Gravel was embedded in his cheek. Cold. Hard. Sharp-edged particles pressed against the right half of his face. Souichi slowly became aware of this fact from the edges of his consciousness. The sound of a river. Not far away. Right here. A continuous roar, the sound of water crashing against rocks and shattering. The tributary of the Miohyō River—that raging current he'd plunged into after bursting from Suika Cavern—continued flowing at the same relentless pace. His body wouldn't move. Or rather, when he tried to move, his back screamed in protest. The wound gouged into his back in Suika Cavern. His soaking-wet clothes were completely plastered to the injury, and the moment he tried to lift his upper body while lying prone, the fabric pulled at the wound and his vision went white. "—tch" A sound escaped him. A pathetic sound. He gritted his teeth and tried again. This time, using only his arms to push himself up. Careful not to put weight on his back, he managed to get into a crawling position on the gravel. Just that much made sweat bead on his forehead. It was an uninhabited riverbank. As far as he could see, there was nothing but gravel, rocks, and river water. He had no idea how far downstream from Tonagi Town he'd been carried. The sun was low on the horizon. Close to evening. If he'd left the cavern before noon, that meant he'd spent considerable time in the water. He searched for Gintsuki. Moving his gaze. A few meters ahead—on the gravel near the river's edge—there was a figure in white clothing. On her knees. Both hands pressed to her throat. Her mouth was open. But he heard nothing. Souichi ignored the pain and stepped across the gravel to approach her. Gintsuki noticed his presence and looked up. Her lips moved. She was trying to say something—trying to respond—but all that came out was white breath. "[serious]Gintsuki" He called her name quietly. Gintsuki's lips moved once more. Words without sound. Soundless words. Souichi kept his gaze on her face, following the movement of her lips. "So... u... i... chi" He could read it. Her name. She was trying to call his name. In that moment, a single tear rolled down from Gintsuki's eyes. Souichi froze. He had never seen Gintsuki cry before. That expressionless face like white porcelain. Those silver eyes that never wavered no matter what happened. And now, silently, quietly, she was shedding tears. A voiceless witch, with a mouth that couldn't produce sound, was trying to call Souichi's name. Something pierced deep into Souichi's chest. Like a thorn that wouldn't come out. ＊ Gintsuki's hand began to move across the gravel. With her index finger, she traced letters into the damp gravel. One character at a time. With trembling fingertips, carefully, deliberately. "It's my fault" Souichi read the words. Gintsuki's finger moved again. "You'll die if you're with me" Another line. "Go on ahead" The moment he finished reading, Souichi reached out. He tried to touch Gintsuki's shoulder. Her hands quickly grabbed his wrist. Firmly. She shook her head repeatedly. Her face remained downturned, but her shoulders trembled slightly, so slightly. Because she had no voice, there was no sound of crying. Only her shoulders shook. "[serious]That's not something you need to apologize for—" As he started to speak, Gintsuki shook off his hand and tried to write in the gravel again. Her fingertips were turning red from the gravel. Noticing this, Souichi gently grabbed her hand to stop her. Gintsuki tried to shake him off and stand up. There was no strength in her legs. She stumbled and fell to her knees. Even as she tried to push him away, her body wouldn't obey. Still on her knees in the gravel, Gintsuki glared at Souichi. A silent glare. A glare of pure force. Souichi found himself stopping. Something about this situation—the image of her trying to drive him away while unable to move—struck him as absurd, yet somehow not funny. A strange sensation washed over him. Gintsuki was now trying to push him away while crying, unable to move her body or speak. Yet she continued shaking her head with all her might. That stubbornness. It ignited something within Souichi. ＊ He drew his sword. Sheath and all, he drove it deep into the gravel beside him. The blade stuck, trembling as it stood. Then Souichi clenched his right fist. He struck the ground. A dull thud. Gravel scattered. Again. And again. "[angry]Damn it... damn it...!" Another blow. Blood came. His skin scraped against the gravel. He didn't care. It wasn't anger at Tougo. It wasn't anger at the Kyuukan. What lay behind that friendly smile, he still couldn't understand, and thinking about it made his head hurt. But the fist striking the ground now wasn't directed at any of that. It was directed at himself. He had believed without knowing anything. He'd said he was going to gather information, but he'd taken her along anyway. In that cavern, Gintsuki had performed an incantation beyond her limits to protect herself. A full-power ice incantation that ignored her kotodama capacity—the magical limit of her word-weaving. The price of that was Gintsuki's current silence. Because he couldn't protect her, Gintsuki's voice was gone. Fourth blow. Fifth. A different image overlapped in his mind. The entrance to the dojo. The day it closed. The last morning when no one came. The "Closed" sign posted outside swayed in the wind. A sword dojo left behind by the times. He couldn't use magic. He had no special talent. A forty-year-old man who could only swing a sword, and here he was, still trying to protect someone. What could he do. What could he possibly do. That's when he noticed. His fist was in pain. Considerable pain. Souichi stopped moving. He looked at his right fist, covered in gravel. The skin had split in three places, blood and gravel mixing together. It hurt. Genuinely hurt. "...ow" The word escaped him involuntarily. Without turning around, he