River Salt and Bone

🌊 River Salt and Bone

The moon is full, the sky unusually clear — and yet the river churns like there’s a storm beneath it.

Nana Esi lies on her mat, her breaths shallow and uneven. Her skin smells faintly of brine. Mira sits by her side, whispering questions she knows won’t be answered. A sudden gust of wind slams the shutters open — and Nana gasps.

Her eyes, blind for years, suddenly see. But they’re silver.

"She’s almost here." Nana’s voice is not her own. "You must go where the debt was made."

Mira pieces together an old folktale from Nana’s journal — about a shrine built with bones, once hidden deep in the mangrove. That night, guided only by instinct, Mira takes a rusted lantern and journeys upriver.

The mangrove trees creak like they remember her. At the center of it all, half-sunken and veiled in moss, she finds it: a shrine made of driftwood, clay… and human ribs.

Inside, she finds a carved figure — part woman, part fish — wrapped in black cloth and sealed with red twine.

The moment she touches it, the water around her begins to rise.

Bride of the River

Mira wakes at the river’s edge with the idol clutched to her chest — her arms covered in script she never wrote, glowing faintly green.

Back in the village, Kojo confronts her. He’s terrified — but not of the river. Of her.

"Your shadow doesn’t match your body anymore," he says. "It’s always moving."

Mira tells him everything — about the witch, the debt, the curse. Kojo, torn between fear and loyalty, decides to help her return the idol to the river’s heart.

But as they row toward the deepest part of the river, the waters part again — this time, welcoming.

The River Witch appears, no longer distant or angry, but seductive and calm. She calls Mira “daughter” — not by blood, but by bond.

"You wear the mark. You found what was stolen. Now you must choose: return it… or stay.”

Kojo tries to intervene — and the river pulls him under.

Mira dives after him — and crosses over fully for the first time.

Drowned Realm

The other side is alive.

Everything is twisted and wet: trees drip blood, animals move like whispers, the sky is thick and pale. Time moves strangely. Mira finds herself walking through her village — but everyone’s drowned. They walk. They smile. They whisper.

Kojo is there, submerged in a prison of reeds. The River Witch watches from the shadows, eyes glowing. She shows Mira the truth:

Her great-grandmother didn’t accidentally steal the idol — she took it knowing what it cost, to save her only son. She chose her daughter — Mira’s line — as payment.

"You are the final knot in the rope," the Witch says. "Untie yourself… or remain."

To free Kojo, Mira must give something in return. But this time, not just blood. The Witch wants memory — the memory of her mother’s face.

Mira hesitates. The price is cruel.

But she says: “Take it.”

Memory as Ash

Mira wakes on the riverbank. Alone. Alive. The idol is gone.

Kojo lies beside her, coughing up water — but alive.

Back home, Nana Esi is gone. But she left behind a final note in trembling script:

“You ended it. But the river never forgets.”

In the mirror, Mira notices: she no longer casts a reflection.

The village slowly returns to normal. The crops bloom. The river quiets. But at night, when the moon is high, Mira sometimes hears singing — not threatening, but sorrowful.

And though her mother’s face is gone from her mind, Mira feels a warmth in her chest whenever she closes her eyes.

The river took. The river gave.

But the River Witch still waits beneath the surface —