The river didn't rise like water.
It rose like a creature.
A long, trembling swell bulged against gravity, pulling upward in a slow, impossible column—twisting, spiraling, vibrating with the same white pulse glowing deep inside Manraj's chest.
Zoya staggered back as the river lifted into the air.
Just water—just liquid—yet shaped like something alive.
"Azhar…" she whispered. "What is that?"
Azhar wiped blood from his jaw, shaking.
"That's not the guardian," he murmured.
"That's something answering it."
The guardian stepped closer, its stone limbs sinking into the wet mud with heavy, bone-deep thuds. Six eyes locked on the rising water.
"THE ROOT OPENS," it rumbled.
"HE MUST RETURN."
Zoya pulled Manraj tighter against her chest.
"He's not returning anywhere," she hissed.
Manraj twitched violently in her arms, a small sound leaving his throat—half pain, half recognition.
"…Zoya… don't go near the river…"
His voice wasn't entirely his.
Zoya cupped his face, panic rising in her voice.
"Manraj, stay with me—your eyes—your chest—you're burning again—"
The symbols across his skin were flaring brighter, turning from silver-white to almost sunspot yellow, like they were reacting to something calling from beneath the current.
Azhar stiffened.
"They're feeding off the gateway. Zoya, we need to move him back—right now—"
But the ground shook violently and split beneath them.
A thin crack snapped across the shore—long, precise, and glowing faintly white from underneath, like a sealed seam being peeled open.
Zoya steadied herself.
"Azhar—the guardian is trying to open something."
He didn't answer.
His shadows flared out widely, wrists trembling as if gripping something unseen.
"Not trying," he whispered.
"It already opened it."
The rising water twisted again—forming an arching shape, bending into a curve like a rib made of liquid moonlight.
Zoya stared in horror.
"That's… a door."
Azhar breathed out:
"A pathway. Not physical—something older."
The guardian stepped to the edge of the rising water-door, its stone mask glowing from within.
And then—
It bowed.
Not deeply.
Just enough to acknowledge something on the other side.
Zoya felt her heartbeat stop.
Something else… something massive… was moving in the water's glow.
Manraj gasped sharply, his whole body arching in Zoya's arms.
"NO—no, no—Manraj—"
His hands reached toward the rising water on instinct—like a magnet dragged toward steel.
Azhar lunged forward, grabbing Manraj's wrist mid-air.
"HEY—HEY—FOCUS—DON'T LET IT PULL YOU—!"
Manraj's eyes cracked open.
White and amber spiraled in violent coils.
"…It's… calling… Zoya… I know it…"
Zoya pressed her forehead to his.
"You know me. You stay with me, not with whatever is in that river—"
But the river answered.
A deep, resonant hum pulsed through the water-door—low, ancient, vibrating through their bones.
It wasn't the guardian's voice.
It was older.
Colder.
And it knew Manraj.
The water shimmered—rippled—then peeled open like parted curtains.
Zoya choked on her breath.
Inside the water-door stood a massive silhouette.
Not fully seen.
Not fully formed.
Like a body made of shifting currents and fractured light.
It spoke with a voice that was not sound, but pressure:
"ERYTH.
COME HOME."
Manraj convulsed once—hard.
Zoya screamed his name.
Azhar dragged him back, shadows anchoring their feet to the ground.
But Manraj wasn't fighting the pull.
He was breaking under it.
His symbols flared so bright that light leaked between Zoya's fingers as she held him.
Azhar cursed under his breath.
"Zoya—if this keeps up—his core is going to tear itself open—"
"No," Zoya whispered, voice trembling with terror.
"No, I'm not losing him to some ancient river ghost—"
The guardian lifted its head.
"THE ROOT CLAIMS WHAT WAS FORGED FIRST."
Azhar snapped:
"He wasn't YOURS. You were a WARDEN. Not a GOD."
The guardian didn't react.
Instead—
It stepped aside.
As if making room.
For the thing inside the water-door.
The silhouette stepped forward again.
Water ran down its form like falling clothes.
Flowing limbs.
A shifting torso.
A face made of moving ripples, devoid of features, except for two dim points of white where eyes should be.
Zoya staggered backward.
"Azhar… what is that?"
Azhar's shadows trembled violently.
"That," he whispered, "is the one the guardian was made to serve."
The figure raised one fluid arm.
Manraj choked.
The symbols on his chest flared white-hot.
Zoya clutched him desperately.
"Stop—STOP—whatever you're doing—STOP—!"
The figure whispered again, its voice slicing through the night:
"YOU WERE NOT MADE FOR FIRE.
YOU WERE MADE FOR ME."
Manraj's breath hitched.
He whispered a single word:
"…Father…?"
Zoya's blood ran cold.
Azhar's eyes widened.
The guardian knelt.
The river-door roared open wider.
And the water-entity stepped fully into their world.
Zoya held Manraj so tightly her arms shook.
Azhar stepped in front of them both, shadows swirling like black storms.
The water-entity extended one shifting hand.
"ERYTH…
RETURN."
The river exploded upward.