leaves and branches crunched under his boots as he trailed down the familiar path in the forest. Deep inside the forest where no man with common sense would come. Little streams of water started to come in view where leaves would float on.
He pushed some leaves away and saw the body of water. By the foot a pale mask and some bottles of potions and creams with some flowers around it.A dark robe with long wide sleeves folded.
There was a woman in the center of the pound,bathing herself by the waterfall.
Jaha said nothing.
The roar of the waterfall filled the space where words mightâve gone, but he had none anyway.
She moved with slow, deliberate grace. Fingertips tracing her collarbone, moonlight skimming across the curve of her back. Her hair floated in the water like ink bleeding through silk. Her body belonged to the river, not to the world of men.
Heâd seen her like this before. Many times.
And still, it gripped him by the throat.
The mask lay near his feetâblank, unreadable, and yet he swore it was looking at him. A pale witness to all the nights heâd waited by this river, all the battles heâd returned from bloodied just to kneel at this shore.
A wind passed. The petals trembled.
Without turning, she spoke.
âYouâre hurt again.â
The voice was soft, as if spoken through water.
Jahaâs jaw tightened. A shallow cut bled down his arm, unnoticed until now. Of course she saw it. She always did.
He took a step closer, boots soaking in the edges of the pond. âItâs nothing.â
A pause. Then:
âYou should stop chasing death.â
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. âIâm not chasing death. Iâm chasing something more stubborn.â
The river had no name. It didnât need one.
It sang to the moonlight, swallowed warriors whole, and shimmered in the silence of war-torn lands. But to himâJaha, the Mad Demonâit was home. Or rather, she was.
She wore no face. A pale, expressionless mask sat upon her features, smooth as ivory and still as death. Her voice, when she chose to speak, rippled like water itselfâsoothing, elusive, untouchable. They called her the Water Demon, a cursed spirit of lost men and weeping widows.
But to Jaha, she was his stillness.
Where others saw madness in him, she saw purpose. Where others feared her, he knelt beside her riverbed in reverence. They never touched, for her form was made of mist and memoryâbut their bond defied flesh.
''....what are you standing there.....join me''
The layers fell away from his frame, one strap at a time, and he waded into the water. Cold wrapped around his legs, then waist, then chestâuntil his breath stilled.
The waterfall thundered on, but here in the shallows, all he heard was her.
She didnât move as he neared. Her face was still turned toward the sky, lips parted slightly as if in silent conversation with the moon above.
a hand resting over the cut on his arm as he stood at a distance from her,yet she still sensed it.
"Your wound will fester if you let it," she said.
He smirked. "Then I'll fester beautifully."
A flick of her fingers sent a ripple across the pond. Small drops splashed against his skinâand in seconds, the sting of the cut dulled. The blood halted.
"You always do that," he murmured.
"Keep me alive⌠when everyone else expects me to die."
Jaha stepped closer, the water swirling gently around his waist.
Strands of her hair drifted through the water like ribbons of shadow and light, brushing against his skinâghostlike, soft, untethered.
He raised his hand slowly, letting it surface from the water. Her hair clung to his fingers like seaweed, swaying between them.
the scent of jasmine and vannila hung around her. He got closer,his calloussed hands graze her slender shoulder before gripping it.
He gripped her thenânot hard, but firm. Like he needed something to anchor him in the moment.
And then, gently, he leaned forward and rested his chin on the soft hollow of her shoulder.
The scrape of his stubble met her smooth skin, a contrast of warrior and wraith.
His eyes closed.
"You smell like peace," he murmured, barely audible.
The waterfall raged behind them. The world spun beyond the forest. But here, in the center of the pond, time melted.
Her head tilted, just enough that her cheek brushed his temple. Neither a kiss nor a promiseâjust existence, shared.
âYou always smell like blood,â she replied quietly.
Not with judgment. Just truth.
A smirk ghosted across his lips. âStill prefer it to incense and monks.â
She chuckled under her breathâa rare, river-deep sound that only he ever heard. The body of water vibrating with every sound coming from her throat.
And he didnât pull away.
His lips lingered against her skin, rough and warm against the cool dampness of her river-kissed flesh. He could feel the slow, steady thrum beneath her surfaceâher pulse, if she had one. Or maybe it was the heartbeat of the river through her.
Her eyes closed, lashes resting softly against her cheeks, and for a moment⌠she allowed herself to lean into him. Just slightly.
Like a wave curling into shore.
His arm found its way around her waist under the water, his grip neither demanding nor hesitantâjust sure. As if heâd held her in another life, in a thousand lives before this one.
Because he had.
"You're not supposed to touch me," she whispered. The words held no resistanceâjust remembrance. Like a rule neither of them ever obeyed, yet always repeated.
"And yet I do," Jaha murmured against her skin. âEvery time.â
She tilted her head slightly, exposing more of her neck to himânot surrender, but invitation.
âThen donât stop,â she said.
And he didnât.
Not until the stars began to fade, and the river forgot to keep time.
Present Day â Reincarnation
Jaha blinked, here in the white hawk village. But this scentâa blend of river mint, jasmine, and wild lotusâhalted his steps like a sword to the throat.
A bell above the door jingled as he stepped inside the shop.
Bath & Body Delights, the sign read.
Pastel walls. Wooden shelves. Jars, soaps, oils, all with names like Moonfall and Spiritâs Touch. But what caught him wasnât the merchandise.
Behind the counter stood a girl with calm eyes and a quiet aura. She wore no mask now, but her face... It was as though the river had learned to take human shape. She was folding something inside a piece of paper before handing it to the customer and received some silver pieces.
She smiled politely. âWelcome. Can I help you find something?â
Jaha didnât answer at first.
He stared. Not out of rudenessâbut out of recognition.
