He told his father he was going to gather firewood to the north.

Not a complete lie — he brought a thin coil of binding rope, which would allow him to actually gather firewood if needed, and the direction was correct. Kenji did not like lying entirely. Not from ethics but from practicality: a story with some truth in it was easier to sustain and harder to challenge.

Hiroshi looked at him — the look that had become familiar over the months, longer than usual, the kind that noticed something without being able to name it. He said nothing. Just added a handful of extra rice to Soma's pack before he left.

Soma paused at the door with the rice in his pack.

He carried that pause all the way to the edge of the village.

---

The first two miles were relatively easy.

Familiar terrain — fields giving way to scrubland, scrubland giving way to the sparse forest at the base of the hills. He walked the route that the villagers used for gathering wood, keeping normal pace, not attracting attention. Here he was just a child going farther than most.

At the place where the familiar path turned east, he continued north.

The third mile was different.

The forest thickened. The ground began to rise unevenly. The path that ordinary people used disappeared into the undergrowth, and from this point forward there was no path — only terrain that rewarded people who read it and punished people who did not.

Soma did not rush.

He had been building a vocabulary of terrain over months of deliberate observation, and now he used it without needing to think about the process. Each surface assessed before weight was committed. Each transition from one terrain type to another checked against the mental model built from two months of deliberate movement practice.

Not fast. Not slow. Calibrated to what was actually required.

He stopped once to look back at where he had come from and found he could no longer see the village — only trees, and through a gap in the canopy, the lower ground with the fields a thin pale band in the middle distance.

Small. Everything below looked small.

He continued up.

---

He found the temple by reading the change in the canopy.

Not by finding a path or following obvious signs — by noticing that the tree cover at one section of the hillside was different from the surrounding forest. More uniform, more evenly spaced. Soil disturbed long ago and then left to recover but recovering in the pattern of disturbed soil rather than undisturbed growth.

Someone had leveled this ground once. The disturbance was old but still visible in the way things grew over it.

He came up from below and saw the temple.

Or what remained of it.

The roof had partially collapsed — the right-side pillar had fallen long ago, taking a section of the thatched roof down with it. The low stone wall that enclosed the temple courtyard was mostly intact but covered in thick moss and ferns growing up through the gaps. Inside the courtyard, the flat stone floor had been laid deliberately — evidence that this had once been a proper structure, not a temporary shelter.

And someone had been here recently.

He recognized the signs before he recognized their specifics: dry leaves in one corner of the courtyard swept aside to create a clean sitting area. A branch bent at a specific angle near the entrance — a personal marker that Soma had seen used before. No spider webs across the main entrance despite the webs visible everywhere else in the structure.

Soma stopped at the edge of the courtyard.

"I found it," he said. Normal voice, not lowered. Enough for someone nearby to hear.

About ten seconds of silence.

Then Ginjiro stepped out from the covered section of the temple at the back — carrying a small wooden bowl as if he had just been interrupted mid-meal.

He looked at Soma. Looked at his feet. Looked at the direction he had come from.

"Which route did you take up?"

"Northwest approach. I identified the cleared ground from the canopy pattern."

Ginjiro nodded once. Small, not emphatic. "Come in."

---

The interior of the covered section was smaller than it looked from outside.

One room, enough for two people to sit comfortably, three if they were close. Ginjiro had cleared it reasonably — dry leaves swept out, a worn old mat laid on the stone floor, his small pack of belongings placed neatly in one corner. The stone walls held the cool of the hillside even in the afternoon warmth.

Soma sat down across from Ginjiro.

Ginjiro continued eating — not hurried, not apologetic about it. Soma waited.

From the entrance of the temple the view was wider than anything he had seen from below — he could see a section of the flat farmland, the road into the village from the north, and further in the distance the rooftiles of the Fujiwara compound.

Good position, Kenji noted. Good sight lines. Difficult approach from below. The hillside behind closed off one direction of approach entirely.

Ginjiro had chosen like someone who thought about both attack and defense.

"How long did you take from the base of the hills?" Ginjiro asked, setting the bowl aside.

"About an hour and a half."

"Next time will be faster?"

"About an hour if I know the way. Under forty minutes if I need to get here quickly and accept leaving traces."

Ginjiro looked at him. "You calculated that on the way up."

"On the way up."

Another brief silence. Then: "Sit. I need to tell you something."

---

The Mizuchi clan would find the eastern forest within a few days, Ginjiro said. Not because they were skilled — because they had enough people to divide and search section by section. Soma listened and did not interrupt.

Soma thought about what that meant: someone had known to look in that direction. Someone had connected Ginjiro to this region of the country. Which meant either the information had traveled through a channel Ginjiro had not sealed, or someone who had once known where he was had since been in a position to share that information.

"The person who wants you found," Soma said. "Is it the same organization behind the Kuroishi dissolution?"

Ginjiro looked at him — the quick evaluating look.

"You know about Kuroishi."

"I know it no longer exists. I did not know the reason until you mentioned it when we first spoke."

"The same people," Ginjiro said. "Indirectly."

Soma noted and did not press.

"Will you stay here?" he asked instead.

"For a time. There is something I need to finish before I move again."

"What?"

"Not your concern yet."

Soma accepted that. Some boundaries were not walls — they were timings. The information would become available when it became relevant.

"Can I come back here?" he asked.

"If you find it," Ginjiro said. "You found it once. That means you can find it again. And if you can find it—"

"Then I'm ready for what comes next," Soma completed.

Ginjiro did not confirm or deny. Just looked at him in the way Soma had learned to read as acknowledgment.

"Go back before dark," Ginjiro said. "The descent is harder than the ascent when the light is bad."

---

Soma descended the hillside in the late afternoon light.

Not rushing — the terrain required attention, and tired attention on unstable ground was more costly than taking an extra twenty minutes. He placed each foot carefully, read each surface before committing.

In his head, no analysis running.

For the first time in as long as he could remember — and both of his memories were accessible to him now — he simply moved. One foot and then the next. The slope under his feet and the light changing through the canopy and the sounds of the hillside settling into evening.

When he came out of the trees at the base of the hills and saw the flat farmland spreading out ahead of him, he stopped for a moment.

Three miles north.

He would come back the day after next.

And the time after that.

He walked home in the last of the daylight — not fast, not slow — and thought about nothing more than the next step on the path in front of him.

Hiroshi was mending a net by lantern light when he came through the door.

He looked up when Soma arrived, looked at his face, then back at the net.

"Wood?"

"Not much. The good pieces are higher up than I thought."

Hiroshi accepted this without comment. Turned back to the net.

Soma sat on the doorstep for a moment before coming inside.

The evening air on the hillside had been cold. Down here it was warm — the warmth of a village and a house and a kitchen fire that had been lit at the same time every day for as long as this child's memory went back.

He came inside.

Tomorrow, the day after next.

He slept.