Dawn arrived, stretching the faint scent of rain across the world. His shoulders felt heavy, but he could still walk. Standing at the mouth of the cave, the sky was the color of lead, the clouds hanging low.
The rain wasn’t the lash of the night before, but there was no sign of it letting up. Mist clung to his ankles; the chill of wet grass seeped through the soles of his straw sandals. His breath came in short, white puffs, dampening the inside of his reed hat before curling back to chill his cheeks.
Raindrops struck his lips, tasting faintly of earth. Koyoi retied his hair and wrung the moisture from his collar. The fabric clung to his skin, leaving only a lingering cold. Mud settled into the creases of his fingertips; his nail beds throbbed with a dull ache.
The faint scent of woodsmoke still clung to his back, making the cave's small warmth feel distant. Asahi tightened his sandal laces while Kuon checked the balance of his pack. No one spoke. The sound of breathing and the rhythm of the rain were enough.
"…Are you ready? Don’t lose your way from here on."
Asahi spoke in a low rumble. Koyoi nodded, checking with his thumb that the mouth of his drawstring pouch was tightly shut. The wet cord was slippery, yet the knot itself felt as hard as stone. His nail caught on the fabric, the sharp pinch bringing reality back with painful clarity.
Inside the pouch, the Wind gave a short cry. The Moon grew cold, and the Waterway took a shallow breath. The three presences remained overlapped, deathly still. It was so quiet it was frightening.
Koyoi swallowed and pressed a hand over the Light in his chest. Outside the cave, the roar of the river was immediate. What had been hidden by the rain last night now rang out like a battle cry—muddy water smashing against rock, the popping of bursting foam.
Koyoi felt his heart shrink at the weight of that sound. It wasn't the sound of water flowing; it was the sound of things being torn apart. His exhaled breath unraveled in the air, dissolving instantly into the rain.
Through the mist, there were no shadows of white-clad figures. And yet, he felt as if unseen eyes were counting them from the fissures of the world’s Order, chilling the sweat on his back. Kuon’s compass hummed faintly; he thought he could feel the vibration of the needle through his clothes. Water trailing down his sleeves pooled at his elbows, piercing his bones with cold every time he bent his arms.
The path was submerged in mire, and his feet wouldn't lift as he wanted. The mud sucked at his sandals with a sickening squelch. Grit worked between his toes, and his nail beds grew numb with the cold. The wind was a blade against his cheeks, and the raw scent of wet branches stung his nostrils.
When Koyoi almost slipped, Asahi’s arm was there to catch him without hesitation. For a fleeting moment, the hardness and heat of his grip reached him through his sleeve. It was quickly lost to the cold, but that single second allowed him to breathe again.
"Don't overdo it. Just watch your feet."
Asahi spoke without looking back.
"Yes," Koyoi managed from the back of his throat, steadying his breathing instead of nodding. Looking down, he saw thin sheets of water racing over the mud, as if trying to erase the path entirely. By the time they reached the riverbank, the flow was no longer a mere stream.
The black water bellied out, racing downstream with white foam lined up like rows of fangs. Dead leaves and branches spun in vortices, with patches of white stagnant froth huddling in the corners. Through the foam, he caught glimpses of stones being tumbled along the bottom. The sound hit him first; his eyes couldn't keep up.
In the scent of the water, Koyoi caught the bitterness of iron. The damp air lay heavy in his lungs, leaving an astringent taste on his tongue. When he moved his throat, the cold creaked deep in his bones. At the bottom of the pouch, the God of the Waterway trembled.
Because that torrent shared the same essence of "water," its plight reached his heart like a scream.
『…It hurts. I can’t breathe…』
Koyoi composed himself and gripped the pouch with his fingertips. The dampness of the cloth and the hardness of the knot became an anchor to hold the god in place. With every press, the chill of the Moon seeped into his palm, the Wind brushed his back, and the Waterway gave a small cry in the back of his throat. The fear didn't vanish.
But he could keep holding on, even while afraid.
"The Rain God… is further in, isn't he?"
Kuon narrowed his eyes at the mist ahead. His glass eyes caught the glint of the raindrops, blinking with a cold, blue flash.
