The flood does not recede.
It lingers, heavy and swollen, turning the village into a floating graveyard. Entire homes lean against one another like drunks too tired to stand. Livestock carcasses drift silently through the current, bumping against walls with dull, hollow thuds. The smell of mud, wet timber, and rot hangs in the air, thick enough to choke on.
But it is not just the flood that unsettles them. It is the silence between the crashes of thunder — those few seconds where the only sound is the sucking of water against the earth, as if something beneath it all is breathing.
The villagers sense it.
They move differently now, even as they work together. Men tie ropes across roofs. Women pass buckets of rainwater to thirsty mouths. Children cling to their mothers, wide-eyed, shivering. Outwardly, it looks like unity. But beneath their eyes, suspicion boils. Every glance lasts too long. Every silence stretches too thin.
"Why's your family got more bread than mine?" a man snarls, rain streaking down his face.
"Because we planned!" the other snaps back. "Not like you—"
The rope between them slips. One nearly falls, dangling over the rushing current before others pull him up. He gasps, coughs, swears. But the anger remains in his eyes.
They are working together to survive, yes. But they are also unraveling.
---
By nightfall, lanterns glow weakly from the rooftops, flickering like dying stars. The villagers huddle close, whispering stories no one dares say aloud in daylight.
"I saw it again," one whispers, voice trembling.
"Saw what?"
"The shadow. Under the water. Watching us."
"Don't speak of it!" an old woman hisses, clutching a wooden cross to her chest. "You give it power if you name it!"
But more eyes dart to the water. More hands tremble. Children cry without knowing why.
---
The flood shifts suddenly, without warning. A barrel bobs higher, then sinks. The current pulls against itself, swirling like something massive has stirred beneath it.
Everyone freezes.
The lantern light dances across the water. For an instant, there is an outline — darker than dark — gliding just below the surface. Smooth. Wide. Deliberate.
Then it is gone.
A collective shudder passes through the villagers. No one speaks. Not even the children.
The silence stretches too long. Too heavy.
---
A cry rips through the night.
It is not a child, not a man, not a woman. It is something else — a wail that seems to come from beneath the flood, rising through the water itself. It echoes against the walls, vibrating through the beams they cling to.
One mother covers her child's ears. Another man drops his lantern, the light sputtering out in the water below. Darkness swallows half the square.
Then the cry stops.
But the unease does not.
---
Secrets, long buried, begin to spill. The storm has stripped away pretense.
"I KNOW ABOUT YOUR AFFAIR!" a woman screams at her husband, her voice cutting through the night like lightning. "I SAW YOU IN HER HOUSE!"
"Better her than you!" he spits back.
Gasps echo. Neighbors turn their heads. A child begins sobbing, too young to understand the words but old enough to feel the venom.
Another voice rises. "You STOLE from me last harvest!"
"You'd have starved if not for me!"
"You damned us all when you blocked the river!"
Accusations spread like fire, sparking from rooftop to rooftop. People shout over the thunder, over the flood, over each other. Some lash out with hands, some with words, all while the water laps closer to their feet.
The unity they clung to is breaking.
And beneath it all — the shadow circles.
---
Near midnight, the rain slows, but the unease thickens.
The moon rises, pale and fractured behind a veil of clouds, casting sickly light across the drowned village. The water glitters like oil. For a moment, it almost looks beautiful.
Then the current shivers. A ripple moves against the flow. And then another. Closer. Closer.
Lanterns flicker. Breath catches in a hundred throats.
The water swells, bulging upward as though something is about to break free.
And then—
Stillness.
The water smooths. The ripples vanish.
Nothing.
The villagers exhale in shaky unison. Some cry. Some laugh nervously. Others whisper prayers.
But deep down, they know.
It is not gone. It is waiting.
---