continued. "[sarcastic]I thought only young guys were supposed to hurt their fists doing that... not something a middle-aged man should be doing" A muttered comment to no one in particular. A pathetic middle-aged observation that had leaked from the depths of despair. He thought it was foolish of himself. A forty-year-old punching the ground and reopening his wounds. There was no way to make it look cool. A small presence stirred behind him. He turned slowly to find Gintsuki still on her knees, staring at his back. Her eyes were red. Crying silently. Her mouth slightly open, trying to say something, but producing no sound. Yet the stern expression from before had changed—just slightly—in some way. There was no campfire between them. Only the cold evening wind swept along the riverbank. ＊ Night came. The temperature on the riverbank dropped sharply once the sun set. The moisture from the river brought cold with it. Since their soaking-wet clothes hadn't fully dried, the perceived temperature was even lower. Souichi pulled the sword from the gravel, sheathed it, and sat down with his back against the roots of a nearby tree. The wound on his back made its presence known with every movement, but he could endure it if he stayed still. Gintsuki sat a few meters away, hugging her knees. Neither moved closer to the other. But neither tried to leave. They simply existed there, separately. When Souichi looked her way, Gintsuki averted her eyes. When she did, he looked back at the river. This exchange repeated. Only the sound of the river continued. Souichi observed Gintsuki. The color of her lips was slightly blue. Her cheeks were white—or rather, drained of blood. Her body was cold. You could tell just by looking. "[serious]Come here" He said it quietly. Gintsuki looked at him. She shook her head. "[serious]I'm talking about body heat. Don't think about anything else" There was a pause. Gintsuki stared at the gravel. She remained like that for a while. Then, slowly, she stood—this time her legs obeyed—and came to sit beside Souichi, folding her knees. Silently, gently, she sat beside him. The moment Gintsuki's shoulder touched Souichi's bicep, he felt her coldness immediately. Even through the fabric, it was clear. She was chilled to her core. Without a word, Souichi pulled the edge of his soaking-wet jacket and draped it over her shoulders. Gintsuki neither accepted it nor rejected it. She simply tilted her body toward Souichi's shoulder by just a few millimeters. Those few millimeters felt heavy to Souichi. Gintsuki, who had been trying to push him away, was now leaning on him by just a few millimeters. No voice. No words. But that weight was real. Souichi looked at the river. The dark water surface reflected the moonlight, rippling gently. ＊ His sleep was shallow. The pain from the wound and the cold kept his consciousness from sinking fully. He drifted in and out, never falling completely. The riverbank was quiet at night, with only the sound of the river continuing unchanged. In the time before dawn, when the sky was still navy blue, Souichi woke. At first, he didn't understand what had changed. Something warm was touching his back. At the deepest part of the wound. He tried to slowly turn his body, but his back ached dully and he stopped. Still, he carefully moved only his neck to check. Gintsuki had positioned herself behind Souichi. She had gently pulled up the fabric covering the wound—not over his clothes, but directly on his bare skin—and pressed her forehead against it. Her eyes were closed. Her brows were slightly furrowed. A face of concentration. Her forehead was positioned precisely at the deepest part of the wound. She couldn't use word-weaving. She had no voice. She couldn't perform incantations. So instead, she was directly transferring her body heat to the wound. Healing incantations used voice, but a witch's body temperature itself carried faint traces of healing power—Gintsuki knew this, and in place of her voice, she was trying to send her own warmth into the wound. Souichi couldn't move. Gintsuki's forehead was always cold. Like stone. Like ice. But the forehead touching him now was—faintly, warmly—different. From spending so long pressed against the wound, her own coldness was fading. She was giving all her heat to the wound. Souichi's throat tightened. The temperature of the forehead touching the wound was low. Low, yet something deep inside Souichi's chest—slowly, like a burn—was growing hot. Even without a voice. Even unable to perform incantations. Even with a body chilled to the core. She was trying to protect Souichi in whatever way she could. That fact slowly melted what his fist striking the ground had been unable to shatter. Souichi carefully turned his body. His back wound protested. He ignored it and repositioned himself so he could see Gintsuki's face. Gintsuki kept her eyes closed, maintaining her concentration. Her brows slightly furrowed, her lips slightly parted. Her breath was visible as white mist above his wound. He had never seen her like this, this close. A face that seemed expressionless, yet now held both concentration and something else mixed together. An expression he couldn't quite name. Souichi slowly reached out his hand. Hesitantly. Hesitantly, he let his fingertips touch Gintsuki's cheek, barely making contact. It was cold. But it was soft. The moment the sensation reached his fingertips, Gintsuki's eyes opened. Their gazes met at close range. Surprised eyes looked at Souichi's face. Gintsuki's body reflexively tried to pull away—but Souichi didn't withdraw his hand. Couldn't withdraw it. His fingertips remained on her cheek, and the two of them froze, close enough to feel each other's breath. Only the sound of the river continued. Gintsuki's eyes searched Souichi's face. Then, slowly—she closed them. Not fleeing. Not pushing away. Eyes closed, surrendering to the warmth of hi