The River of Mist was unlike any river Shino had seen before. Its waters moved without sound, flowing like a sheet of glass beneath a shroud of pale fog. The world beyond was hidden, as though the river marked a line not just between lands, but between lives.
Shino stood at the edge, the packet of herbs the villager had given him still clutched in one hand. His reflection wavered on the surface—his own face staring back, but older somehow, as if the water revealed not who he was now, but who he would become.
The preacher's words still echoed in his mind. A sacrifice must be made. The memory sent a chill through him—not because he feared the man, but because he had seen how easily the crowd had believed him. How close they had been to spilling innocent blood.
He thought of Aika, still in the village, risking herself to protect him. He thought of the battlefield, the bones buried beneath the earth. He thought of the hermit, who had spoken of the Eternal Flame.
The world was full of voices—some true, some false—but all of them pulling at him.
Shino knelt at the riverbank, letting the silence press against him. The mist curled around him like a cloak.
He took the talisman from around his neck and set it gently on the ground before him.
"If this path is only about power," he whispered, "then I don't want it. Power is what made this field a graveyard. Power is what makes men follow lies."
He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let the words come.
"I swear," he said softly, "that I will not walk this road to rule over others, or to make them fear me. I will not seek wisdom just to hold it for myself. I will act for truth—even if it costs me everything. Even if no one believes me. Even if I stand alone."
The words hung in the mist, unbroken by any reply.
Then the river stirred.
A single ripple spread across its surface, moving outward in a perfect circle until it disappeared into the fog. The mist thinned just enough for Shino to see the other bank. It was narrow, no more than a few paces away, but it felt impossibly far—like stepping across would mean leaving behind the boy he had been.
He rose, slung his pack across his shoulder, and picked up the talisman. It felt warmer in his hand, as if acknowledging what he had just promised.
With steady steps, he waded into the water.
It was shockingly cold, but not cruel. By the time he reached the middle, the mist had swallowed the world behind him. He felt weightless, as though walking not on earth but on the line between two destinies.
When he stepped onto the far bank, the fog thinned, revealing a narrow path leading into a grove of tall, straight trees. The air was clear here, almost too clear, as though nothing impure could exist in this place.
He stood there for a moment, breathing slowly.
He had crossed the river. He had spoken his oath.
Something inside him had shifted—quietly, but irrevocably.
He was no longer just Shino of the village. No longer just a boy running from fate.
He was a bearer of truth now.
And though the path ahead was unknown, he felt ready to face it.