Even after the presence of the black beast had dissolved into the fog, the forest only feigned mercy, steadily eroding the ground’s logic beneath her feet. Rain stitched through her vision, and each time a droplet struck her cheek from the branches above, a trickle of cold slid down her neck. Asahi produced a length of rope and looped it around Koyoi’s waist. The rain-soaked hemp was heavy, its knot forming a cold ring against her skin.
“Stay close.”
“I will... I’ll follow the knot by feel.”
Kuon spoke without turning his head. “Don’t trust your eyes. The ground will turn against you. Watch the tension in the rope. Listen to the sound.”
Koyoi nodded, resting her fingers against the knot. It was coarse. It was painful. But as long as she felt that pain, she knew she could still find her way back.
Asahi began to mark the pace. “One... two... three...”
As his voice thinned, worn away by the rain, the white of the fog began to seep into her chest. The numbers felt as if they were unraveling. Koyoi repeated the same count under her breath. She matched her breathing to theirs, searching for nothing but the solid resistance of the earth beneath her soles.
Kuon pressed the tip of his knife into a massive tree, carving a short notch. As the blade bit into the damp bark, it gave a soft squeak, releasing the sweet scent of sap.
“...When we return, we follow these.”
“Return?”
Kuon did not answer Koyoi’s question. Silence was his answer. In places, the water pooled up to their ankles. The cords of her straw sandals tightened with the cold, and the warmth drained from her body unnervingly fast.
“Don’t stop.”
Asahi tugged the rope. Koyoi picked out the path of stones by the faint moonlight, lifting her feet carefully to avoid the suction of the clinging mud. She only lost her footing once. The moment her body tilted, the rope dug into her waist, and Asahi hauled her back with brute force.
Kuon’s hand met her back, and a breath she hadn't realized she was holding caught in her throat.
“Are you alright?”
“...Yes. I can still walk.”
At the bottom of her drawstring pouch, the Waterway God trembled ever so slightly.
‘...This way. Here, it is still flowing.’
It was less a voice and more a signal—as if a cold fingertip had gently brushed against the light inside her chest. Koyoi paused just once, breathing in the scent of rain and moss before letting it out. The warmth of her breath was instantly snatched away by the mist. They should have been moving forward, yet a branch at the exact same angle brushed her cheek once more.
A root of the exact same shape crossed her path.
“...We’re crossing the same ground.”
Asahi’s count faltered for a single beat, and Kuon’s back grew rigid. Koyoi strained to hear beneath the sound of the rain. In one direction, the rain sounded thinner. Even when she stepped lightly, the echo was slow to return.
Kuon pressed the edge of his glass eye and pointed. “...It’s down there.”
The depths of the pouch felt strangely warm. Warm, yet the light in her chest flickered with a small tremor.
‘...It’s still. The water has stopped above.’
The voice of the Waterway God. Still water. The "Stagnant Lake" of the rumors.
Koyoi pressed her hand over the pouch. “God of Rain... are you there?”
There was no reply, but she could smell the scent of water that did not flow. A scent where, despite the falling rain, there was no sound of the surface answering back. Asahi gave the rope a sharp tug.
“Stay in line. ...Do not let your mind wander.”
Kuon spoke curtly. “If you're going to decide, do it now.”
Koyoi nodded, trimming her breaths into even measures. The scent of the still water was drawing closer, step by step.