the gods hanging at his waist swayed comfortably with every step, and every time the thick cloth struck the center of his back, it felt unnaturally warm in that spot alone. Koyoi did not look back once, staring only straight ahead.
The fact that the existences he had to protect had increased should have been a burden, yet for some reason, he felt his back grow light and free, as if wings had sprouted. He inhaled the morning chill with his whole lungs and exhaled with all his might. His white breath was no longer visible anywhere. The morning was advancing with certainty, and with a cruel brilliance.
In the distance, the sounds of life from the town of Tsukimidai gradually increased their density, like a drop spreading ripples, and from beyond the mist, the ordinary daily lives of the people returned as if breathing again. The certain weight of the pouch swayed irregularly, confirming the existence of Koyoi's hip bone, and in accordance with each and every step, the wind roared, the moon cooled, and the glass returned a hard response. Koyoi gathered the heartbeats of those three gods into the depths of his own chest as a single, massive "life."
Still, the light in Koyoi's own chest alone continued to sway quietly, harboring a small but fierce heat. That small heat was what continued to push Koyoi's thin legs toward the next steep slope with strength and compassion. Koyoi never looked back again. For the path the three of them had to follow was always only open in the yet-unseen distance ahead.