Morning came gently, as if the night had never screamed.
The sun rose over the northern coast in soft bands of gold, its light settling across the water like an apology. Waves rolled in slow and harmless, brushing the rocks beneath the shrine with a sound almost… tender.
Riku sat on the stone steps, soaked and exhausted, staring at the horizon.
Aya wrapped a blanket around his shoulders without a word and sat beside him. For a long time, neither spoke. Some silences were too sacred to break.
Finally, Aya whispered, "I've never seen the sea like this."
Riku nodded."It's not watching anymore."
The realization felt heavier than fear ever had.
Fishing boats began to appear in the distance—small silhouettes returning to waters they had avoided for years. No fog clung to them. No shadows followed beneath the surface. The sea accepted them without protest.
The legend was already unraveling.
By noon, the village gathered near the shrine. Old men who had lost brothers. Women who had lost sons. Children who had grown up on stories of a monster that demanded respect through terror.
They looked at Riku differently now.
Not with awe.With recognition.
An elderly fisherman stepped forward, bowing deeply. "The sea has been quiet since dawn. Nets came up full. No storms. No signs."
His voice trembled. "Whatever you did… it worked."
Riku shook his head slowly."I didn't defeat anything," he said. "I just ended a lie."
That night, the villagers lit lanterns along the shore—one for every name the sea had taken and never returned. They floated them out across the water, watching as the lights drifted freely instead of being swallowed.
Aya stood beside Riku as the final lantern disappeared into the dark.
"You forgave it," she said softly. "But it doesn't mean you're free, does it?"
Riku felt it then—a quiet pull in his chest. Not a demand. Not a threat.
A connection.
"I can still hear the sea," he admitted. "Not voices. Not words. Just… memory."
Aya studied him. "Does that scare you?"
He thought of his father.Of the boy screaming his name into a storm.Of the monster that had grown from grief instead of malice.
"No," he said. "It reminds me to listen."
Days passed. Life returned to rhythm. Boats sailed farther. Children played near the shore again. The shrine, now cracked and quiet, stood empty—its purpose fulfilled.
On the morning Riku prepared to leave, Aya walked him to the docks.
"Where will you go?" she asked.
"Where the water meets land," he replied. "There are other places like this. Other stories that were never allowed to end properly."
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "The sea won't follow you anymore."
Riku stepped onto the boat and untied the rope. Before pushing off, he looked back at her.
"No," he said. "But it will remember me."
As the boat pulled away, a single wave rose—not towering, not dark—just enough to brush the hull.
A farewell.
Far beneath the surface, where legends once festered, the ocean slept peacefully.
But somewhere, in another stretch of water, another story waited—half-forgotten, unfinished.
And Riku Takeda sailed toward it.