River witch
Just silence, and beneath it, the tremble.
Jonas was already at the edge of the deck, clutching the railing, eyes scanning the water. “Do you hear it?” he asked.
Sefina stood nearby, barefoot, whispering words not meant for the surface.
“It’s starting,” she said softly. “The choir is waking.”
Maya stepped beside her. “The what?”
“They don’t call them that anymore,” Sefina said, her eyes glassy. “But that’s what they are. Mouthless singers. Not individuals—but parts of one massive voice. When they harmonize... the world listens. Or it shatters.”