As they neared the pond’s silent surface, the sound of the rain seemed to recede into the distance.
Koyoi felt the chill of the stones beneath his feet. Tracing the tension of the rope hand over hand, he felt the black water seeping from between the rocks, sapping the warmth from his fingertips. Raindrops pelted his cheeks, yet they did not splash upon the pond; instead, the water seemed to swallow them, turning dark and heavy where they fell. The sound of their sinking returned to him with a slight delay, and every time that lag matched the thrumming in his chest, his breath grew shallow of its own accord.
Asahi’s back remained motionless. Kuon’s prosthetic eye stared into the depths of the water, his blinking slowing as if he were bracing against a sharp pain. The stones at the pond's edge were slick; when stepped upon, a thin film of water clung to his soles before reluctantly letting go. Koyoi kept his ankles firm to avoid being pulled by that lingering suction, rubbing the cold from his fingers against his sleeve.
Though the damp rope felt heavy, the sensation of it being pulled was sharp. He knew that if he missed even a single signal, he would be swallowed by this silence.
"Don’t touch it. The more visible it is, the more likely it’s a trap."
"…But we have to go."
Asahi took a single, deep breath. The rope grew heavy with moisture.
"We go. …But do not draw your sword."
Kuon gave a sharp nod, pressing his hand against the edge of his prosthetic eye.
"Focus only on the center. Discard everything else."
Koyoi’s reply was small, vanishing into the rain. Though the water’s surface was still, a humid mist rose from it, grazing his skin. It should have been cold, yet it felt strangely lukewarm; only the inside of his chest burned with a sudden heat. Before he could discern if that heat was terror or the presence of the Rain God, the Moon God pulsed with a faint light from deep within his drawstring pouch.
Koyoi touched the pouch, feeling the temperature through the cloth. It was warm. But beneath that warmth, a freezing chill lay hidden.
When the boundaries vanish, it becomes impossible to tell where the binding ends and the god begins. Koyoi dimmed the light in his heart, counted his breaths, and pushed the fear down into the back of his throat so it wouldn't surge forward. The moonlight did not fall upon the water but stopped at the edge of the stones by the shore. The Glass God caught that stagnant light and cast it forward as shattered fragments, causing a faint path to float upon the black water.
The path was no bridge; it was a thread-thin line, barely wide enough for a single step. It threatened to vanish every time a raindrop fell, only to be reborn an instant later. The fragments of light trembled atop the water, turning murky the moment the rain touched them, only to clear in the next heartbeat. Each time it cleared, a cold whiteness pierced the back of Koyoi’s eyes, dictating for a fleeting second exactly where he should place his foot. When the Wind God exhaled, the mist swirled, and the shards of glass swayed with it.
The path shifted as much as it swayed. Koyoi did not look at the misalignment; he trusted only the tension of the rope and the firmness of his own soles. Before the light could vanish, he placed his weight on his toes and then quickly withdrew it.
『…Step. Do not tread heavily. The water is… angry, right now.』
The voice reaching him from inside the pouch was as quiet as a cold droplet falling against his chest. Koyoi did as he was told; rather than planting his feet, he transferred his center of gravity as if merely touching the surface before pulling away. The terror of that split-second resistance—the wet soles of his sandals clinging to the film of water—gnawed at him. If he pulled while it was still stuck, he would be dragged down into the silence.
And so, he exhaled before he pulled, and withdrew his foot before the breath was fully spent. Even the timing of his breathing became a binding constraint here. When Asahi moved forward, he slackened the rope slightly, leaving Koyoi just enough room to stand on his own. Because of that margin, he managed not to fall.
But because of that margin, fear could creep in. To keep the terror out, Koyoi kept his eyes half-veiled, following nothing but the fragments of light. Behind him, Kuon shifted his pace so his footsteps wouldn't overlap his. Though he knit his brows at the pain in his prosthetic eye, he continued to signal the forbidden spots through the silent angle of his gaze.
There were streaks of differing temperatures upon the water.
The chill of the rain did not reach them; if he moved his fingers close, a thin, steam-like vapor rose. In those spots alone, the water smelled sweet. It wasn't a human sweetness, but the scent of water that had pooled deep within ancient rocks, exhaling a breath held for eons. Dimming the light in his heart further, Koyoi chose to walk upon those streaks.
