Sora didn't wake for two days.
They made camp in a shallow cave Mika found—more of an overhang really, barely deep enough to shield them from the wind that howled down the mountain like a living thing. Taro spent the first night watching Sora's chest rise and fall in shallow breaths, convinced each one would be her last.
"She's not dying," Jiro said quietly, settling beside him with his ever-present sake gourd. For once, he didn't drink from it. Just held it like a talisman. "Her body's just... resting. Recovering from channeling that much power."
"You sound certain." Taro didn't take his eyes off Sora.
"I'm not." Jiro's honesty was almost refreshing. "But I've seen onmyōji drain themselves before. The good ones wake up. The ones who push too far..." He trailed off, then finally took a sip. "Well. We'll know soon enough."
Taro wanted to snap at him, but exhaustion had sanded away his edges. They were all running on fumes—bodies pushed past reasonable limits, minds still processing horrors that would give them nightmares for years. If they lived long enough to have nightmares.
Kenta had volunteered for first watch, standing at the cave mouth with his katana across his knees, but Taro had seen him nodding off twice already. The young samurai had carried Sora for miles before they'd found this shelter, and his shoulders were probably screaming.
Mika was the only one actually sleeping, curled in a tight ball with her dagger clutched to her chest. Even unconscious, she looked ready to fight. Street instincts didn't fade just because you left the city.
"We need supplies," Taro said finally. "Real food. Medicine. Warmer clothes before we get any higher." He glanced at their meager possessions—what little they'd managed to grab before fleeing Magome. "We've got maybe three days of rice if we stretch it. No vegetables. No protein."
"There was a town marked on my map," Jiro said, pulling out the water-stained paper. "Tsumago. Maybe two days' walk if we take the lower path. It's a proper post town—checkpoint station, inns, merchants. We could resupply there."
"With what money?" Taro had maybe twenty mon left. Enough for a cheap meal, not enough for the supplies they needed.
Jiro's expression turned sly. "I might know a merchant there. Owes me a favor from years back. If he's still alive and remembers me, we could probably work something out."
"What kind of favor?"
"The kind where I didn't report him to the authorities for selling fake talismans to frightened farmers." Jiro grinned. "He made a fortune off that scam. Figure he owes me at least a week's worth of provisions for my silence."
"Blackmail." Taro couldn't help a tired smile. "Never thought I'd be grateful for your criminal connections, monk."
"I prefer to think of it as 'deferred spiritual counseling.'" Jiro corked his gourd. "But we have a problem. Post towns mean checkpoints. And checkpoints mean officials asking questions we can't answer well."
Taro had been thinking about that. After Magome burned, their descriptions would be circulating. Five travelers, one shrine maiden with a jade amulet. Not exactly inconspicuous.
"We split up," he decided. "You and I go into town. We're just two travelers—a courier and a monk. Nothing suspicious. Kenta and Mika stay here with Sora. If we're not back in three days, they move on without us."
"Kenta won't like that plan."
"Kenta doesn't have to like it. He just has to follow orders." Taro stood, his knees popping. When had he gotten so old? "We leave at first light. Two days there, half a day for supplies, two days back. Should give Sora time to recover."
"And if she doesn't recover?"
Taro didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Because if Sora didn't wake up, if the amulet had burned her out completely, then this whole journey ended here. They couldn't reach the temple without her. Couldn't complete whatever ritual the kami had started. Couldn't—
He stopped that line of thinking. Focused on what he could control.
"Get some sleep, monk. I'll take watch."
Jiro shuffled to an empty corner of the cave, and within minutes his snores joined the wind's howling. Taro envied him that ability—to sleep anywhere, anytime, despite everything.
"You should rest too."
Taro turned. Kenta had moved closer without him noticing, the samurai's footsteps silent despite his size. Up close, Taro could see the exhaustion carved into the young man's face. Dark circles under his eyes. A tremor in his hands he was trying to hide.
"Can't," Taro admitted. "Every time I close my eyes, I see those puppet-men. Their blank faces. Knowing they were people once. Travelers like us who just wanted shelter and—" He cut himself off.
"Me too." Kenta settled beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Keep thinking about how close we came. If Sora hadn't burned that web when she did..." He swallowed hard. "We'd be husks. Empty. Used up and thrown away."
"But we're not." Taro made himself believe it. "We survived. Again. That has to count for something."
"Does it?" Kenta's voice dropped. "How many times can we survive the impossible before our luck runs out? Before one of us doesn't make it?" His eyes drifted to Sora's still form. "Before she doesn't make it?"
Taro didn't have a good answer. The math was simple and brutal—every trial drained Sora more. Every use of the amulet brought her closer to burning out completely. And they still had at least two more trials before the temple.
"She's stronger than she looks," he said finally.
"Or we're asking too much of her." Kenta's hands clenched. "She's eighteen, Taro. Barely more than a girl. And we keep expecting her to save us with power that's killing her by inches."
"What else can we do?"
"I don't know. Fight better. Plan smarter. Something that doesn't require her to bleed from her eyes every time we get in trouble." Kenta's voice cracked slightly. "My lord—the one I betrayed—he used to say that leadership meant knowing when to protect your people and when to let them protect themselves. That real strength was building a team where everyone carried their weight, not putting everything on one person's shoulders."
"Wise man."
"He was." Kenta's expression darkened. "Which made betraying him even worse. But that's—that's not the point. The point is, we need to stop relying on Sora as our solution to every problem. Find ways to handle threats without her power. Or we're going to lose her."
Taro studied the young samurai. When they'd met—was it really only a month ago?—Kenta had been all hot-headed bravado and impulsive sword swings. But the road was changing him. Tempering the raw steel into something more refined.
