Beyond the stone pillars, the forest was nearly soundless.
A thin silence, yet it pricked at the skin.
Rain was falling, but the patter against the leaves felt distant. In its place, only the sound of their own breathing and the heavy squelch of mud felt close.
Koyoi instinctively shallowed her breath. Each shallow inhalation left a heavy, lingering cold deep in her chest. Her exhales unraveled in white wisps, vanishing into the mist. With every breath that disappeared, she felt herself growing smaller within the world.
“…Is the Rain God close now?”
Koyoi’s voice sounded thin, even to her own ears. She feared the way the mist swallowed her words—feared the delay before any answer could return.
“Yeah. The air is heavy with it.”
Asahi spoke curtly, eyes fixed forward. His back stayed rigid, his stride short. Each time his wet straw sandals were pulled from the mud, there was a wet, sucking sound. That sound was the only proof that they were actually making progress.
There were no bird calls. No insects chirping. Not even the flutter of a wing. Even on rainy days, there should have been a small whisper of life beneath the leaves, yet the forest remained mute. It wasn’t just silent; it had stopped making sound.
Asahi gritted his teeth.
“…The sky is dead.”
Kuon shook his head.
“Not dead. Hiding. In here, to speak is to become a beacon.”
A chill ran down Koyoi’s spine. This place was warped to the point where making a sound was a danger. A distortion that stole sound itself. Koyoi clutched her drawstring pouch, tracing the hard knot with her fingers.
The hardness gave her a sense of reality. The Wind was holding its breath, the Moon was freezing over, and the Waterway was crying softly. All three were trembling. The vibration traveled through the fabric to her chest, causing her heart to skip a beat.
To settle herself, Koyoi inhaled through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. Her warm breath drifted back against her face from inside the rim of her bamboo hat, leaving only her cheeks cold. Her wet sleeves clung to her wrists, the fabric tugging at her skin with every movement.
Then, she saw a feather on the path.
It was sodden, its color faded, half-buried in the mire. Koyoi crouched and picked it up with her fingertips. The feather was light, yet the coldness it held felt heavy.
Rainwater ran down the pad of her finger, numbing the tip. The quill pressed against her palm, a small, sharp ache. Koyoi started to brush the mud away, then stopped. Even that small movement felt too loud for this place.
Instead, she cradled it in her palm and let out a short breath. Like a prayer, she gently returned the feather to the earth.
In that moment, a voice rang out—just once. Short. Sharp. It wasn't a cry; it was the sound of something splitting. Koyoi stiffened, her ears straining by reflex.
“Did you… hear that?”
Asahi cut her off in a low, sharp tone.
“Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.”
Kuon stared into the mist ahead.
“This is a graveyard of natural law. In a place where the order of things has crumbled, the living stay silent to survive.”
His words fell like ice. Koyoi bit her lip, releasing it just before the taste of blood met her tongue. Terror pooled in her chest. But she knew that if she stopped, she would drown in it.
There were moments when the scent of rain suddenly thinned. When it did, her ears felt stuffed, and the silence made her more afraid of whatever sound might come next. Koyoi tightened her hold on the pouch to hide the trembling of her fingers, locking her hands against the ridges of the knot.
As they moved deeper, they found an empty nest at the base of a tree. The woven twigs hung limp with rain, and the fragments of eggshells at the rim were stained the color of mud.
On the ground beneath it, there were deep claw marks. Something animal.
The trunk was scarred as well, with coarse black hairs matted against it by the rain. Then, the smell hit her. The stench of wet fur. It mingled with the scent of earth and rain, settling heavily in the back of her lungs.
It wasn't a scent washed out by the rain. It was a scent left by the beast. Koyoi’s nose stung, and a bitter taste rose in her throat. Her chest tightened when she inhaled; it only eased slightly when she let the air out.
A jagged line of gouged mud trailed along the ground, refusing to be washed away. Asahi placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“…There’s a beast. Its master has gone mad.”
Koyoi almost held her breath, but forced herself to exhale. Holding it would only make the weight in her chest heavier. Kuon said nothing, his eyes following the ridge of upturned mud. The trail of something large led deeper into the woods.
