The fog was no solid white wall. It was a shroud—a heavy fabric that seemed to swell from within the farther they ventured into its depths.
Koyoi followed close behind Asahi, yet the rows of ancient trees suddenly seemed to align, their gnarled branches twisting at identical angles until every path looked the same.
Lift a foot, set it down. She should have been moving forward, yet each step felt like landing exactly where she had started.
"...We’re in the same place."
At Koyoi’s words, Asahi let out a sharp, irritated breath.
"That’s impossible. I’m marking the count."
"Because you’re marking it, I can tell all the more... Something is wrong."
Kuon’s gaze swept across a tree trunk. On the rain-slicked bark, a shallow notch remained.
"...The mark is here."
A cold knot tightened in Koyoi’s chest. They had been drawn back to the very spot they had just carved. A short distance ahead sat a rock that looked as though it had been split by lightning. The angle of the crack was identical; even the trails of water weeping down the stone matched perfectly.
Asahi’s count faltered. Kuon pressed his fingers hard against the rim of his prosthetic eye.
"...We’re turning," Kuon murmured. "Ignore what you see. Focus on the temperature, the weight, and the way the sound settles."
Koyoi pressed her toes through the mud, searching for the sharp edges of stones beneath her sandals. Where the chill was sharpest, the water ran deep. Where the cold felt delayed, roots were spreading. If neither their eyes nor their memories could be trusted, she would have to map the world through her feet.
Deep within her drawstring pouch, something stirred.
“...It has stopped. The water... it’s suspended overhead.”
It was the voice of the God of the Waterway. The sensation of a wedge—cold and sharp—pierced Koyoi’s mind. It was the icy touch of a stone used to bind the wind.
"...A binding," Asahi spat under his breath. "If the rain has been confined, no wonder it rages."
They reached a place where the white of the fog grew thin. There, the sound of the rain was swallowed whole, replaced by a lukewarm humidity that clung to their skin like a damp cloth. Kuon signaled a direction with his fingertips, and Asahi pulled the guiding rope taut.
"Let's move. We don’t have time to be lost."
"If we’re going to cut through the confusion, it has to be now."
Koyoi drew a breath, syncing her heartbeat with theirs. The descent was short and steep. With every step, the mud seemed to suck at them, and the sound of their feet pulling free echoed with a strange delay. At the bottom of the ravine, the fog seemed to hold its breath.
The trees gave way to a vast, black expanse of water. The rain was falling, undeniably, yet the water’s surface remained motionless. Not a single ripple formed where the droplets struck; only the hollow sound of them sinking echoed back through the stillness. Koyoi stopped, the chill beneath her sandals resonating with the flickering light in her chest.
"...This is it."
Beneath her feet, the mud had been replaced by a carpet of small stones. As she stepped, they sank slightly, and dark water seeped up through the cracks. The water was frigid, yet the air carried a strangely warm scent—the scent of long-sealed water beneath the freshness of rain.
Asahi started to take a step forward but stopped instantly.
"Don't touch it. This is the Threshold."
Kuon’s artificial eye peered into the depths of the still water. Its frantic searching stopped.
"It is the entrance," he said. "One wrong step, and you won’t move again."
Koyoi clutched the pouch to her chest and nodded. The silence was heavy.