"Water never forgets a face. That is why the oldest myths live beneath it."
— Old Tilbara Saying (origin unknown)
The lake was too quiet.
Not calm.
Not peaceful.
Too quiet—
the kind of silence that makes even birds hesitate to sing.
Ken stood at the edge of Lake Rundara, his boots sinking slightly into the wet soil. Mist curled around the water's surface like white fingers, clinging to the air, refusing to rise or fall.
It didn't look like the same lake he used to train beside as a child.
Not after the Rewrite.
Kabe arrived behind him, a little breathless.
"You walked out before dawn again," he said softly.
"You could've waited."
Ken didn't answer immediately.
His gaze stayed fixed on the lake.
"Kabe…" he finally whispered.
"Do you… hear it?"
Kabe frowned, listening.
All he heard was distant wind rustling through the trees.
"No," he said gently.
"What do you hear?"
Ken's voice lowered.
"Someone calling my name."
Kabe's blood chilled a little—but he stayed calm.
"From the lake?"
Ken nodded once.
Kabe stepped beside him, eyes narrowing at the mist-shrouded water.
"I'll stay with you," he said.
"If someone's there, we face it together."
Ken smiled faintly.
"Thanks."
They waited.
The mirror-flat water trembled once—just enough to send a ripple outward.
Ken inhaled sharply.
"That's where I heard it the first time. That exact spot."
Kabe crouched, dipping his fingers into the water.
"It's colder than it should be…"
Ken knelt beside him—
And the surface of the lake changed.
Not violently.
Not suddenly.
Silently.
Like a page being turned in a book that didn't want anyone to hear it.
Shapes formed on the water—shadows that moved independently of the sun.
The outlines of figures.
Kabe stood immediately, blade half-drawn.
But Ken felt… drawn in.
"Ken?" Kabe warned.
Ken stepped closer.
And the water rose.
Not as a wave.
But as a shape—a mirror, made from living water, lifting itself upright before them.
Kabe pulled Ken back, but Ken didn't resist. He stared as a human form solidified behind the watery mirror—an echo, translucent and shifting like ripples.
Eyes opened within the shape.
Soft.
Ancient.
Knowing.
Kabe whispered:
"…What is that…?"
Ken's breath hitched.
Because he knew this wasn't a demon.
Not a memory creature.
Not an illusion.
This was something older.
The figure spoke with a voice that rippled across the entire lake.
"Ken Hiroki."
Ken stiffened.
Kabe grabbed his arm.
"You know my name," Ken whispered.
The water-being tilted its head, as if studying him—not physically, but something deeper.
"Names do not hide from the lake.
And yours has echoed twice."
Kabe frowned.
"Twice?"
The figure ignored him.
It raised a hand.
The lake behind it reflected two versions of Ken:
One as he was now And one wearing tattered clothes, eyes haunted, standing inside a ruined station
Kabe sucked in a breath.
"Is that—Shinganatsu? Ken doesn't remember—"
The water shadow interrupted:
"The Rewrite sealed parts of you."
"But the water remembers everything."
Ken trembled.
"Who are you…?"
The figure's form flickered—
then stabilized.
"Rudhana."
Kabe froze.
"That's a myth," he whispered.
"A story used to scare children—"
The water lowered slightly, as if smiling without a mouth.
"Every myth was once a memory."
Ken stepped forward, unable to resist.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Rudhana's liquid hand pointed at the reflection of ruined Shinganatsu.
"Because you carry a memory that does not belong to this world anymore."
Ken's stomach twisted.
"What… memory?"
Rudhana's voice softened—echoing all around them, above them, beneath them, inside them.
"A fire that was extinguished…"
"…but still burns inside you."
Ken's eyes widened.
"Tina-sensei…?"
The lake trembled violently.
Kabe pulled him back as the mirror shattered into droplets, scattering into mist.
A final whisper slid into their ears:
"Balance must break, Trailwalker."
"The Beast beneath Tilbara wakes again."
"And you—not the king—will choose the world's next memory."
The lake went silent.
Mist fell.
Light returned.
The water lay still as if nothing had happened.
Ken fell to his knees.
"I… saw her," he whispered. "I saw her in the reflection."
Kabe knelt beside him, gripping his shoulders.
"Ken. Look at me."
Ken lifted his head.
"What if Rudhana's right…?
What if something inside me is… wrong?"
Kabe held him tighter.
"Then we fix it.
Together."
Ken's breath shook.
But something else caught his eye—something floating on the lake surface.
A single lotus petal.
Frozen in place.
Even though there was no wind.
Kabe saw it too.
"…That wasn't there before," he muttered.
Ken reached out.
As his fingers touched the petal—It vanished.
The lake swallowed it completely.
A sign.
A warning.
A message.
Kabe exhaled slowly.
"Reka and Azuma… need to hear this."
Ken nodded—but his eyes stayed on the water.
Because he now understood something terrifying:
Rudhana didn't appear to threaten him.
She appeared to prepare him.
For a myth war he didn't know he was already part of.