In the thin slice of time just before the arm swung down, the God of Wind tore through the mist in a single breath, and the God of Glass cast fragments of light a step deeper into the gloom.
Koyoi placed his foot upon those fragments, lifting it the moment it touched. Without resisting the suction of the water’s surface, he shifted his center of gravity forward before the drag could take hold.
The rope pulled at his waist. Asahi formed a shield with his back. Kuon read the "place of falling" through his prosthetic eye, signaling without words.
Though the falling water made no sound, the pressure descended first. From the point where that pressure landed, the mist split like a thin membrane. The trajectory of the raindrops became visible for a fleeting heartbeat, only to vanish in the next. Koyoi seared that vanished instant into the soles of his feet. In the same breath, he gauged the hardness of the stone and the chill of the water, sliding his body forward before the beat was over.
"Now."
"…Go!"
Between those brief shouts, Koyoi took a single breath.
The arm of the water giant fell. The water shattered upon impact, scattering black droplets that seemed to rob the air of its movement. Into the narrow gap left before that theft was complete, Koyoi slid his body.
His shoulder brushed the spray. At the point of contact, a deep chill seeped in, turning his skin thin and brittle. His footsteps—running on stone, not mud—arrived a beat late; to avoid being pulled back by that lag, he exhaled before planting his next step.
The black speck grew colder the closer he got. It was freezing, yet his skin burned with heat before he even touched it.
The heat was a precursor to pain. Though it had yet to arrive, his fingertips curled instinctively. Koyoi forced his shrinking fingers open, pressed the pouch against his chest, and addressed the God of Rain.
The water’s surface did not move. Yet, the sweat on his fingertips froze first, and his palms grew parched from within. The clash of dry sensation and wet air made his throat seize. Koyoi almost labeled that constriction "fear," but instead of naming it, he focused on the tendons behind his knees and lowered his body silently.
"God of Rain. …I’m going to touch it."
The words sounded like an excuse. Still, he felt that if he touched it without speaking, he would be the one to break. Koyoi dropped to one knee, accepting the sting of the wet stone’s chill as it bit into his skin, and extended his fingertips toward the black shadow.
Though the shadow lay beneath the water, his fingertips froze before they reached it.
Frozen, he made contact.
The moment he touched it, the sound of the rain receded. In its place, the friction of the rope and the thumping of his own heart grew deafening. Koyoi found the noise an intrusion; startled by that thought, he exhaled once more.
The breath he blew out was cold, yet the inside of his mouth was scalding.
It was hard. A hardness that was neither stone nor iron. The moment he touched it, the chill raced from his fingertips to his arm, his shoulder, and his chest, darkening the light within his heart in a single gust. Then the heat chased after it, a searing pain beneath the skin. Deep within that pain, the scent of rain grew sweet.
Koyoi gritted his teeth, swallowing the cry that threatened to leak from his throat. He did not let go. His fingertips went numb, his senses dulling, yet the silhouette of the wedge remained uncannily vivid to his touch. A coarse, gritty chill forced its way under his nails; they began to pry upward, and pain stabbed into the gaps. The pain was sharp, but the urge to cry was slow to follow.
The interval of that delay was more terrifying than the pain itself. Koyoi did not cry; he simply concentrated on the act of touching.
The black wedge wasn't merely driven there; it was stitching the surrounding water into stillness. It halted the flow that sought to move, and in that forced stillness, it cultivated silence. In that silence, anger fermented. Koyoi understood this mechanism through the agony in his fingertips.
Memories of the God of Rain mingled with the pain. No seams were visible, yet deep within his fingertips, he felt the pull of several thin threads. The threads pierced the flow of the water, stopping time where they struck, crushing the water under the weight of that halted time.
The crushed water took the shape of anger, and that anger spilled outward. The cycle choked Koyoi; he managed to maintain his breath only through the tension of the rope.
The bottom of a dark ravine. Long, passing seasons.
Being summoned and descending; being thanked, then forgotten. Then, in the silence, the wedge striking home. The moment it pierced, the rain stopped, leaving only rage floating upon the still surface.
