As they moved further downstream, the sounds shifted. Before he realized it, his feet were moving in time with the rhythm. The heavy thud of water striking rock began to fade, replaced by the fine, granular rasp of shifting gravel. Koyoi heard the difference clearly, and he felt the small ember in his chest kindle a faint heat.
There might be a shallow here. The rain continued its relentless assault. Droplets falling from the rim of his conical hat struck his jaw, trailing down into his collar and sending a chill down his spine. Before the cold could reach his bones, Koyoi exhaled and drew another breath.
The air he inhaled was damp and heavy, leaving a metallic tang of iron in his throat. The memory of being turned away at the bridge still weighed on his shoulders, making them feel heavy with every step. Despite the weight, his feet refused to stop. The path was as narrow as a game trail; he had to feel out a place for every step.
Wet stones were slick, giving a sharp, dry clack when he stepped on them. More of those dry sounds told him firmer ground was returning. But it hadn't returned completely. The mud was still soft, sucking at his straw sandals and refusing to let go.
Each time he pulled his foot free with a wet squelch, he fell a half-step behind, and the chill of the rain would catch up to him, creeping along his thighs. Koyoi pressed his drawstring pouch against his chest, tracing the ridges of the knot with his fingers. The hardness of the knot helped steady his trembling hands.
Kuon’s pace was steady. Ahead of him, Asahi picked out the edges of rocks, navigating around the dangerous spots. Occasionally, Kuon used his nails to peel a small strip of bark from a tree to leave a marker. The damp bark clung to his fingers, leaving nothing but cold behind.
“...Here.”
Kuon stopped and pointed toward the riverbank. Beyond the veil of mist, a thin layer of white foam spread across the surface. The current narrowed sharply here, and the water seemed a fraction lighter.
Kuon picked up a branch, snapped the end off, and thrust it into the river. The tip swayed in the current but held firm. In deeper water, the branch would have been swept away instantly. Here, it could hold.
Asahi narrowed his eyes. “A shallow? ...Can we step there?”
Kuon didn't pull out his compass-plate. Instead, he tracked the surface with his glassy eyes. Raindrops bouncing, foam gathering, currents snagging—he looked like a man tracing invisible lines. Those glassy eyes occasionally flickered blue, as if measuring the depth far beyond the falling rain.
“We can. ...But the bottom is shifting. Do not stop.”
Asahi pulled out a length of rope and tied it around his waist. The wet hemp clung to his skin, spreading the chill. Kuon followed suit. Koyoi was last; he took the end of the rope, checked the firmness of the knot, and secured it.
The rough fibers pricked his fingers, the sting bringing his senses back into focus. As he tied it, his fingers slipped, nearly letting the knot unravel. Koyoi grit his teeth and tightened it twice. If it came undone, it was over. So, he tightened it.
Standing at the water's edge, the cold bit into his ankles. The scent of the current left a bitter, metallic aftertaste. Koyoi retightened the laces of his sandals, feeling his soles turning soft and waterlogged. Such unpleasant sensations were the quickest way to cloud one's judgment.
That was why he had to keep checking. The pain from the rope in his palm was a comfort now. As long as there was pain, he knew exactly where his fingers were. Asahi stepped in first.
Water splashed against his knees, and the hem of his kimono grew heavy. With every step, the ground beneath his feet shifted, the current trying to pull him under. Asahi lowered his center of gravity, avoiding the rolling stones and planting his feet firmly in the sinking gravel. Each step made the gravel grind, a sound that echoed back with a one-beat delay.
Kuon remained behind, keeping the rope taut to minimize the swaying. Every time the rope tightened, the pull reached Koyoi’s hip, steadying him. That sensation of being held in place made his fear thin out just a little.
“Koyoi. Place your feet. Do not lunge.”
Asahi’s voice was partially swallowed by the rain. Koyoi nodded and stepped into the freezing water. His ankles went numb instantly. Before the cold could reach his marrow, he moved to the next stone. He placed his feet carefully, refusing to lunge.