"You're right," Taro said. "When Jiro and I go to Tsumago, we'll see about getting proper equipment. Weapons that might work against yōkai. Talismans. Whatever we can afford or steal."
"I could teach you some sword forms," Kenta offered. "You're not bad with that short sword, but you fight like a brawler. No finesse. A few lessons and you'd be more effective."
"You offering to train an old courier?"
"I'm offering to help a friend not die." Kenta's smile was small but genuine. "Besides, gives me something to do while we wait for Sora to wake up. Better than sitting here imagining worst-case scenarios."
Movement across the cave made them both turn. Mika had woken, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Even sleep-rumpled and exhausted, she radiated a kind of wary alertness.
"You two planning our survival without me?" Her voice was rough. "Rude."
"Just discussing training," Kenta said. "You're welcome to join. Could teach you some knife work beyond 'stab and hope.'"
"I know knife work." But Mika crawled over to join them. "What I don't know is how to fight things that don't bleed right. Or at all. That jorogumo—" She shuddered. "My dagger went through those puppet-men like they were made of dust. Barely slowed them down."
"Iron," Jiro's voice came from the corner. Apparently he hadn't been as asleep as his snoring suggested. "Cold iron works on most yōkai. Not all, but most. Problem is, iron weapons are expensive and heavy. But—" He sat up, rubbing his face. "—if we're going to Tsumago anyway, I know a smith there. Old friend. He specializes in weapons for mountain hunters. Might have something useful."
"Another friend?" Taro raised an eyebrow.
"How many people do you know in these mountains?"
"I spent fifteen years wandering before I started drinking seriously," Jiro said. "Made connections. Burned bridges. The usual." He stood, joints popping. "The smith—Takeshi's his name—he's solid. Trustworthy. If we explain our situation, he might help. For the right price."
"Which we don't have," Mika pointed out.
"Which is why we'll have to get creative." Jiro's grin was crooked. "I'm thinking we offer services. Taro's a courier—he can run messages. I can do spiritual cleansings, blessings, that sort of thing. You—" He nodded at Mika. "—you can probably find things that need finding. Or lose things that need losing."
"You want me to steal for supplies."
"I want you to redistribute resources from those who have too much to those who need them more. Namely, us."
Mika's smile was sharp. "Now you're speaking my language, monk."
They spent the next hour planning. Taro would approach his old merchant contact.
Jiro would handle the blacksmith. Mika would scout the town, identify opportunities, and—if necessary—acquire what couldn't be bought or traded. It wasn't a great plan, but it was better than starving on the mountain or facing the next trial unprepared.
As dawn light began filtering into the cave, turning the world from black to gray, Taro felt something ease in his chest. Not hope, exactly. More like determination. They'd survived the jorogumo. They'd survive Tsumago. They'd keep surviving until they reached the temple or died trying.
Across the cave, Sora stirred for the first time in two days. Her eyes opened—exhausted but clear—and found Taro's.
"How long?" Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Two days."
"Feels longer." She tried to sit up, failed, settled for turning her head to look at the others. "You're all still here. Still alive."
"Thanks to you," Kenta said quietly.
"Thanks to all of us." Sora's hand drifted to the amulet around her neck. The jade was dull, almost gray, like a lantern burned down to its last drops of oil. "I can't do that again. Not for a while. Maybe not ever. That much power—it was like burning my soul for fuel."
"Then we don't ask you to," Taro said firmly. "From now on, we fight smarter. Rely on steel and cunning more than divine power. Save the amulet for when there's no other choice."
"Can we do that?" Sora looked uncertain. "The trials ahead—the Collector warned they'd be worse. More dangerous. What if steel and cunning aren't enough?"
"Then we die trying." Mika's voice was matter-of-fact. "But at least we die on our feet, fighting with everything we have. Not just making you carry all the weight until you burn out."
Sora studied each of them—these unlikely companions who'd become something more than fellow travelers. Her expression softened into something that might have been gratitude or might have been grief for what they'd all lost on this road.
"Okay," she said finally. "We do it your way. Together." She closed her eyes again. "But I need to sleep more. Everything hurts."
"Sleep." Taro stood, stretching muscles that protested. "Kenta and Mika will watch over you. Jiro and I have a town to visit."
"Be careful," Sora murmured, already drifting off. "Tsumago's close to the next trial site. The Bridge of Reflection. You might feel its pull. Don't... don't go near it without me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Taro lied. He wasn't sure what scared him more—the bridge that supposedly reflected your true self, or the Guardian beyond it that would offer everything in exchange for everything.
But that was a problem for later. Right now, they needed food and weapons and time to recover. The mountain would still be there tomorrow. The trials would still be waiting.
For now, Taro would focus on the simple miracle of all five of them still breathing. Still together. Still moving forward despite everything trying to stop them.
He gathered his few belongings—sword, money pouch, a waterskin that had seen better days—and nodded to Jiro. "Ready?"
"As I'll ever be." The monk took one last pull from his sake gourd, then hid it in his robes.
"Try to look respectable, Five Roads. We're walking into civilized society."
"I'll do my best." Taro glanced back one more time at Kenta and Mika keeping watch over Sora's sleeping form. His strange family, forged on impossible roads and bound by choices they couldn't take back. "Three days. If we're not back—"
"You'll be back," Kenta interrupted. "You're too stubborn to die in a post town."
"Damn right." Taro managed a grin that almost felt real. "Come on, monk. Let's see if your criminal connections are worth anything."
They walked out into the gray dawn, leaving the cave and its fragile shelter behind, heading down toward the lower paths where civilization still existed and people lived normal lives that didn't involve spider demons and vengeful ghosts.
Taro tried to remember what normal felt like.
Couldn't quite manage it.
The road had changed him too much already. And they'd barely started walking.