Part I: The Weight of Stillness
The world had gone quiet.
Not peaceful — empty.
Zaire sat beside the river, knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tight. The water no longer sang. It only watched.
His fingers still trembled.
Behind him, the house was too still.
Ozais hadn't woken up.
Not since that day.
"It's been three days… but still nothing. What have I done…"
Zaire whispered it like a prayer. Like a lie he wished were true.
Uriyah sat a few feet away, drawing spirals in the dirt. Her head was bandaged where the attacker had hit her, curls puffing beneath the wrap.
Uriyah (softly): "You didn't mean it, right?"
Zaire's voice cracked.
Zaire: "I… I don't know."
She reached over and placed her small hand on his. Her fingers were warm. Still trusting. Still unafraid.
Uriyah: "You protected me."
Zaire couldn't answer.
He didn't feel like a protector.
He felt like a weapon that hadn't learned where to aim.
Part II: Visitors in White
They came at sunset.
Three figures, cloaked in white with cobalt trim, walked in silence toward their home. The robes shimmered faintly in the dying light.
Glowing symbols — curved and elegant — marked their foreheads.
The Flow Council.
Zaire watched from the shadows of the hall. His body pressed against the wall, breath held. The air felt heavier with each step they took into the house.
His father stood with them — arms crossed, jaw locked.
His presence, as always, was stone-solid. His mother remained beside Ozais's bed, her hand resting gently over his still chest.
The Council did not bow. They did not greet.
They simply observed.
Then one of them — a tall man with closely cropped hair and a robe sharper than the rest — stepped forward.
His voice was smooth, crisp.
Councilor: "Evening, Oz. You know why we're here, yes?"
Zaire's father exhaled through his nose. Not submission — contempt.
Zaire's Father: "Hmph. No surprise the Council's already poking around."
Another councilor — a woman with dark eyes and a clipped tone — flicked open a small silver book, etching notes with her fingertip as if air were parchment.
"Unstable activation… spontaneous surge… multiple injuries reported."
Zaire's Mother (sternly): "He's a child. He didn't ask for this."
Councilor: "Power rarely asks. It only answers."
Zaire swallowed hard.
They were talking about him.
Then — movement. The third figure in white stepped forward.
He hadn't spoken. Not once.
But something about him made the room colder.
His robe was neater than the others, and he stood slightly apart — like he wasn't part of the Council at all. His mark glowed faintly silver-blue.
Zaire leaned forward, eyes barely visible through the cracked doorframe.
Then the man looked up.
Their eyes met.
And in that moment — something echoed inside Zaire's mind. Not words. Not images.
Just a feeling.
Recognition.
The man held his gaze. Unblinking. Studying.
Not with the curiosity of a councilor.
With intent.
Then he turned away, melting back into the group.
Zaire backed away from the door, chest pounding.
He didn't know who the man was.
But something told him this wasn't the last time they'd meet.
Part III: The Dream Without Sound
That night, Zaire dreamed again.
The ocean stretched before him — vast, moonlit, motionless.
He stood at the shoreline, where the sand met the sea, but there was no wind. No sound.
Only stillness.
Mist rolled across the surface of the water, thick and slow like breath. Within the mist, symbols glowed faintly — patterns moving in rhythm, curling and weaving through the fog like strands of living memory.
They resembled Flow… but older. Familiar, and yet foreign. Like echoes of something he should know… but didn't.
Then — a voice.
Soft. Familiar.
Zora's Voice (distant, echoing):
"The Flow is never angry, child. Only powerful.You must learn to listen... so you can become one with it."
The same words from before.
But now, they didn't feel like comfort.
They felt like warning.
The mist parted slightly across the ocean.
A figure stood far off on the surface of the water, motionless.
Draped in layered cloth, his face hidden. Only his eyes were visible — glowing pale blue, colder than before.
Zaire's heart raced.
Who is he? Why do I feel like I've seen him?
He'd never met this man… but something inside him recoiled with the weight of recognition.
The figure didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He just watched.
Then, the ocean shifted.
Deep below, something stirred.
The waves trembled. The mist twisted.
And without sound, the sea erupted.
A monstrous force burst from beneath the waves, towering above both Zaire and the distant figure. Chains snapped like whispers. Scales glistened like obsidian moons.
Its head broke the surface. Eyes ignited like dying stars.
It looked directly at him.
The Beast Below.
Rahab.
Zaire's Flow surged to life, flaring violently in his chest, his veins, his vision. The energy wasn't just power — it was terror. A deep, ancient knowing that the world had lied about something… or someone.
His body locked.
It sees me.
He wanted to scream, but his voice failed.
And then—
He woke.
Gasping. Drenched in sweat. The air around him sharp and wrong.
Outside, the ocean shimmered under moonlight.
And for the first time since the sky had broken...
…it pulsed.
Not with a song.
But with a name.
🌊 CHAPTER 3: The Echo Flow Approaches (Coming Soon)
Ozais awakens — but fractured
Zaire begins to sense Rahab's presence even while awake
A strange mark appears near the shore
An elder woman, once close to Zora, sees what the Council refuses to
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Flow of the Divine River™ is an original work by the author.
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