Before the water giant’s arm could reform, Koyoi tightened his grip on the wedge and sank his weight into his hips and knees. The hemp rope bit into his waist. Asahi’s pull supported his spine, while the glass light from Kuon faintly illuminated a corner of the water’s surface. Within that pale glow, Koyoi watched his own fingers turn white.
His whitening fingers clawed at the blackness.
It was less a pull than a reclamation—a seizing back of a stolen current. The wedge shifted. The moment it moved, the sharpest edge of the pain vanished, replaced by a rushing heat that made his fingertips hum. His blanched skin regained a flicker of color, and with that color came the delayed surge of pain from his lacerations.
The water giant’s fury faltered, and in that brief lapse, a thin stream seemed to draw a deep, gasping breath. Koyoi inhaled, and before he could let the breath go, he channeled his final strength into his fingers. The rope braced his waist. Even as the chill of the stone beneath his knees stabbed at his bones, he transformed that cold into a foothold and threw his entire weight against the base of the wedge.
“...Please. Come back.”
As the words left him, the wedge shattered. The sound of the break was small, yet it echoed loudly within his bones. As the black fragments sank into the water, the silence unraveled from the depths, and the sound of the rain suddenly drew close.
The water’s surface rippled. The ripples did not hesitate; they expanded in perfect circles, pushing back the mist. The air above the pond grew suddenly light. As the fragments sank, the blackness faded. With every shade of black that vanished, the raindrops returned to being mere rain. They splashed softly where they landed, the sound returning to his ears instantly. The normalcy of that speed unburdened his chest, and Koyoi finally let out the long-delayed breath he had been holding.
The breath he drew in return was the signal: Time had returned to this place.
The water giant collapsed. As the shape of its fury dissolved, all that remained was water. It fell according to the laws of gravity, turning into a soft rain that brushed against Koyoi’s hair and cheeks. The falling droplets were cold but no longer stung; they simply adjusted the temperature of his skin. The scent of earth rose, and the smell of moss returned. Though there was no birdsong yet, he heard the sound of the forest beginning to breathe again.
Broken branches bowed under the weight of the rain. The trampled mud drank in the water, discarding its hardness for a new softness. The film of water that had been sliding over the stones at the pond's edge began to flow properly, carving a tiny groove where it went. That groove had not existed moments ago. The birth of something that wasn’t there before—that smallness felt like the beginning of a miracle.
From the center of the pond, a boy drifted to the surface. His robes were made of the rain itself, and his hair was the color of a wet night. His eyes were as clear as the lake bed, devoid of anger. The boy blinked once. Seeing the blood on Koyoi’s hands, his brow furrowed slightly. His gaze held no reproach, yet the weight of a long imprisonment still lingered in the depths of his eyes. Koyoi lowered his gaze slightly to avoid touching that weight, accepting the sting of the rain in his wounds as a form of proof—a certainty of being here.
“...I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”
“No... I’m just glad you’re back.”
Koyoi clenched his trembling fingers, wiping the mixture of blood and rain against his palm. Asahi bowed his head in silence while Kuon let out a long sigh, his shoulders finally dropping. The mist that had shrouded the pond grew thin, replaced by an even rainfall that unraveled the tension in the ground with every drop.
“The binding... who did it?”
The boy looked up at the sky, peering through the veil of rain.
“...The people who record. Those who weaponize the rain.”
The answer was brief but heavy. Koyoi inhaled as if shielding the flame in his heart. He remembered the chill of the Observers and let the memory sink deep so he would never forget it. That chill was different from the cold of the rain. It was a cold that never warmed, no matter how wet you got—a cold that could pare away even your memories if you touched it.
A delayed shiver ran through him as he realized he could now clearly tell the difference. The boy brought his fingertips toward Koyoi’s palm, gathering a single drop of rain. The droplet did not fall; it became a round sphere of light, glowing faintly. It was warm. When it touched him, the pain deep inside his hand unraveled, and the whiteness in his fingertips began to fade.
