The rain in the forest was a layered symphony.
There was the dry drumming on broad leaves, the damp trickle down trunks, and the heavy thud as water was swallowed by the leaf mold. Even with all these sounds overlapping, Koyoi’s ears felt strangely hollow, leaving only their own footsteps to float in the air. She leaned into the pull of the rope, feeling the resistance of the mud as she pressed forward.
The mud was cold, clinging to her feet and making a wet squelch only when she pulled them free. A silent gait was impossible here. All she could do was dampen the noise. Asahi led the way, continuing to count the rhythm in a low voice.
The numbers were a signal for breathing, a rhythm for their stride, serving to dull the blade of hesitation just a little.
"One, two... three."
Koyoi matched her breath to the count. Inhale, exhale, then place her foot on the next foothold. Place it, she told herself. Don’t stomp.
When the mud tried to claim her, she relied on the line. The rope pulled at her waist, drawing her body back. Just having that sensation of being anchored kept the light in her chest from flickering out. Kuon brought up the rear, his crystalline eyes narrowed as he scanned their surroundings.
He did not draw his astrolabe. Even if he had, the stars were invisible. Instead, he watched the fall of the raindrops and the drift of the fog. The mist was supposed to weave between the trees, yet occasionally it would pool in a single spot, becoming perfectly still.
That stagnant mist smelled of water held in stasis.
"...The same trees are multiplying," Kuon muttered.
Koyoi reflexively glanced to her side. A thick trunk. A vein of moss. A broken branch. It looked strikingly similar to a shape she had seen moments ago. Perhaps it was just a resemblance. But the mere feeling of similarity was terrifying.
Because she was afraid, she looked away. She averted her eyes and returned her gaze to her feet. The scent of the rain still carried the bitter tang of iron. A puckering astringency clung to her tongue.
Moving her mouth felt as if her lips might crack, so Koyoi wet them once with the tip of her tongue. The wind struck the dampness, sending a sharp, stinging pain through her. Pain not caused by the cold felt like proof that she could still move, so Koyoi held onto that sting, refusing to let it go.
The water at their feet increased.
Small puddles began to chain together, making a shallow splash with every step. Shallow sounds were fine. It was when the water grew deep that you could no longer see the bottom. And an invisible bottom was the same as being lost.
『...This place... is sleeping...』
The voice of the Moon God trembled from deep within the kinchaku pouch.
Sleeping. A frozen logic. Koyoi pressed her hand against the pouch, tracing the ridges of the drawstring knot. Its hard edges grounded her thoughts.
"I won't lose my way. Even if I do... I'll come back."
Koyoi whispered the words to herself. Speaking them aloud made the light in her chest steady itself. Asahi’s counting continued. Kuon’s footsteps followed. The persisting rasp of the rope remained. As long as those sounds continued, the path would hold.
But the forest was not kind. A large droplet that had gathered on the leaves suddenly fell, striking the nape of her neck.
An icy chill raced down her spine, making her shoulders hunch. She didn't make a sound. To gasp would be to break her breathing. And a broken breath would be snatched away by the mist.
Thunder rumbled, and a flash of light turned the tree trunks white for a fleeting second. In that instant, the landscape ahead looked the same as what lay behind, yet subtly different. The inability to tell the difference was the most frightening thing of all. Koyoi felt for the tension in the rope and surrendered herself to the force pulling her forward.
"Don't stop."
Asahi’s voice flew back to her, sharp and brief. Koyoi nodded and set her foot down. Beneath her sole, the leaf mold sank softly. The sensation of sinking returned with a delay, throwing her balance off by a single beat.
She corrected the stumble with the rope and steadied her breath by the same measure. The sounds of the rain were still many. But somewhere within that noise, she felt the wind stop, just for a moment.
It was only a second. But a second was enough. The swaying of the leaves vanished, the flow of the mist halted, and the raindrops fell perfectly straight. The rain that had been lashing them from the side was now falling in lines as precise as if drawn by a straightedge. The change made Koyoi’s throat go dry, and she swallowed hard.
The sound of her swallowing felt unnervingly loud. Asahi’s counting broke there as well.
"...It’s the boundary," Kuon said.
His crystalline eyes glowed faintly, piercing through the mist ahead. Koyoi looked at her feet. The leaves that had fallen onto the mud did not stir in the wind.
