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 his breath. Each shallow inhalation left a heavy, lingering cold deep in his chest. His exhales unraveled in white wisps, vanishing into the mist. With every breath that disappeared, he felt himself growing smaller within the world.
“…Is the Rain God close now?”
Koyoi’s voice sounded thin, even to his own ears. He feared the way the mist swallowed his 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 his drawstring pouch, tracing the hard knot with his fingers.
The hardness gave him 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 his chest, causing his heart to skip a beat.
To settle himself, Koyoi inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth. His warm breath drifted back against his face from inside the rim of his bamboo hat, leaving only his cheeks cold. His wet sleeves clung to his wrists, the fabric tugging at his skin with every movement.
Then, he saw a feather on the path.
It was sodden, its color faded, half-buried in the mire. Koyoi crouched and picked it up with his fingertips. The feather was light, yet the coldness it held felt heavy.
Rainwater ran down the pad of his finger, numbing the tip. The quill pressed against his 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, he cradled it in his palm and let out a short breath. Like a prayer, he 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, his ears straining by reflex.
“Did you… hear that?”
Asahi cut him 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 his lip, releasing it just before the taste of blood met his tongue. Terror pooled in his chest. But he knew that if he stopped, he would drown in it.
There were moments when the scent of rain suddenly thinned. When it did, his ears felt stuffed, and the silence made him more afraid of whatever sound might come next. Koyoi tightened his hold on the pouch to hide the trembling of his fingers, locking his 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 him. The stench of wet fur. It mingled with the scent of earth and rain, settling heavily in the back of his 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 his throat. His chest tightened when he inhaled; it only eased slightly when he 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 his breath, but forced himself to exhale. Holding it would only make the weight in his 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 he couldn't stop looking at where they had been. He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself 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.
He held the pouch tight, trying to steady his breathing. The ridges of the knot pressed into his fingers until they ached. That pain grounded him.
The chill of the Moon reached his palm, the Wind held its breath, and the Waterway gave a small cry in the back of his throat. As long as these three were with him, he could find his way back, no matter how lost he became.
Then, the forest stopped breathing. The rain continued to fall, but the sound grew thin.
The mist stopped. The leaves stopped. Only his own heartbeat thundered in his head. The air became a membrane, sticking to his chest. Koyoi held his breath involuntarily, his throat aching with the effort.
Everything. Stopped. Now.
A large droplet fell onto the nape of his neck. It was ice-cold, making his spine recoil.
But he couldn't cry out. He felt that if he spoke, the silence would cut him down. The interval between thunderclaps grew shorter, matching the rhythm of his breath.
Asahi took a single step forward. Kuon’s glass eyes pulsed blue once more. Koyoi pressed his hand against the light in his 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 his 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 his breath, lengthening his exhales to minimize the sound of each shallow intake.
The white of his breath swirled once near his 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 his 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 him and lifted his 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 his 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.
He shifted the pouch in his arms. The wet fabric clung to his chest, the cold reaching all the way to his heart. As he pressed his fingertips into the knot, the hardness turned into a sharp pain that killed the trembling.
In place of the shivers, his breathing faltered for a moment. To regain control, he let out one long, final exhale, then took a short, sharp breath. Short breaths were quiet.
He felt the presence of the Rain God coming from behind him now. He was supposed to be ahead, yet his back felt heavy. Heavy things always circle around to where they can't be seen.
Koyoi fixed his gaze forward, trying to shake the chill from his back.
Forward. If he stopped here, his voice, his steps, and his records—everything would be stolen. His chest gave a small, sharp wheeze, and his lips went dry. When he licked them, he tasted iron.
The light in his chest flickered dimly. But it didn't go out. Koyoi held the pouch as if he were touching that flickering flame, returning strength to the soles of his feet. The mud was cold.
Because it was cold, he could feel exactly where he stepped. And as long as he could feel that, he wouldn't lose his 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, he would move. He had to.
Within his hands, the drawstring pouch gave a small, tremulous cry. The trembling remained. But he walked. One more step. Now.