The current tried to shove him sideways, but the rope tugged at his waist, pulling him back. As he was pulled, the knot of his pouch pressed against his ribs, the hardness turning into a dull ache. Feeling his breath grow shallow with the pain, Koyoi forced himself to exhale slow and long. If he breathed out, he could breathe in. Inside the pouch, the wind began to howl.
The weight on his back lightened. The chill of the moon flowed into his palms, and the Waterway God adjusted its breathing with a shudder. Three distinct presences overlapped, aligning themselves with the rhythm of his own breath.
“...Now. Here... I can feel it...”
The Waterway God’s voice reached him, faint and thin. He was touching it—the water’s rage. Koyoi bit his lip and refused to let his feet stop.
If he stopped, the current would win. Halfway across, the ground gave way. The gravel collapsed, and freezing water surged up to his knees. Koyoi’s throat hitched, his breathing breaking. Water rushed inside his kimono, chilling his thighs. But then the rope snapped taut, and Asahi reached back to pull him. The heat through the wet fabric was fleeting, but it was enough.
Koyoi found his footing again, searching for the sharp corner of a submerged rock. The edges were cold and hard; the moment he felt them, a sense of relief washed over him.
“It’s alright. Just look forward.”
Koyoi gave a simple nod and looked toward the bank. The soil on the opposite shore was black and soft, the grass flattened against it. It would sink the moment he stepped on it, but for now, it was the only way. On his final step, the mud seized his ankle. It was heavy—oppressively heavy.
His knees almost buckled, but he grit his teeth and wrenched his foot free. The moment it came loose, the mud made a wet squelch, leaving a cold, heavy clump against his skin. Koyoi shook off the weight and caught his breath. Beyond the bank lay the forest. Leaves wet with rain shimmered, and mist pooled between the trees.
The moment he stepped inside, the smell changed. The scent of earth and water was now laced with a scorched, astringent bitterness. The sound of the rain changed, too. The drumming against the leaves grew faint, as if coming from somewhere far away.
Instead, his own footsteps became unnervingly loud. He felt as though they were floating, untethered from the world. Kuon stared into the depths of the woods, standing perfectly still.
“...I smell the breakdown of the natural order. Beyond this point, the forest will try to make us lose our way.”
Asahi gripped the rope tighter and checked the knot at Koyoi’s waist. The rope was wet and heavy, but that weight would be their guide.
“Stay close. Even if you lose your sight, stay within reach of a hand.”
Koyoi nodded and adjusted his grip on the pouch. The mist was thick, and every tree trunk looked the same. Even so, beneath his feet, he could still feel the earth. The chill of the soil, the prickle of the rope, the hardness of the knot—counting those three things, Koyoi took his first step into the forest.
The moment he did, the sound seemed to drain away. The rain was still falling, yet the sound of it hitting the canopy felt distant. In its place, only the sound of their feet pressing into the mud and the friction of the rope felt close.
When he breathed in, beneath the damp scent of mulch, the scorched bitterness returned. His throat felt dry, and the taste of iron returned to his tongue. That taste made him remember the white robes of the Observer; he clutched the pouch as if guarding the light in his chest.
Every trunk was the same thickness, every broken branch the same shape. If he let his eyes wander even for a second, he felt as if the trunk he had just passed would appear before him again. Koyoi focused on the tension of the rope. With every step Asahi took, the knot at his waist pulled him forward. He could tell that Kuon was at the back, adjusting the tension to keep the movement steady.
“...In here... a bad smell...”
The Waterway God’s voice rasped at the bottom of the pouch. Koyoi whispered a quiet “It’s okay” and let out a long breath. The presence of the Rain God was still far away, but it was that distance that allowed doubt to creep in.
To cut through the hesitation, Koyoi looked at his feet. The leaves fallen upon the mud were wet and cold; when he stepped on them, they made no sound at all. That silence was the most terrifying thing of all.
Asahi began to count in a low voice. “One, two...”
His voice was low, almost dissolving into the rain, yet it reached Koyoi’s ears along with the pull of the rope. As long as the numbers continued, the path continued. Koyoi matched his breathing to his voice, confirming the weight of the pouch as he repeated that same single step. His breath unraveled in white, vanishing into the mist. Each time it vanished, he confirmed his own silhouette once more.
The light in his chest gave a small response. It wouldn't go out.