The planks of the suspension bridge were blackened, sodden with too much water. As Koyoi stepped forward, the wood sank with a low groan, followed a heartbeat later by the protest of the ropes. The sound pierced deep into her chest before its echoes could be swallowed by the mist. Rainwater pooled on the planks, clinging to her straw sandals, and with every step, the icy liquid licked between her toes.
The wood’s surface was slimy; decaying fibers yielded softly underfoot, leaving only the soles of her feet feeling strangely hot. Koyoi pulled her drawstring pouch close to her chest, pressing it as if to confirm the hardness of the knot. An icy pulse from the Moon radiated through her palm, while a light breeze brushed against her back. Asahi’s back was close.
His shoulders moved slightly with the swaying of the bridge—that single motion was her only lifeline. Kuon’s presence shifted silently behind her, matching his breathing to the rhythm of the bridge’s oscillations. Tied to the rope railings were numerous scraps of white cloth. Washed by the rain, they had faded to grey, their knots pulled tight and stubborn.
When her fingers brushed them, the cloth felt cold, the moisture sticking to her skin. Perhaps someone who crossed this path before, certain they would never return, had tied them there. Prayers were but light scraps of fabric, yet their knots felt heavy. Koyoi steadied her breath deep in her throat and returned her gaze to her feet.
The water visible through the gaps in the planks felt far too close; her body swayed with a sensation like vertigo. To mask the trembling, she tightened the muscles in her core.
"Don't rush. Just listen to the bridge's voice."
Asahi’s voice was low, sliding into the cracks between the sounds of the rain. Koyoi nodded, synchronizing her steps with the creaking of the bridge. The roar of the muddy torrent rose from below, and white foam flickered through the gaps in the wood. The water smelled wrong.
It was a mixture of metallic bitterness and the stench of rotting wood, leaving an astringent taste on her tongue. The depths of her chest grew numb as she inhaled; her lips grew wet as she exhaled. The wind nipped at her damp lips, a sharp, stinging pain. Koyoi blinked once, shaking off the raindrops.
But as soon as they fell, the next ones took their place. Kuon was at the rear, his eyes tracing the tension of the ropes. His glass eyes caught the rain, glowing with a faint, pale blue light. Koyoi could feel his presence at her back.
The fear of being watched and the relief of being protected grated against each other in the same space, causing the small flame in her heart to burn with a dull heat. Kuon’s breath grew heavy for a single beat before returning to normal. In that slight change of weight, she knew he had seen something. As they reached the middle of the bridge, the wind suddenly died.
The silence of that moment clung to the inside of her ears. Only the thick sound of the river remained, and her own heartbeat began to sound unnaturally loud. The next instant, a sideways gust slapped her cheek, the rain piercing like needles. Her bamboo hat was yanked back, exposing the nape of her neck to the damp air.
The bridge surged violently, and the planks beneath her feet shifted. Koyoi’s stomach lurched; her throat went dry. As she reached for the rope railing, the wet fibers slipped through her grip, and the sensation in her fingertips vanished for a fleeting second. Inside the pouch, the Wind God shrieked sharply.
Warning. Koyoi instinctively pressed the pouch against her. A cold seeped through the fabric from the Moon, and the Waterway God trembled slightly.
『...It's coming. Above... below...』
The Waterway God’s voice was thin and cold. Before the spirit could finish, the sound of the torrent sank away. At the bottom of that hollow silence, something drew a breath. Drawn by that inhalation, Koyoi dropped her gaze—and she saw it.
The water was swelling. Like a wall. The edge of the wall glowed with a circular light, and the raindrops were being sucked toward it. She felt as if she could hear the sound of them being pulled in, and she wanted to press her hands over her ears.
The air thinned out all at once; her lungs creaked as she tried to breathe. Inside the pouch, the Moon trembled and the Wind God gave a short cry. Though terrified, the Waterway God was trying to reach out toward that same presence of water.
"Stop. Get back!"
Kuon’s voice was taut with tension. The next moment, the muddy torrent leaped toward the heavens. In the depths of that arc of water, a shadow lurked. At its center, a single eye glowed.
Whether it was the eye of the Rain God or the light of the foundation stakes, she couldn't tell. Only the sensation of being seen brushed against her skin, and the sweat on her back turned to ice. The eye didn't even blink, yet she felt it was counting every tremor of her breath. Koyoi held her breath, then exhaled as silently as possible.