“I’ll give you this... The light of the rain.”
Koyoi received the droplet with both hands and tucked it gently into the depths of his drawstring pouch. The warmth lingered through the fabric, steadying the flame in his chest. The God of the Moon glowed softly; the God of Glass returned a clear light; the God of the Wind carried the damp air. The three breaths spiraled softly around the boy.
The rain had changed. It was no longer a violent rain but a washing one. The scars on the broken branches became less prominent; the blackness of the mud transformed into a rich, fertile scent. Koyoi looked up at the rain, feeling the pain he had carried until now quietly wash away. The water of the pond began to move slowly, soaking into the roots of the trees.
As the water sank in, the color of the leaves deepened, and the moisture turned into the breath of living things. Koyoi wiped the blood from his fingertips once more with his wet sleeve and confirmed the warmth in his pouch. The light of the droplet pulsed weakly, nestling against his heart’s flame as if to restore what had been lost.
The boy dipped a finger into the water, tracing a small circle. The ripples expanded without delay, pushing back the mist and washing away the lingering scent of anger that had pooled on the stones. Koyoi confirmed the fading of that scent with a deep breath and finally allowed the tension to leave his shoulders. Asahi rested his sheath on his knee and wiped a wound on the back of his hand with a wet cloth.
Kuon, still holding his artificial eye, let out a short breath. He blinked once, appearing surprised that the breath actually came back to him. Seeing the three of them finally breathing in unison, Koyoi felt the chill in the depths of his chest truly begin to melt.
“Listen to the sound of the rain... Those people, they hate its sound.”
“Right. If the rain tells us they're coming, we won't let them catch us.”
“...So you won't be bound again. Do not forget the forest.”
The boy’s words were gentle, yet a thin trail of cold remained in their wake. The Observers were still out there, somewhere distant. Because they were far, they did not show themselves now. Koyoi touched his pouch, letting the warmth of the droplet settle into his inner self. It wasn't a heat but a form of silence—one that gave shape to his fear and made it manageable.
The boy stepped back as if returning to the water's surface, a small smile appearing through the rain. The smile dissolved instantly, but where it vanished, the scent of the forest grew a fraction sweeter. The branches around the pond swayed in the wind; the droplets falling from them splashed normally, creating ordinary ripples. Those overlapping circles served as a clear declaration: this place was no longer frozen in time.
Koyoi bowed deeply and stood up, feeling the chill in his knees. The stones beneath his feet were as cold as ever, yet the cold did not stab. His skin knew before his mind did—the rain had become a guardian. Asahi unfastened the rope; Kuon stepped forward. The three of them faced the same direction and set foot upon the narrow path the forest had just remade.
The moment he stepped forward, Koyoi noticed the mud clinging to the soles of his sandals had lost its grasping stickiness. It wasn't heavy; it was soft. Because it was soft, he could sink and still return. Koyoi only realized afterward how much lighter that sense of “being able to return” made his body feel. Asahi’s shoulders lowered slightly; the tension in Kuon’s back eased just a fraction.
Behind the pond, the water made a small sound. The sound continued into the depths of the forest without delay. In sync with it, he thought he heard the faint buzz of wings in the distance. It wasn't quite birdsong yet. Even so, Koyoi felt in his chest that the silence had shifted from stagnation back to a breath.
The droplet in the depths of his pouch pulsed once. The warmth spread to his fingertips, and the pain in his torn skin subsided into a mere ache. Koyoi memorized that sensation, placed the name of the Rain God near the flame in his heart, and decided to look only forward.
The sound of the rain was uniform; for that very reason, the slightest discord would serve as a signpost. If that cold drew near, the rain would tell him first. Believing this, Koyoi kept the feel of the wet rope in his palm and quietly matched his pace with the others. The mud no longer answered his steps with a delay.
That simple normalcy made him happy—and just a little bit afraid.
Certainly. Now.