A low growl droned from the depths of the mist.
It did not fade into the sound of the rain. It was a guttural rasp, like breath dragged from deep in the belly; just hearing it made the throat go dry. The growling wasn’t a single note; it felt layered, overlapping.
Something massive exhaled. The breath collided with the dampness of the forest and returned a moment later. Every time the echo reached her, the light in Koyoi’s chest gave a small leap, only for that flickering heat to be pressed back by the encroaching cold.
Koyoi stopped, pressing her drawstring pouch to her chest. The chill of the wet fabric clung to her skin, and the ridges of the knot bit into her fingers. That pain was the only thing telling her she was still here. Her fingertips were numb, and the pouch felt heavy in her palms—heavy, yet she couldn't let go.
Then came the scent: wet fur and a thick, lingering stench of mud and beast. The bitterness of iron clung to her tongue, making the back of her throat feel like grit. Droplets of mist draped themselves over her skin; though her cheeks were cold, her own breath returned to her lukewarm.
The air she exhaled pooled inside the rim of her straw hat, touching her cheek like a tepid film before cooling instantly. As it chilled, her breathing grew shallow, and the growling seemed to draw closer.
In the next instant, a branch snapped.
A shadow emerged. A black mass trudged forward, shedding rain like a waterfall. It had no horns, but its shoulders were high and its back thick. It looked like a deer, or perhaps a boar, yet its eyes were a piercing red. Those crimson eyes did not waver; they locked onto her, targeting her with unsettling precision. Every time a heavy paw came down, the mud sank and the ground trembled.
The vibration traveled from the soles of her shoes to her shins, settling deep within her bones before winding its way to her stomach. Mud matted the beast’s back in ridges like armor, where the rain ran down in thin rivulets that looked like trails of blood.
Asahi stepped forward, his voice low and clipped. He shifted his weight, choosing footing that wouldn't sink into the mire. He had not yet drawn his sword, though his knuckles were white where he gripped the hilt.
"I’ll draw its attention. Koyoi, stay behind me."
Koyoi gave a faint "Okay" and pressed closer to Asahi’s back. The heat radiating from him had been thinned by the rain, yet she was grateful for it. That warmth was the only proof that this was still a place for the living.
Koyoi exhaled once, trying not to watch as her breath turned white and vanished. If she watched it, she felt she might be pulled toward that same disappearance. Kuon stepped back, his glass eyes narrowing. He did not bring out his board; in this place, there was too much to see. Within the reflection of the raindrops, his eyes flashed blue—a spark that shattered against the mist like a fading ring of light.
Even though the light was gone, she couldn't stop looking at the spot where it had been. Kuon’s breathing grew short, his shoulders rising and falling in the rhythm of someone suppressing pain.
"...It’s connected."
Kuon’s voice was raspy. Koyoi steadied her breath, clutching the hard contents of her pouch. The knot pressed against her fingernail, anchoring her fingers back into place. The wind held its breath, the moon's chill deepened, and the waterway remained silent in its trembling.
The silence was terrifying, but it meant there was still life here. The beast snorted, its breath billowed out in white clouds, and the mist grew a shade thicker. Deep within that breath was a trace of rage—not the beast’s own, but a fury forced into it from the outside. And beneath that, there was fear.
It was the fear of a body no longer belonging to itself. Every time the creature bared its teeth, Koyoi saw something twitching in the depths of its throat, and her heart ached.
"The will of the Rain God is pouring into it," Kuon said. "It’s deep. Striking it would bring relief, but the more we fight, the more it will rage."
Asahi remained silent, waiting for Koyoi to decide. The interval until the falling droplets were absorbed by the mud felt interminable. As long as that hollow silence persisted, she knew they were standing inside a boundary.
Koyoi looked into the beast’s red eyes. She was being watched, but she was close enough to look back. She wanted to run, but if she did, she would never reach the Rain God. Koyoi moistened her lips, swallowed the taste of iron, and finally found her voice.
"You're scared, aren't you? You don't really want to do this."
The rain ate at her voice, but it only had to reach far enough. Koyoi clasped her hands in front of her chest, staying where she was to show she meant no harm. She did not reach out to touch; if she did, the beast would surely lash out.
"We aren't your enemies," she said, her voice steadying as the dampness of the pouch grew cold in her palms. "We came to unbind what’s hurting you."
Inside the pouch, the moon glowed faintly. The light formed a thin silhouette, tracing the edges of the beast’s shadow. The Glass God caught the light of the raindrops and reflected it back, softening the glare of those crimson eyes. The wind stirred for a single breath, and the veils of mist parted.
The beast stopped. The water atop the mud rippled, then fell quiet. The red eyes blinked, and in that interval, the crimson faded. She saw tired eyes—eyes that couldn't sleep. The creature’s throat gave a heavy gulp. The sound was closer than the rain, and because it was so close, she knew a heart still remained there.
Asahi lowered the tip of his sword slightly, though he did not break his stance. Kuon exhaled, and Koyoi exhaled in time with him. As their breathing synchronized, the flickering light in her chest steadied.
"...Please. Let us go to that child."
The beast gave a low growl and shook its head—not in rejection, but in hesitation. In the next moment, its snout slowly turned toward the depths of the forest, sniffing out a path through the rain and mud. It pointed toward a place where the heavy omen of lightning was gathering. Then, the beast simply stepped aside, clearing the way.
As it moved, the mud squelched deeply, the sound echoing back a moment later. The flow of the mist began to ease. As the creature departed, it looked at Koyoi one last time. The red in its eyes had faded, leaving only exhaustion behind.
Koyoi took that exhaustion into her own heart and let out a breath. It wasn't an enemy to be defeated, but a guardian bound by hesitation. And so, she would unbind it.
Asahi placed a palm on Koyoi’s shoulder, the warmth of his hand lingering briefly. "Are you ready?"
Koyoi nodded, and Kuon gave a sharp affirmation of his own. The three of them turned toward the direction the beast had shown. The rain continued to fall and the mist remained thick, but now there was a path.
Koyoi readjusted her hold on the pouch and took a step into the mire. Where the beast had stood, deep tracks remained, rainwater pooling in the edges to form small, dark ponds. The surface of the water trembled occasionally. It wasn't that the wind had truly returned, but the mere presence of that movement made it better than the world that had nearly ground to a halt moments ago.
She walked, avoiding the footprints while keeping their direction in sight. Knowing the way made her own hesitation thin. Asahi walked with his sword still drawn, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip against the slick rain. Kuon followed the droplets of mist with his glass eyes, avoiding the stagnant spots where the laws of the world were fraying.
Koyoi kept her breathing small. When she saw the white of her own breath, she pretended not to, fearing that if she looked too closely, she herself might vanish. Inside the pouch, the God of the Waterway finally let out a small, trembling breath.
The chill of the moon reached her palms, and a faint wind brushed her back. It was a weak wind, and because it was weak, it needed protection. Koyoi held that weakness in her heart and took another step toward the Rain God.
The light in her chest answered silently. It would not go out.