"The divine aura is too thick. The closer we get, the more the Order will grind against us."
Asahi glowered at the upstream mist and pressed his thumb against the map. The wet paper clung to his finger, making a small tearing sound as he pulled it away.
"There’s an old bridge ahead. If we can't cross it, we have to detour. …But a detour will trip the Net."
The three moved cautiously along the river's edge. The sound of water striking stone grew sharper, and the air grew colder still. There were moments when the wind simply stopped. That single beat of silence clung to the inside of his ears and wouldn't let go.
The wreckage of small shrines lay scattered along the bank, and fragments of sacred straw ropes were plastered into the mud. Koyoi pressed his hands together once. The mud on his palms had started to dry into a gritty crust, and he felt a pang of guilt for the brevity of his prayer. But there was no time to stop.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, the delay of the sound a reminder of the mountain's vastness. Through the mist, a thin line appeared. A bridge. A suspension bridge made of nothing but wooden planks and rope hung precariously over the violent current.
The bridge groaned, wood and rope complaining with each gust. As they drew closer, he could see the frayed fibers of the rope, soaked through with rainwater. If he touched them, they would likely rasp the skin right off his palms. The smell of rotting wood mingled with the air, making his throat feel strangely parched.
Through the gaps in the planks, he peered down at the water—an abyss where the rain was hammered into white explosions. Every time the spray leapt up, cold droplets stung his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. Though the far side of the bridge was lost in the fog, heavy sounds echoed from the depths of the mist every so often. Whenever something moved in the distance, the ropes shivered slightly, a vibration that traveled from the handrail through to the soles of his feet.
Koyoi counted his breaths, inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth to keep the rhythm steady. His breath was white, vanishing instantly. Because it vanished, he exhaled again. He almost held his breath at the foot of the bridge, but forced himself to let it out.
If he stopped, the cold would win. Something tightened in his chest, and his fingertips gave a single tremor. As he touched the pouch, the chill of the Moon flowed into his palm, and the Wind gave his back a gentle push. The push frightened him. But the absence of it frightened him more. Koyoi shifted his awareness to the soles of his feet, remembering how to find his balance while the ground was still, for the moment, the ground.
"If we cross this… we’ll be closer. Everyone, lend me your strength."
The Moon gave a small response, and the Waterway hummed faintly. Koyoi stared at the bridge, focusing entirely on the sensation in his feet. The ground he stood on now was still the earth. But one step ahead, it was a thing that swayed.
And swaying can claim even the heart.
"Nothing for it but to go," Asahi said.
He stepped onto the first plank to test the swing. As the wood sank, the rope gave a short, sharp creak, the sound swallowed by the mist. Asahi stepped firmly on the first stride but placed his weight lightly on the second. It was the gait of someone reading the bridge’s temperament.
Kuon moved to the rear, taking a position to guard Koyoi’s shoulders. He brushed his fingers against the wet rope to check the slickness before letting go. Frayed fibers and a lingering chill remained on his fingertips.
"One step at a time. Don't trust your center of gravity. …I'll suppress the swaying."
Koyoi drew the cold air deep into his lungs and lifted a foot. The wet plank sank with a groan. The soles of his feet felt the softness of the wood fibers and the hardness of decay simultaneously. The roar of the river surged up to his ears, and the mist curled around his ankles.
As the bridge gave a slight lurch, Koyoi felt his internal organs move a split-second late. He tightened his core. When he reached for the handrail rope, cold water pooled in his palm, making it too slick to grip. He dug his nails into the fraying fibers, catching hold just enough.
"…I understand. Just… place the foot. Don't stomp."
His voice was eroded by the rain. But saying it aloud made his feet listen. Asahi’s back lowered slightly ahead of him. Kuon’s presence moved just behind his shoulder.
Koyoi grit his teeth and looked only at the next foothold. As he took the second step, cold spray leapt through the gaps in the planks, stinging his eyes. He blinked once and looked forward again.
He couldn't see the end of the bridge. But he would cross it anyway, intending to hear the Rain God’s cry once more. If he fell, that voice would be muddied and lost along with him.
So, he would not fall.