A STORY JUST FOR ME

The morning after the river glowed, the sky was strangely silent. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, no—it was a silence that watched. That waited.

We didn't notice it right away. You were humming softly as we walked through the winding dirt paths, following the savior with a bundle of herbs tucked under your arm. The sun peeked through the clouds like it hadn't made up its mind yet—whether to shine on us or hide from what was coming.

I trailed beside you, my spirit form invisible to all but you, brushing your shoulder every so often.

"You're quiet today," I said, nudging your side.

You gave me a small smile. "Just thinking. That river… it didn't feel cold yesterday. It felt… familiar."

Your voice had a note I didn't recognize. A soft ache. Like something inside you remembered the water's touch, even if your mind didn't.

We reached the village market a little before noon. It was livelier than usual, but something felt off. The stalls were open, colors bright, smells rich with spices and fresh bread—but the people... They stared.

First, it was subtle. A pause in their chatter. A glance too long. A step away.

Then came the whispers.

"There they are…"

"That's the one who stepped into the river..."

"Did you see it? The water—glowing like fireflies… unnatural..."

You looked around, confused. The savior's brow tightened.

"They're just surprised," he said softly. "It'll pass."

But it didn't.

By mid-afternoon, one of the elders from the shrine approached. His robes were heavy with moss-colored threads, his beard white and long, trembling with his anger.

"You trespassed," he said sharply. "The sacred river is not a playground for outsiders."

You stepped back, surprised. "I didn't mean to… I was just helping a child—she dropped her toy."

"There was no child," someone muttered behind him.

Another voice added, "The river was quiet until you arrived. Now it glows? What spirit did you bring here?"

The crowd thickened. Their eyes didn't hold questions anymore—they held fear. And fear is the quickest path to hate.

"But we didn't do anything wrong," you tried. "The river… it called to me."

"Blasphemy!" one of the shrine maidens shouted. "You claim the river speaks to you? That honor belongs only to the priesthood!"

I felt you flinch. My heart ached for you. You hadn't even meant to step in. We just wanted to help.

And still… they looked at you like a curse.

The savior stepped forward. "Enough."

His voice wasn't loud, but it cracked the tension like thunder.

"This child is under my care. You've forgotten kindness in your fear."

The elder narrowed his eyes. "You've brought strangers into our sacred land. You know what happened the last time."

There was a deeper meaning in his tone, something heavy with history—but the savior didn't flinch.

"We'll leave tomorrow," he said firmly. "At dawn."

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

"But—"

"Tomorrow," he repeated. Then turned to you, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come."

We walked in silence for a long while.

The savior led you back to the house, but you stopped him just outside the gate.

"Why are they so angry?" you whispered. "All I did was help…"

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he looked older, like the years of this village had worn down more than just his bones.

"Long ago," he began, "this village was saved by a spirit. The people built their lives around her gift. But over time… they forgot. They became greedy for her power more than they thanked her for it."

You looked up. "What happened to her?"

He hesitated.

"She vanished, and the village has feared change ever since."

That night, the house was quiet. No fire, no supper. Just the sound of your shallow breaths and the savior's footsteps pacing in the next room.

You sat by the window, knees to your chest, watching the moonlight ripple across the roofs.

"I didn't want to cause trouble," you murmured.

"I know," I whispered back, curling beside you.

"But they hated me anyway."

I leaned my forehead against yours. "Sometimes, people fear what they don't understand. But that doesn't mean you were wrong to help."

You gave me a tired smile. "Thanks, Eui."

I smiled too. "Always."

Before you went to sleep, I saw your fingers trace something on the windowpane. A name, maybe. A shape. Or just a wish.

Outside, the wind carried the scent of river water… like someone was still watching.

Like the river wasn't finished speaking yet.