Koyoi ran through the mountain path at night.
Moonlight filtered between the trees. The ground at her feet was dark. Again and again she nearly tripped on exposed roots.
There was no room to look back.
Light was following. The Observers' light.
"...hurry."
The pouch was cold. The gods' voices were urgent.
"...don't stop."
She knew. If she stopped, they would catch up.
If she was measured, she would be fixed.
Like Kirihara Town. Like the villages that had vanished.
She had no idea how long she had been running.
Her breath was ragged. Her legs were heavy. Her body was ceasing to obey her.
Still, she could not stop.
Something appeared between the trees.
A building. No—the remains of a building.
A crumbled shrine. Only two pillars still stood. The roof had collapsed, and the stone pavement alone floated white in the moonlight.
There, she saw fire.
A campfire. A small flame burning in the ruins of the shrine.
Someone was there.
Koyoi stopped.
Should she run? But her body was at its limit. If she did not rest by the fire, she would collapse.
Could it be an Observer? But Observers did not make campfires. They carried the light of machines.
Slowly, she approached.
She climbed the stone steps. Five of them. Moss-covered stones glistened wet in the moonlight.
By the campfire, there was a figure.
A woman.
"...good evening."
The woman spoke. A calm, even voice.
Her face, lit by the fire, was of indeterminate age. She could have looked young; she could have looked old. Skin like white porcelain. Deep eyes.
An indigo kimono. Signs of wear upon it. The clothing of someone who had traveled long.
In her arms, she held a thick ledger.
"...who are you?"
Koyoi's voice was hoarse. Her breathing was rough.
The woman did not smile. But neither was her expression stern. She simply watched, with quiet composure.
"Would you like to warm yourself by the fire? You must be tired."
Koyoi hesitated for a while.
She gripped the pouch. The gods said nothing. They were not on guard, nor were they frightened. They were simply watching in silence.
"...can I sit down?"
"Please."
The woman shifted slightly to make room.
When Koyoi sat by the campfire, her body felt as though it might melt. The warmth. Exhaustion crashed over her all at once.
"Something is coming from behind you."
The woman said.
"I saw lights. About five of them."
"...you know about them?"
"I saw them."
The woman set the ledger on her knees.
"I am Shiori."
Nothing more. No surname, no title.
"One who records."
One who records.
Koyoi recalled the torn diary pages. Had the person who wrote that diary also been recorded by someone?
"...Koyoi."
She spoke her own name aloud.
Shiori nodded.
"I see. You are one who carries."
"...how do you know?"
Shiori looked at the pouch at Koyoi's waist.
"That. There are gods inside."
"Two of them, yes?"
Koyoi clutched the pouch. She realized there was no use hiding it.
"...yes."
"You're called a gatherer."
Shiori spoke while gazing into the campfire.
"A person who gathers fading gods and carries them."
"A person who delivers them to the Boundary and places them there."
"...places them?"
"Returns the gods to the place where they belong."
Shiori's voice was even. No emotion intruded.
"It is not only gathering. The work continues until they are delivered."
Koyoi listened in silence.
Gatherer. One who carries. The work of delivering.
When the old man had given her the pouch, he had told her nothing. He had simply said, "Hold on to this."
"...where do I deliver them?"
"The Boundary."
Shiori pointed to the southwest.
"Cross the First Boundary, and when you reach the village at the Boundary, there will be someone who can tell you."
"Once you get that far, it will be somewhat safer."
The campfire crackled and popped.
"The ones who measure are coming."
Shiori's voice dropped slightly lower.
"I know. There were lights behind me."
"If you are measured, you will be fixed."
Shiori stroked the ledger.
"You will never be able to move again. Cut out from the world."
"Pinned in place, like a specimen."
"...like Kirihara Town?"
"Yes."
Shiori's answer was brief.
Koyoi stared into the fire.
"...what do you do, Shiori?"
"I record."
Shiori lifted the ledger slightly.
"I see, I write, I pass it on."
"I preserve the things that are vanishing, upon paper."
"...if you write them down, won't they be fixed?"
"They will."
Shiori answered without hesitation.
"When I write, that moment becomes fixed. But it is different from the fixing done by those who measure."
"I preserve memory. They kill existence."
Those words pierced her chest.
For a while, the two of them sat in silence, watching the fire.
The sound of insects reached them. Wind stirred the trees.
In the distance, lights were blinking. Whether they were drawing closer, she could not tell.
"I will take a different path."
Shiori stood.
"You must aim for the Boundary."
"Once you cross the First Boundary, it will be somewhat safer."
"...why are you telling me this?"
Koyoi asked.
Shiori smiled, just barely. Less a smile than a faint shift in the shadows of her expression.
"Because I am one who records."
"I see, I write, I pass it on. That is my work."
Shiori vanished into the darkness.
Her footsteps were never heard, not even at the last.
Only the campfire remained, crackling and burning.
Koyoi gripped the pouch.
"...did you hear that?"
"...yes."
"...she was telling the truth."
"...we are being measured."
The gods' voices trembled faintly.
The measuring had begun.
Light was pursuing Koyoi.
Trying to measure her contours.
Koyoi stood.
There was no time to rest.
She would aim for the Boundary. Cross the First Boundary.
Before that, she must not be caught.
She put out the campfire and returned to the mountain path.
The moon hung upon the ridgeline of the mountains.
In the distance, lights were blinking.