The Waterway God pushed from below, whispering, this way. The sensation of being pushed was cold, yet the destination was warm. That contradiction signaled the proximity of the Rain God. The Wind God pushed against the mist, but the fog only trembled thinly over the pond before recoiling.
As it recoiled, the surface of the mist twitched for a fraction of a second, revealing the existence of an invisible wall. The closer they drew to the center of the pond, the heavier the air became, and the shorter his breath grew. Each breath he exhaled seemed to vanish into the heavy air without replenishing him. The pressure building inside his chest increased with every labored gasp. Koyoi tightened his ribcage slightly, shielding the light within him from flickering.
"…It's pierced, right here," Kuon whispered. The edges of his prosthetic eye were rimmed with red, and his voice was raspy. Yet his finger pointed unerringly at a single spot in the black water. There alone, the sound of the raindrops sinking was hard and metallic.
The surface did not move, but the hardness of the bottom gave an answer. Koyoi stopped, clutching the pouch to his chest to check the temperature through the cloth. It remained warm to the touch, yet he could still feel that glacial cold lurking just beneath the surface.
Beneath that black point lay a slender shadow. It was as straight as a nail and blacker than the surrounding water. The water swirled minutely around the shadow, but the vortex did not spread; it immediately snapped back and went still. This cycle of stopping repeated over and over, and with every pause, the silence of the pond grew thicker.
Koyoi swallowed hard, dropping his shoulders so as not to be crushed by the weight of the damp air. Kuon’s prosthetic eye trembled slightly in synchronization with the shadow, and his fingers stopped just short of it. His lips twisted slightly, as if what he saw was not the shadow itself, but a void in time created by whatever had been driven into the water. Seeing that grimace, Koyoi made the light in his heart even smaller, steadying his breath so as not to let the heat of his fear leak out.
Asahi placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, taking a stance without drawing it. If he drew, the water would react. If it reacted, its wrath would rise. Koyoi knew this—and yet, he felt the soles of his feet sliding forward a single step of their own accord. He was stopped only by the tension of the rope.
The rope bit into his waist, the pain of the knot sharpening for an instant. That pain reminded him that this was still the ground. Koyoi adjusted his breathing to the pain and pulled his weight back from his toes before the fragments of light could vanish.
Then, the water rose—slowly.
It created no ripples, no waves. A black mass simply swelled, increasing in height while swallowing the raindrops whole. As the height grew, so did the weight of the air. The sound of the rain receded from his ears, replaced by a low groan that seemed to resonate from the very bottom of the deep. Koyoi inhaled, held the breath in his throat, and leaned into the tension of the rope.
Deep beneath the surface, he felt the presence of Wrath opening its eyes.
The surface of the black mass slid like fabric, gathering into the shape of an arm. Before the contours of the fingers could form, Koyoi suppressed the light in his chest. If he let his fear out first, the wrath would be drawn to it. And the wrath that answered would not be the Rain God’s—it would be the wrath of the binding itself.
Koyoi held that thought, touching his pouch and allowing the cold light of the Moon God to pass through him. Raindrops pelted his cheeks. Though he was being struck, he could not feel the heat of his own tears.
Inside the arm of water, he saw another flow—a slender, delicate stream.
While the arm itself took the shape of rage, the water flowing within it was trembling, as if crying out for help. Koyoi strained his ears to catch that tremor, searching for the "someone" hidden behind the fury. The rage was not everything. Beneath the anger, there was a silence, bound and unable to move.
The arm of water rose and turned slowly toward them, as if to protect the black point at the pond's center. As the shape of the fingers solidified, the mist gave a thin cry, and for a split second, the raindrops seemed to stop mid-air. They fell again instantly, but in that stretched moment, Koyoi saw the icy chill of the wedge that held the god in place. Asahi stepped half a pace forward, shifting his shoulder to shield him, pulling the rope short to anchor him.
Kuon exhaled a short breath, his prosthetic eye turning a cloudy white for an instant.
The black arm reached toward them.
With every inch it extended, the silence of the pond thickened, and even the sound of their breathing returned to them with a heavy delay.
There was nowhere to run.
Still, forward. Now. Surely. Now.