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 her foot upon those fragments, lifting it the moment it touched. Without resisting the suction of the water’s surface, she shifted her center of gravity forward before the drag could take hold.
The rope pulled at her 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 her feet. In the same breath, she gauged the hardness of the stone and the chill of the water, sliding her 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 her body.
Her shoulder brushed the spray. At the point of contact, a deep chill seeped in, turning her skin thin and brittle. Her footsteps—running on stone, not mud—arrived a beat late; to avoid being pulled back by that lag, she exhaled before planting her next step.
The black speck grew colder the closer she got. It was freezing, yet her skin burned with heat before she even touched it.
The heat was a precursor to pain. Though it had yet to arrive, her fingertips curled instinctively. Koyoi forced her shrinking fingers open, pressed the pouch against her chest, and addressed the God of Rain.
The water’s surface did not move. Yet, the sweat on her fingertips froze first, and her palms grew parched from within. The clash of dry sensation and wet air made her throat seize. Koyoi almost labeled that constriction "fear," but instead of naming it, she focused on the tendons behind her knees and lowered her body silently.
"God of Rain. …I’m going to touch it."
The words sounded like an excuse. Still, she felt that if she touched it without speaking, she would be the one to break. Koyoi dropped to one knee, accepting the sting of the wet stone’s chill as it bit into her skin, and extended her fingertips toward the black shadow.
Though the shadow lay beneath the water, her fingertips froze before they reached it.
Frozen, she made contact.
The moment she touched it, the sound of the rain receded. In its place, the friction of the rope and the thumping of her own heart grew deafening. Koyoi found the noise an intrusion; startled by that thought, she exhaled once more.
The breath she blew out was cold, yet the inside of her mouth was scalding.
It was hard. A hardness that was neither stone nor iron. The moment she touched it, the chill raced from her fingertips to her arm, her shoulder, and her chest, darkening the light within her 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 her teeth, swallowing the cry that threatened to leak from her throat. She did not let go. Her fingertips went numb, her senses dulling, yet the silhouette of the wedge remained uncannily vivid to her touch. A coarse, gritty chill forced its way under her 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; she 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 her fingertips.
Memories of the God of Rain mingled with the pain. No seams were visible, yet deep within her fingertips, she 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; she managed to maintain her 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 she were seeing these visions, and the mere feeling brought tears to her eyes. The tears mixed with the rain and cooled, until she could no longer feel the muscles in her 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 her, and the rope went taut for a moment. Her waist was pulled back, supporting her so she 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 her clothes wasn't enough. She couldn't pull it unless she touched it with her skin. Koyoi pressed the pads of her fingers against it, felt her nails prying up against the gritty chill, and after exhaling, she pulled.
With every tug, the skin of her fingers felt ready to tear. Before it could, the wedge sucked the warmth from her, turning her fingertips white. Yet even as they paled, the pain remained a vivid red. Koyoi convinced herself that this redness was proof she 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 her chest, and threw her weight into her pulling hands. She thought she heard the wedge let out a thin, metallic shriek.
The sound vibrated not through the air, but through her bones, making the roots of her 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 her weight onto her hands once more.
The wedge lifted—by no more than the thickness of a single sheet of paper. It was a change so slight she couldn't tell if the object had moved or if her 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 her 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 her waist. With that support, she could commit even more of her weight to the wedge.
As she leaned in, the pain intensified. Koyoi used the increase of pain to confirm that things were moving. The skin of her fingertips split, and the rain seeped into the wounds—cold, yet searing hot. Koyoi did not make a sound. She bit down hard and anchored herself to the world through the rhythm of her 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 her fingers deep. The gritty chill stabbed into her bones, and at the moment of impact, a wordless finally dropped through her chest.
Koyoi gripped that "finally" and pulled once more. The wedge did not come out yet. But beneath her fingertips, she felt the pulse of the water’s temperature, surely beginning to return.
Just a little more.
The thought crossed her mind, and she suppressed the surge of fear that returned with it, regripping the wedge along with the fear itself. Even as her fingertips shook, she did not let go. She felt the presence of the water giant’s arm returning.
Before it could reach her, Koyoi dropped her 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.