Since leaving Tsukimidai, the sky hadn't relented for even a heartbeat.
Low clouds pressed down, and the dampness formed a thin film on his skin. With every step, Koyoi's cuffs grew colder, and his own breath curled back under the brim of his straw hat. The scent of wet earth carried a metallic tang, sharp as rusting iron.
Though it smelled of rain, a burnt bitterness lingered on his tongue, leaving his throat feeling strangely parched. The mountain stream had swollen since yesterday, rushing between stones in a white froth. The sound of water striking rock thrummed deep in his stomach.
Koyoi tucked up his hem, testing the slick stones with his feet and shifting his weight with care. Each time his wet sandals sucked against his skin and rubbed his ankle bone, a dull ache radiated through him. His toes were frozen, and his nails tingled with numbness.
Asahi halted. The pre-storm wind howled through the branches, as if hollowing out the forest.
Koyoi felt the wind's echo as he pressed his fingers against his drawstring pouch. The cloth was cold and stiff. Though the rain hadn't yet begun, his shoulders felt soaked already, and he pulled his collar tight.
"...Don't come any closer. This wind isn't just a storm."
Asahi's throat clicked as he caught his breath. Sweat, not rain, trailed down Koyoi's cheek, and he had no time to wipe it away. Instead of nodding, he set his mouth in a firm line and steadied the light in his chest.
A single drop fell on his nose, cold as a needle.
In the next heartbeat, the rain became a wall of sound. The drumming against his hat intensified, and the scent of mud grew thick. His sleeves turned heavy, and water wicking up from his hem chilled his thighs.
Muddy water welled up, clinging to his sandals. The roar of the stream deepened as stones tumbled nearby. With every shift of the rocks, his feet felt shaken. The ground began to sink, soft and treacherous.
"Hurry. We need to reach the rock before the ground gives way."
Asahi led them upward without looking back, choosing his path carefully. Koyoi narrowed his eyes to keep him in sight, his breath coming in short bursts. His foot slipped, and he scrambled to brace himself against a tree. The wet bark was coarse, its coldness stabbing into his palm.
Every lash of rain stole the heat from his skin.
Inside his pouch, three presences rustled with small, agitated sounds. Kuon brought up the rear; though the wind whipped his cloak, he didn't break his stride. He ignored the wet hair plastered to his forehead, his gaze moving incessantly.
His glass left eye caught the raindrops, flickering with a cold blue light. He flared his nostrils, his breath thinning. His steps were uncannily precise, never losing purchase in the mire.
"This isn't the smell of rain," he said, his words like ice. "The laws of nature are rotting."
Koyoi tested the air. A taste of iron lingered in his mouth. Asahi gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on his wet hilt.
He dug his fingers in, defying the slickness.
"Is this the work of an Observer?"
"Likely. They mean to pin us down with the rain."
"They’d even twist the rain itself?"
The three voices were eroded by the downpour, reaching Koyoi as fragments. He didn't answer. Instead, he used his sleeve to wipe Asahi’s hilt. The wet fabric clung to the wood, and his fingertips felt dull. Each time he wiped, water seeped back onto his palm, draining his warmth.
Even so, the slipperiness vanished, if only a little.
Deep within the pouch, the Moon God trembled. It wasn't fear, but a vibration—like glass on the verge of shattering—as it strained to listen. The pulse traveled through the cloth to Koyoi’s chest, weaving a second beat into his heart.
‘...Tears. These are tears...’
‘Someone is still crying.’
‘...The water is trying to flee. It is frightening here.’
Koyoi steadied his breath, speaking above the rain.
"Is there... still a god in this mountain?"
The Wind God spun violently inside the pouch with a sharp whoosh. Rain lashed them from the side, the wind shifting with jarring suddenness. The brim of Koyoi's hat yanked upward, exposing his neck to the cold. It felt as if the very logic of the mountain had been seized and swung around like a toy.
Koyoi felt the light in his chest throb once with heat. The warmth was quickly overwhelmed by the chill, but it didn't go out. Even as his fingers shook, he didn't let go of the pouch.
‘It is not rain. This is rage.’
‘It is being forced to fall. The sky is carving away its own flesh...’
Before the words finished, the water at their feet stirred unnaturally. The stream hesitated, then surged back in a churning vortex. Deep underground, boulders seemed to grind together. Koyoi stopped, straining his ears.
Beneath the rain, another rhythm joined the fray. Heavy. Slow.
With every footfall, the pit of his stomach vibrated. The three within the pouch fell silent, then let out a collective gasp.
"...Asahi, Kuon. Stop."
Asahi looked back, rain pooling in his brow.
"What is it? If we stop, we’ll slide."
Koyoi bit his lip and pointed ahead.
"Something... something big is coming."
Kuon pulled out his tracking disk and held it to the sky. The gold needle trembled with maddened energy. Kuon’s breath hitched for a beat before returning to its rhythm.
"Too many reactions. The entire space... it's being compressed into a single divinity."
Beyond the white wall of rain, a massive shape like a moving cliffside shifted. Its silhouette was as indistinct as mist, yet at its center, a single eye glowed with piercing clarity.
The eye didn't blink. The sensation of being watched crawled over Koyoi's skin, and the sweat on his back turned to ice.
Black cracks spider-webbed around the eye, dripping turbid water in long threads. The water didn't soak into the ground; it seemed drawn back toward the sky, swirling around the shadow. It gathered, forcing itself into a coherent shape. As raindrops were sucked into the mass, the air felt thinner.
The scent was like wet iron and something scorched. Every breath made Koyoi’s lungs creak. He bit his lip to still his trembling. Asahi drew his greatsword.
The blade cut through the rain, the chill of the crossguard sharpening the scent of metal.
"An Observer’s mud doll? Or have they kneaded a god into this shape?"
Trembling, the Moon God whispered that he was wrong.
‘...No. That is the Rain God.’
‘The last remains of the child who once protected this mountain.’
Lightning tore the sky white. In that split second, a single black stake was visible in the shadow’s chest. It was blacker than the rain, swallowing the surrounding light; the sight sent a sharp pain through Koyoi’s eyes.
He knew then—that was the Fixed Wedge.
He remembered the coldness of empty, moss-covered shrines. If they were no longer called upon, they would vanish. Before that happened, they had to be called back. With every step, the giant pulled the stream’s water toward itself.
Raindrops were drawn into its arms, layering like heavy armor. Being near it stifled his breath. Koyoi’s knees threatened to give way, but the Wind God gave a sharp cry, the Moon God grew cold, and the Waterway God offered a small response. Those three presences pushed at his back.
Koyoi hooked his fingers into the drawstring. The wet knot slipped. He searched for the edges with his nails, pulling as if biting into the damp cloth. Pain shot through his fingers, and sensation returned.
The rain made his eyelashes heavy, but that single eye remained vivid. At the bottom of the pouch, the Waterway God gave a small chirp, as if counting the giant's breaths. The moon's chill flowed into his palm. Asahi shifted half a step forward, acting as his shield.
Kuon tucked the disk back, measuring the distance with his glass eye. He didn't look away from the giant.
Their breathing was ragged. The light in his chest was small.
But it wouldn't go out.
"Let’s save them," Koyoi said. "We can’t leave that god like this."