Raindrops that had just landed were swallowed before they could splash. Yet despite being swallowed, the scent of water was thin. Everything was damp, yet it felt strangely parched. It was as if the very laws of the world had been wiped clean.
Asahi hauled in the rope, shortening the distance to confirm Koyoi’s position. The fibers were wet and heavy, sticking to the skin of her palm.
"What is it?"
"The scent of stasis is heavy. From here on, the path itself becomes a lie."
Kuon’s voice was faint. Faint, yet it held an edge. Koyoi pulled her pouch close, pressing against the hardness of the knot. The light in her chest flared with a small heat, only to be immediately crowded by the cold.
That push and pull felt like proof that she was alive, and Koyoi let out a breath.
Advancing a little further, she saw a stone standing between the trees. It was a pillar taller than a person, covered in moss and gleaming black with rain. As they drew closer, the chill deepened, making the skin of her cheeks pull tight.
When Koyoi touched it, the stone was cold to the core, leaving a gritty, sandy sensation. The dampness of the moss transferred to the pad of her finger, and the temperature changed in that spot alone. At the base of the pillar lay the frayed ends of an old rope. There were scraps of paper and broken branches, all buried in the mud.
These were the traces of someone who had treated this place as a "threshold." Koyoi briefly pressed her hands together in prayer. She couldn't afford to linger. If she did, hesitation would find its way in.
"...The Sutra Repository is just ahead," Asahi said quietly.
His voice was harder than usual. Kuon nodded, his gaze fixed beyond the stone pillar.
"It's close. But it won't be easy."
Koyoi rested her fingers on the pouch, sensing the presence of the gods. The Moon was cold and trembling, the Wind held its breath, and the Waterways let out a tiny cry. Fear pooled in her chest. It pooled, yet her feet did not stop.
If she stopped, the path would vanish.
"Let’s go."
As she spoke, her voice dissolved into the rain. Asahi stepped forward. Kuon maintained the tension of the rope from the rear. Koyoi crossed beyond the stone pillar.
The moment she crossed, her own footsteps sounded slightly louder than before. It wasn't that the world had become quieter. It was simply that she had become more conspicuous within it. The forest beyond was so orderly it felt suffocating.
The raindrops continued to fall, yet the branches hardly wavered. The tops and bottoms of the leaves were wet at the exact same angle, reflecting a dim light. The mist was there, but it didn't flow; the damp air hung motionless. Koyoi realized that with every step, even as her shoulders grew cold, her sweat would not recede.
Cold and heat rubbed together in the same place, leaving her body restless.
"Do you hear it?" Asahi asked in a whisper.
Koyoi strained her ears. The sound of the river had grown distant. The sound of the rain was close.
But there was a low groan, different from either, coming from somewhere. The groan seemed to emanate from deep within the forest’s own throat, making it impossible to tell the direction. Kuon shook his head.
"It isn't a sound. It's a... distortion. And it's looking this way."
Koyoi felt an invisible gaze brush against her back. It wasn't just malice. It was a cold hand, measuring something. Koyoi clutched her pouch, grounding herself by pressing the knot into her palm.
The Wind held its breath, the Moon grew cold, and the Waterways cried softly. She could tell the three of them were afraid. They were afraid, yet they made no move to flee. Koyoi steadied her own breath, keeping it short and silent, as if to match their presence.
The rain was still falling. But with every drop, the sound grew thinner. The thinner the sound became, the closer whatever was coming next felt. Koyoi wiped her cheek with the back of her hand.
Her wet sleeve clung to her skin, leaving a lingering chill. The scent of lightning hung in the back of her nose, yet the wind did not move. A single raindrop swelled at the tip of a leaf, grew heavy, and finally fell. The interval before it fell felt interminable.
It was long, yet no one was waiting for it. They didn't have the luxury. Asahi started to count again, then stopped. He realized that numbers were of no use here.
Koyoi relied solely on the tension of the rope, confirming the coldness of the earth through the soles of her feet. With the next step, the air grew even more rigid. Her skin knew before her mind did—that they had reached an even deeper boundary. The light in her chest flared hot for a single moment, then settled into a quiet stillness.
It didn't go out. She could still walk. As long as the rain was falling, there was a path.