Semua Bab River witch: Bab 21 - Bab 30

Chapter 3: The Archivist’s Eye---The wind changed on the fourth morning.It blew not from the sea, but from the inland horizon — from a land where no rivers flowed, where no trees grew, and where names were kept in cages.Esi felt it in her breath.Something was watching.Not the Whisperless.Not the Salt-Blooded.Something more ancient.Something older than truth.---They traveled west, away from Daraní, following a path that did not exist the day before.It wound through dry gulches and sandstone ridges, the color of old bone. At times, it forked without warning — the two paths identical, but Esi knew which one was true.She didn’t see it with her eyes.She felt it with her name.Each time she stepped wrong, her name itched behind her teeth.The right way felt smooth.---Tano walked with his drum strapped tight to his chest now.He didn’t play it.Not yet.“This land listens,” he said. “But it doesn’t echo. That’s dangerous.”Esi nodded.“No reflection means no memory. And no me

The Bleeding TrawlThe fishing boat creaked like an old curse as it pushed into deeper waters, just beyond the fjord’s throat. The dawn was slow to rise, a syrupy grey thick with mist. Men moved like shadows on deck—some chewing old tobacco, some muttering prayers to gods who no longer answered. And among them stood Maya Danvers, hair tucked into a salt-stiff cap, her hands coiled around the rail as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world.Captain Halrik Ebb, a gaunt man with skin like dried eel, stood beside her, puffing on a stub of pipe. His eyes, pale as fishbellies, watched the sonar scanner flicker with life below deck.“This is it,” he said. “The trench runs right beneath us.”“The Mouthless Trench,” Maya whispered. “Why would anyone name it that?”“Because what comes from it don’t scream,” Halrik said simply.Maya’s jaw tensed. The pendant around her neck—the shard of river-glass still streaked faintly with Sefina’s blood—had grown colder with every nautical mile

Coral TonguesNight had fallen, but it felt too thick, too sentient to be called “night.” This wasn’t the kind of dark that came from the sun going down—this was a deepness, an ancient ink seeping into the sky from below, bleeding up from the trench.The boat floated, silent and battered, like prey playing dead. Its hull groaned from the strain. The sea was still, yes—but it watched now. Maya could feel it. Every ripple, every breath of salt air felt like being exhaled by something enormous, waiting just beneath.Sefina hadn’t spoken since they’d resurfaced. She sat wrapped in an oilskin tarp, eyes distant, lips moving but producing no sound. Maya knew what that meant: the voices weren’t gone—they were just quieter now.Jonas huddled beside the deck’s edge, running a fishing line between his fingers—not to catch anything, but just for something to do. To feel human. Halrik was below, half-lost in whatever visions the trench had forced into his skull.Maya crouched beside her sister.“

The Sunken TestamentThe sky was different now.Not in color, not in shape—but in feeling. The atmosphere itself had shifted since the Choir's disbanding. The world no longer trusted its silence. The sea had been peeled open, and everyone who stood witness to it—Maya, Sefina, Jonas—now carried that revelation in their blood.They’d anchored the boat miles inland, traveling through winding fjords and hidden riverpaths until they found a place untouched by the sea’s scream. A forgotten marsh village called Navael’s Hollow. Just ruins and bones and an old shrine built from shipwreck timber.Maya stood at the edge of the shrine, staring into a black pool that didn’t reflect anything. No sky. No face. No light.“What are we doing here?” Jonas asked, nervously watching the reeds. “This place gives me spine-rot.”“This is where the First River Witch was buried,” Maya said quietly.Sefina stood behind her, holding the dagger wrapped in oilcloth. “You think the Sovereign remembers this place?”

The Dead LightThe sky changed first.Not a storm. Not dusk.Just… wrong.As they sailed away from the Cradle of Salt, a haze rolled in, yellow-gray and glowing faintly—not from the sun, but from something below the horizon. It lit the clouds from underneath, like the ocean had grown a second sky and decided it would burn instead of shine.Jonas stood at the helm, sweat clinging to his brow despite the cold. “Why is the light coming up from the sea?”Sefina, wrapped in blankets and salt-charms, whispered from her corner. “That’s the Third Tide. The Dead Light.”Maya didn’t look away from the glow.She felt its pull. Not physical, not psychic. It was like an invitation written in grief. The kind of sadness that knew your name.She opened the Testament.The words shimmered in blood-ink:> “Third Tide: The Luminant Womb.Beneath this light, the sirens speak only truth.But their truths do not save.They undo.”---By noon, the light was everywhere.It wasn't bright—it was constant. No sh