They did not leave Kurohama immediately.
The sea was calm now, reflective, almost ordinary—but Ren knew better. He led Riku along a narrow path carved into the cliffs, where stone steps descended into a hollow hidden from the shore. Old structures lay half-buried there: broken pillars, collapsed roofs, and weather-worn markers carved with symbols Riku had never seen before.
"This place wasn't abandoned," Ren said. "It was sealed."
Riku stopped before a row of stone tablets. Each bore a name—some complete, others violently scratched out.
"People did this?" Riku asked quietly.
Ren nodded. "Long before the Black Tide, before Umibōzu was feared as a monster, there were coastal orders. Councils. Keepers of balance. They believed the sea could be managed—used."
Riku felt a chill. "Used how?"
Ren knelt and brushed sand from one tablet, revealing a symbol identical to the one on the Tide Shrine.
"When the sea took someone too important… a leader, a child meant to inherit power, someone whose death would destabilize everything—these people intervened."
Riku's jaw tightened. "They erased them."
"They erased the memory of them," Ren corrected. "Convincing themselves it was mercy. A forgotten death caused no revolt. No war. No questions."
Riku's chest tightened painfully."My brother wasn't taken by the sea alone."
"No," Ren said softly. "He was erased by people who decided your pain was acceptable."
The words landed heavier than any wave.
Riku stepped back, staring at the tablets. The sea murmured faintly behind them, restless—not angry, but uneasy.
"They called it protection," Ren continued. "But every erased name weakened the boundary between memory and myth. That's how places like Kurohama were born."
Riku clenched his fists. "And the Umibōzu?"
Ren looked toward the water."A consequence. Grief that never returned home. Fear that had nowhere to go."
Silence settled between them.
Finally, Riku spoke. "If people caused this… why didn't the sea stop them?"
Ren met his gaze."Because the sea listens. It doesn't judge."
Riku exhaled slowly, understanding dawning.
"That means this will happen again."
"Yes," Ren said. "Unless someone remembers when others choose to forget."
Riku looked back at the shore, at the calm surface that had taken his brother, his father, his childhood—and given him back something heavier.
Responsibility.
He reached out, pressing his palm against the stone tablet bearing Haruto's name. The carving felt warm.
"I won't let them erase names anymore," Riku said. "Not quietly."
Ren straightened, studying him carefully."You understand what that means?"
Riku nodded. "I won't just face monsters."
Ren's faint smile returned—this time edged with something like respect.
"Good," he said. "Because the next place we're going…"
He gestured toward the horizon, where dark clouds were already forming despite the clear sky.
"…doesn't worship the sea."
The wind shifted.The water darkened.
Somewhere far away, a bell began to ring—slow, deliberate, human.
And for the first time, Riku realized the most dangerous legends were not born from nature.
They were written by choice.