Only one thought throbbed in his skull: Stronger. Strong enough to kill dragons. Strong enough to avenge Mari.
Bounce and Bite kept him alive. Sense was new, but fragile. If he wanted to face dragons, he had to sharpen it.
So he practiced.
—
At first, Sense was only a faint flicker in his head, like a candle about to die. He could barely feel beyond the closest humans at the riverbank. But the more he trained, the clearer it became.
Every morning, after feeding on worms and insects, he drifted into the reeds and stilled his body. When the river quieted, he listened.
The world whispered.
An old fisherman's hunger weighed heavy, dragging at him like a stone. Children tossing rocks into the water shone with joy that brushed him like sunlight. A woman bent over laundry radiated weary steadiness, her will binding her family like rope.
None of these were what he needed. Still, every ripple stretched his Sense a little farther.
[Sense: proficiency +1]
The System's messages trickled in, proof that the skill was growing. His reach widened, sensing wills farther away, faint as ripples at the edge of a pond.
But none matched what he searched for.
—
Days passed.
He learned the shapes of emotion: fear, sharp as a cold spike; arrogance, hot and fleeting; kindness that warmed, kindness that bled. Sense gave them textures, not words, pressing into his mind like colors he could feel.
And yet, none of them felt like Mari. None carried the bond he longed for.
Until one gray morning.
—
He drifted near the ruins of Mari's village. Ash still stained the banks, weeks after the fire. He circled in silence, his own ritual of mourning.
Then it came.
A pulse. A thread of warmth brushed his Sense—faint but unmistakable.
He froze.
It wasn't just intent. It wasn't just will. It was her.
His fins trembled as he stretched Sense to its limit. The thread sharpened. It came from the road, not the ruins. Someone traveling.
He followed.
—
A caravan rattled down the dirt path, carts creaking, mules straining, travelers muttering. He skimmed their wills one by one: tired feet, greedy hands, dull boredom. None mattered.
Then he felt it again. The thread.
Someone walking behind the others.
He pushed Sense outward until it stung.
The young man's will was steady but heavy, carrying guilt like a scar. Beneath it burned warmth—stubborn, familiar warmth.
The name struck him before he could stop it—Ian.
Mari's younger brother.
—
Ian knelt at the river's edge to wash his hands. The koi drifted closer, hiding beneath the weeds.
He didn't see Mari in Ian's face—he no longer saw like a man—but in the shape of his will. The quiet patience, the fire hidden under silence, the guilt of one who had lived when others had not.
When Ian thought of his sister, the koi felt it as clearly as breath: blossoms, laughter, smoke he hadn't been there to stop. The guilt tore deep.
The koi rose to the surface, eyes breaking water.
Ian didn't flinch. He looked, steady and gentle, as though he had always noticed small things and taken them seriously. His attention pressed like a warm hand against the koi's back.
Sense flared. It braided with Ian's will, weak but real.
[Sense: resonance detected]
[Potential bond candidate identified]
The System's words only confirmed what his body already knew.
This was him.
—
Ian reached into a pouch and drew a red cord. Worn, frayed, yet strong—the kind that tied more than packages. It had bound promises. He lowered it over the water, not a lure, but a vow.
"Try," he said softly.
The koi's fins quivered. The last red ribbon he had known had belonged to Mari, tied around his porcelain bowl.
He pressed his back against the cord. A spark passed through him—not pain, not heat, but recognition. Ian's will answered.
[Temporary link established: Ian]
The koi almost wept. For the first time since Mari's death, the river did not feel empty.
Ian tied the cord back around his wrist and placed a small bowl on the bank, a worm wriggling inside. "Tomorrow," he promised.
Then he walked to the caravan without looking back, because he didn't need to.
The koi floated beneath the bowl. For once, he didn't eat. He simply stared at it, feeling the warmth Mari once gave him echo through Ian.
Tomorrow.
He had found the thread he had been searching for.