The next morning came without words.
The sun broke through the mountain mist in silence, and the village that had once murmured with prayer was now quiet, not in peace, but in denial. No one came to stop us. No one apologized.
Maybe they thought we'd leave quietly.
Maybe they were ashamed.
Or maybe… they no longer cared.
Your savior packed our things early. I watched him move around the little house, folding clothes and collecting what little food we had left. His hands moved automatically, but his eyes stayed fixed on something far away, or perhaps just stuck in memory.
I knew what today meant for him.
And you, Wanderer… you didn't speak either. Your expression was soft, unreadable. But I could feel something inside you, stirring quietly like the current beneath ice.
We left before the village could truly wake.
But before we could cross the final path out… we turned back.
Toward the river.
The place where it all began.
Where your story in this village quietly unfolded.
Where the savior's heart had once bloomed in childhood.
And where a spirit had given everything… only to be forgotten.
You stood at the edge of the waters, and for a moment, it was just like before—a soft glow shimmered across the surface, recognizing your presence. It pulsed faintly beneath your feet, like a heartbeat in mourning.
And then… she came.
She didn't rise from the water like before.
She formed—slowly—from the river's light, from the breath of the morning air.
A girl of no more than sixteen, dressed in translucent silks that dripped like liquid glass, her eyes full of stars… and sorrow.
Her voice was a whisper caught in the wind.
"So you are leaving."
The savior stepped forward, his voice caught in his throat.
"I… I didn't want it to end like this."
She smiled, faint and tired.
"You came back. That's enough."
You stood still, heart thudding as her gaze turned to you.
"You glowed when he found you," she said gently. "The river called to me that night, even in my fading sleep. You reminded me of something pure… something worth protecting."
She turned again to the savior.
And then she told us everything.
A long time ago, when the village was still new—before temples, before offerings, before the river even had a name—a little boy once wandered too close to the water's edge. Curious. Lonely. Lost.
And from the current, a spirit girl emerged. Young and playful, no older than him. She didn't speak his language, but she giggled like wind chimes and splashed him with water until he laughed too.
They met again. And again.
Seasons passed like dreams. He grew. She stayed the same. But their bond only deepened.
He brought her wild berries and carved her wooden animals. She taught him to float on water without sinking, to listen to the hum of stones, and to see life glowing in places no one else noticed.
She called him her only friend.
But peace never lasts. Not in this world.
One year, the crops failed. The river dried up too early. Famine loomed. And when the villagers grew desperate… they remembered the girl the boy always played with near the water.
They called her a blessing at first.
Then, a miracle.
Then, a god.
But gods are never loved without condition.
They built shrines. Made rules. Forced offerings.
Demanded rain. Demanded healing. Demanded more.
When nature continued to decay—not from neglect, but from greed—they blamed her.
The elders ordered rites. The priests threatened that the people would die. And she… she bore it all. Not because she owed them anything, but because he still lived here.
And she didn't want him to die with them.
So she gave up her power. Slowly. Carefully.
She rooted herself into the land—her energy turning the poisoned soil fertile again, breathing fish back into the empty river, and sprouting life in dying trees.
And as the village praised her recovery, they never once asked what it cost.
She disappeared from the boy's life after that.
But she never stopped watching him.
Your savior's eyes glistened now.
"I waited for you," he whispered. "All these years…"
The spirit girl smiled, her form flickering faintly.
"I know. That's why I stayed this long. But now… the land doesn't need me anymore."
You stepped forward.
"Why don't you come with us?"
There was such innocence in your voice, like a child offering their hand to someone drowning.
She looked at you, soft and grateful.
"Because I'm tired."
"Because this river was my home… and I've already given all I had to protect it."
Your savior fell to his knees, clutching the hem of her glowing robe.
"Then let me stay with you."
She knelt beside him.
"No," she said gently. "You must live. For me. For the world beyond this place."
She touched his face.
"I'm not sad that I'm fading. I'm only sad that you had to grow up without me."
Then, she looked at both of us, eyes glimmering with morning light.
"You're not like the others. You're not bound by this land."
She pressed a hand to your chest.
"Take what you've seen… and carry it forward. The truth. The pain. The kindness."
She smiled once more, even as her glow began to dim.
"Go now, while I still have the strength to say goodbye."
And so… we did.
As we left the village boundary, the air behind us shifted.
The river's song grew quieter.
Its glow began to fade.
And from the high ridge, we turned to look back one final time.
The land was already changing.
The water, once so blue, was draining, slow and soundless.
The trees looked tired. The crops wilted.
And a silence deeper than any mourning settled over the village.
Not punishment.
Not vengeance.
Just… the end of a blessing.
Somewhere beneath that drying riverbed, the spirit girl rested.
Not as a goddess. Not as a myth.
But as a friend… who loved too deeply.