The River That Bleeds
They walked in silence for hours, the drowned trailing behind them like shadows that had come unhooked from the light.
Mireya led without speaking, crown of coral nestled in her curls. It had fused itself to her skin. Bastian had tried once—gently—to remove it, and his fingers blistered instantly with salt. Now he kept his distance, walking slightly behind her, eyes watching everything: the trees that leaned closer than they should, the river that ran in unnatural directions, the mist that tasted faintly of iron.
They were heading upstream, following a current that no longer obeyed gravity. Water flowed backward, climbing over rocks, swirling in unnatural spirals. Fish swam belly-up, yet they didn’t die. Some blinked, as if aware.
“It’s not just you anymore,” Bastian finally muttered. “The whole river is waking up.”
Mireya didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The voice of the drowned queen was still inside her, not loud, not cruel—just present, like a cold hand resting o