An impact struck from beneath the bridge. The planks gave a sharp crack, and the entire structure bucked upward. Koyoi’s body was lifted; her hands nearly tore away from the ropes. Her stomach lurched a beat behind, the sensation of icy water climbing up to her throat.
Asahi dropped to his knees and seized the ropes. The tendons in his hands stood out, the wet fibers biting into his flesh. The fraying rope scraped the skin of his palms, a pain that raced ahead of the rain's bite.
"Get back! Don't let go!"
At his shout, Koyoi’s feet found their way back. As she tried to retreat, a plank slipped. The gap widened, the white foam below drawing closer. Cold spray lashed her face, stinging the corners of her eyes.
The moment she set her foot on the edge of a plank, the wood sank softly with an ominous snap. Just as Koyoi was about to lose her footing, moonlight illuminated the path at her feet. It wasn't a dazzling glare. It was a faint light, one that merely carved out the silhouettes of things.
Koyoi placed her foot along that line. Step, she told herself. If she lunged, she would break the bridge entirely. Kuon pushed her from behind.
His strength was firm. Her center of gravity returned. Koyoi missed a breath, a small sound escaping the back of her throat. Her ribs ached.
The knot of the pouch pressed against her chest, its hardness turning into pain. It hurt. But that pain was proof that she was still alive. When they finally tumbled back onto the bank, the earth accepted them as solid ground.
Her knees sank into the mud, the cold seeping into her bones. Koyoi breathed in ragged gasps; she tried to brush away her wet bangs, but her fingers trembled too much to succeed. Asahi looked back just once, confirming the bridge was still standing. In the quickness of his glance back, she knew they were near their limit.
Kuon wiped the corner of his mouth, a thin red streak fading into the rain. He spoke while keeping his eyes fixed on the bridge.
"...It won't let us cross. It's a rejection. Whether it's the despair of the Rain God or the will of the binding works."
Koyoi tried to look across the bridge, but the mist blocked her path. She couldn't see anything, yet the presence remained. She felt as if a heavy shadow stood on the distant cliff. The light of the eye blinked once, and with the next flash of lightning, its silhouette dissolved.
The shadow vanished into the mist as if it had never been there. Even after it was gone, a cold pressure lingered. It pressed against her chest, making her breath shallow.
"...But it's right there."
Her voice was raspy. Frustration lodged in her throat. Asahi exhaled a damp breath and tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword. His knuckles were white.
It looked as though he were gripping his own anger.
"No choice. We detour. Upstream or down—we look for a shallow spot."
Kuon tucked his compass-plate back against his chest and began to track the river's flow. Koyoi readjusted her pouch, steadying her hands with the familiar hardness of the knot. The rain showed no signs of stopping. But they couldn't afford to stop, either.
The three of them returned to the narrow path along the river, walking with muffled steps through the mud. The stones beneath them were wet and slick, with a dry clack occasionally mixing into their footsteps. As those sounds increased, the ground beneath them changed. There had to be a shallow stretch somewhere.
Telling herself this, Koyoi continued to watch the shadow behind the mist—only in her mind. As the creaking of the bridge receded behind them, the breath of the river drew closer. The water was still angry, the sound of it striking the rocks harsh and violent. Yet, within that violence, a lighter sound occasionally mixed in.
The difference between where the flow shattered against boulders and where it spread thin over sand. Kuon walked as if picking up those subtle differences; Asahi moved ahead, choosing only the footings that wouldn't collapse. Koyoi followed their backs, clenching and opening her fingers to see if the sensation had returned. The stinging from the rope fibers on her fingertips intensified as the rain hit them.
Inside the pouch, the Waterway God was still trembling. The trembling didn't stop because the other side was still alive. Koyoi exhaled, quietly steadying the flame in her chest once more. She cast a fleeting glance toward the mist behind her, etching the location of the bridge they couldn't cross into her heart, then looked forward again.
In that moment, the sound of the river grew just a little lighter. The sound of bubbles bursting was close. She felt as if she could hear gravel shifting rather than stones, and she strained her ears. Maybe—just maybe—there was a shallow place ahead.
In the moment she allowed herself that thought, a small warmth returned to the depths of her chilled chest.