The line was too deep for the rain to erase. Kuon’s glass-like eyes flashed blue for a single beat. The light reflected off the raindrops, creating tiny, shimmering rings at the edge of Koyoi’s vision.
The rings vanished instantly, but she couldn't stop looking at where they had been. She narrowed her eyes, forcing herself to look away. To look too closely was to get lost.
Beneath the sound of the rain, another noise joined in. The dry snap of a wet branch. The sound of heavy breathing. It was distant, yet close. It was close, yet directionless.
She held the pouch tight, trying to steady her breathing. The ridges of the knot pressed into her fingers until they ached. That pain grounded her.
The chill of the Moon reached her palm, the Wind held its breath, and the Waterway gave a small cry in the back of her throat. As long as these three were with her, she could find her way back, no matter how lost she became.
Then, the forest stopped breathing. The rain continued to fall, but the sound grew thin.
The mist stopped. The leaves stopped. Only her own heartbeat thundered in her head. The air became a membrane, sticking to her chest. Koyoi held her breath involuntarily, her throat aching with the effort.
Everything. Stopped. Now.
A large droplet fell onto the nape of her neck. It was ice-cold, making her spine recoil.
But she couldn't cry out. She felt that if she spoke, the silence would cut her down. The interval between thunderclaps grew shorter, matching the rhythm of her breath.
Asahi took a single step forward. Kuon’s glass eyes pulsed blue once more. Koyoi pressed her hand against the light in her heart, staring straight ahead to keep the trembling from leaking out.
The depths of the forest looked a shade darker. Dark, yet strangely dense.
A thick presence seemed to stroke her skin. It was different from the aura of the Rain God or the smell of the beast. It was something more violent, more ravenous. Koyoi swallowed her breath, lengthening her exhales to minimize the sound of each shallow intake.
The white of her breath swirled once near her lips, then vanished. That swirl wasn't a sign that the wind had returned.
It was proof that in this place, even a current as weak as a breath could be caught in a vacuum of someone else's making. Koyoi hated that realization and made her next breath even quieter.
Asahi held up a single finger. A signal.
Kuon saw it and nodded. No words passed between the three of them. Even without words, their breathing and footing told them everything about what was drawing near. Koyoi felt the chill of the mud beneath her and lifted her heel just a fraction, preparing for the next step.
At that moment, a branch snapped in the distance. A dry crack echoed once and was immediately swallowed by the rain. Koyoi felt the muscles in her shoulders lock tight. Asahi’s shoulders dropped slightly, and his sword hilt gave a faint creak.
Kuon didn’t pull out his board; he simply turned his glass eyes forward. They were eyes that looked even when looking caused pain.
She shifted the pouch in her arms. The wet fabric clung to her chest, the cold reaching all the way to her heart. As she pressed her fingertips into the knot, the hardness turned into a sharp pain that killed the trembling.
In place of the shivers, her breathing faltered for a moment. To regain control, she let out one long, final exhale, then took a short, sharp breath. Short breaths were quiet.
She felt the presence of the Rain God coming from behind her now. He was supposed to be ahead, yet her back felt heavy. Heavy things always circle around to where they can't be seen.
Koyoi fixed her gaze forward, trying to shake the chill from her back.
Forward. If she stopped here, her voice, her steps, and her records—everything would be stolen. Her chest gave a small, sharp wheeze, and her lips went dry. When she licked them, she tasted iron.
The light in her chest flickered dimly. But it didn't go out. Koyoi held the pouch as if she were touching that flickering flame, returning strength to the soles of her feet. The mud was cold.
Because it was cold, she could feel exactly where she stepped. And as long as she could feel that, she wouldn't lose her way. As long as the rain kept falling beyond the mist, this world was still moving.
And if it was moving, it could be reclaimed. It was too early to decide there was no turning back. For now, she would move. She had to.
Within her hands, the drawstring pouch gave a small, tremulous cry. The trembling remained. But she walked. One more step. Now.