Koyoi felt as if he were seeing these visions, and the mere feeling brought tears to his eyes. The tears mixed with the rain and cooled, until he could no longer feel the muscles in his cheeks.
The scent of a bonfire. The smell of wet rice. The warmth of people pressing their palms together. Laughing whenever the rain fell, looking up during the dry seasons, weaving prayers before returning home.
Then, in the next season, the prayers ceased. Instead, white cloth trod through the forest, driving something hard into the sodden earth. The sound of the striking was drowned by the rain, and in its place, the rain itself fell silent. All that remained after the rain’s silence was the turbidity of anger and a stillness that reached no one.
"…Don’t let go."
Asahi’s voice dropped from behind him, and the rope went taut for a moment. His waist was pulled back, supporting him so he wouldn't lean too close to the wedge. Kuon pressed his hand over his prosthetic eye, dropping fragments of light onto the water with trembling fingers, momentarily diverting the giant’s attention. The narrow currents inside the water giant wavered, and its raging form faltered.
In that delay, Koyoi gripped the wedge with both hands.
The fabric of his clothes wasn't enough. He couldn't pull it unless he touched it with his skin. Koyoi pressed the pads of his fingers against it, felt his nails prying up against the gritty chill, and after exhaling, he pulled.
With every tug, the skin of his fingers felt ready to tear. Before it could, the wedge sucked the warmth from him, turning his fingertips white. Yet even as they paled, the pain remained a vivid red. Koyoi convinced himself that this redness was proof he could still turn back.
It didn't move.
It didn't move, yet the pain only multiplied. Deep within that mounting agony, Koyoi felt the presence of the God of Rain tremble slightly—a tremor that felt less like "stop" and more like "keep going."
Koyoi inhaled again, pooling the air deep in his chest, and threw his weight into his pulling hands. He thought he heard the wedge let out a thin, metallic shriek.
The sound vibrated not through the air, but through his bones, making the roots of his teeth ache. For a flash, the water around the black speck swirled into a vortex, only to stop before it could spread. To Koyoi, that sudden stillness looked like the precursor to a transition. The water giant’s arm hesitated for an instant, frozen in its shape of rage.
In the depths of that hesitation, a thin current shivered. The shiver felt less like "it hurts" and more like "it reached."
As if responding to that tremor, Koyoi threw his weight onto his hands once more.
The wedge lifted—by no more than the thickness of a single sheet of paper. It was a change so slight he couldn't tell if the object had moved or if his own skin had simply been shaved away, but the air above the pond grew a degree lighter. The delayed sound of the rain drew a fraction closer.
Mingled with the approaching rain came a sound from the depths—the sound of water trying to move, only to be held back. Koyoi strained his ears toward it, sensing that what tried to move was not rage, but the current that had been imprisoned. Asahi pulled the rope even shorter, bracing his waist. With that support, he could commit even more of his weight to the wedge.
As he leaned in, the pain intensified. Koyoi used the increase of pain to confirm that things were moving. The skin of his fingertips split, and the rain seeped into the wounds—cold, yet searing hot. Koyoi did not make a sound. He bit down hard and anchored himself to the world through the rhythm of his breaths alone.
Kuon, still clutching his eye, dropped the glass light onto the water’s surface. The giant’s arm of rage was drawn toward it, and in that moment, the vortex around the wedge unraveled.
Into that unraveling gap, Koyoi thrust his fingers deep. The gritty chill stabbed into his bones, and at the moment of impact, a wordless finally dropped through his chest.
Koyoi gripped that "finally" and pulled once more. The wedge did not come out yet. But beneath his fingertips, he felt the pulse of the water’s temperature, surely beginning to return.
Just a little more.
The thought crossed his mind, and he suppressed the surge of fear that returned with it, regripping the wedge along with the fear itself. Even as his fingertips shook, he did not let go. He felt the presence of the water giant’s arm returning.
Before it could reach him, Koyoi dropped his weight onto the base of the wedge and waited for the sound of the moment of release.
The sound of the rain drew closer. Within that approaching rain, only the silence resisted until the very end.