The silence of the night blanketed the sanctuary, disturbed only by the distant sound of flowing water. Rytha lay on his makeshift bed of furs, his mind restless, unable to surrender to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, questions plagued him. Would he ever truly be strong enough? Would he ever shake off the shame of exile?
With a quiet sigh, he sat up, brushing his unruly hair from his face. The faint glow of the cave crystals gave him just enough light to see his surroundings, but their soft brilliance only made the night feel lonelier. Unable to remain still, he rose to his feet, feeling the dull ache in his ribs.
"I need some fresh air," he whispered to himself as he made his way toward the waterfall.
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The path leading to the waterfall was cool, the night air crisp against his skin. Above him, the moon was radiant, hanging like a silver coin in a star-strewn sky. Rytha paused as the soothing sound of rushing water grew louder. The waterfall lay before him, its cascading stream gleaming like liquid crystal under the moonlight.
He stepped closer, his mind a torrent of uncertainty. His gaze wandered to the water. "Will I ever be strong enough?" he murmured softly, the question spilling out like an admission of defeat. "Will I ever stop feeling so... helpless?"
The rushing water offered no answer, and Rytha's shoulders slumped.
Then he froze.
A figure stood beneath the waterfall, bathed in moonlight and surrounded by mist. It was Quiver—his master. Rytha's breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold like something from a dream. The pale glow of the moon illuminated Quiver's skin, giving it an almost otherworldly radiance. The water coursed down his—or so Rytha had always thought—broad back, cascading over faint scars that traced across the skin like remnants of ancient battles.
But something wasn't right.
Rytha squinted, his brow furrowing. There was a delicate grace to Quiver's frame tonight, something almost fragile and undeniably… different.
What is this?
The unease grew as he found himself staring harder. He took slow, deliberate steps closer to the water's edge, his gaze fixed on Quiver's figure. The shape of the shoulders, the curves that subtly defined the waist… it wasn't the frame of a man.
Suddenly, his heart skipped a beat. His blood ran cold as realization crashed into him like a tidal wave.
"Quiver is... a woman?"
The thought struck him with the force of a hammer. His mind reeled as he stumbled forward, unable to tear his gaze away. How did I not see this? he wondered, his thoughts spiraling out of control. It wasn't just the scars or the graceful figure—it was something deeper, something fundamental.
But before he could process it further, a searing pain shot through his head.
"Ah—!" Rytha gasped, clutching his temples as memories that didn't belong to him assaulted his mind. Images flashed like lightning in the darkness—a battlefield shrouded in smoke, a towering demon with claws of flame, and a warrior with hair as white as snow, wielding a blade that glowed like the moon.
Then came visions of a small, forgotten village engulfed in shadow, a child being carried away as screams echoed in the distance. Faces he didn't recognize appeared, people who laughed, fought, and wept. Emotions—pain, sorrow, anger, and love—overwhelmed him, drowning him in a flood he couldn't escape.
Rytha collapsed to the ground with a loud thud, the sound echoing across the clearing. The impact was enough to break his focus, and he lay still, his breathing ragged.
Quiver had sensed the presence at the waterfall the moment Rytha approached, but she paid him no mind at first. She had assumed the boy would turn back once he realized she was there. But when she heard the sudden collapse, her head snapped around, her lavender eyes narrowing.
"What…?"
Quiver stepped out of the water, droplets cascading from her body as she moved with inhuman swiftness. Her keen gaze fell on Rytha's crumpled form, and her breath hitched. The moon's light revealed intricate tattoos—no, runes—glowing faintly on his face and right hand. The air around him was distorted with heat, the rocks beneath his body melted and still sizzling.
Her eyes widened in shock, though her expression quickly turned unreadable. With a quick flick of her hand, a dark robe appeared, summoned from thin air, and she wrapped it around herself before approaching him.
Kneeling beside the unconscious boy, she examined the intricate patterns etched across his skin. The runes pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, before vanishing entirely, leaving no trace.
"Interesting," Quiver murmured, her voice soft but tinged with curiosity. She lifted Rytha with surprising ease, draping his limp form over her shoulder. As she carried him back toward the sanctuary, her mind churned with questions.
Those runes… she thought, glancing at his hand. They disappeared as quickly as they came. Could this boy… could he be an incarnate?
The term echoed in her mind, accompanied by flashes of memories she'd long buried—ancient knowledge of souls reborn into new vessels, carrying with them fragments of their past. It was rare, but not unheard of.
Quiver's eyes narrowed. "What are you hiding, Rytha?" she muttered, though the boy couldn't hear her.
As she re-entered the sanctuary, the soft glow of the crystals washed over them. Quiver laid Rytha gently on his bedding, her gaze lingering on him as she folded her arms. The boy's expression was troubled even in sleep, his features drawn tight.
"This changes things," she whispered to herself. "If he really is an incarnate... then his power might be far greater than I thought."
For a moment, Quiver stood still, her lavender eyes studying him. There was more to Rytha than met the eye—of that, she was certain. And whatever path lay ahead, she knew one thing for sure: his destiny would be unlike any other.
Her fingers brushed against her chin thoughtfully as she turned away, retreating to her side of the sanctuary. The night was still, but beneath its calm surface, a storm was beginning to brew.
End of chapter 26