Chapter 3 The River God's Warning
Chapter 3
The River God's Warning
"A river never forgets the names of those it has claimed.
Sometimes... it gives one of them back."
The woman didn't stop running.
"Minh!"
Her voice cracked across the flooded rice field.
The little boy stood perfectly still.
He smiled.
He lifted one small hand and waved.
"Mother..."
It sounded exactly like him.
The same gentle voice.
The same innocent face.
The same patched shirt he had been wearing only moments before he vanished.
But Uncle Dinh wasn't looking at the boy.
He was staring at the water.
The reflection didn't move with him.
While the child smiled...
the reflection remained motionless.
A dark silhouette crouched beneath the surface, its outline wavering like drifting smoke.
Then it slowly opened two pale eyes.
Uncle Dinh shouted,
"Close your eyes!"
No one understood why.
A few villagers obeyed.
Others hesitated.
The boy's mother looked directly into the reflection.
Her smile disappeared.
She stopped running.
For several seconds she simply stood there, staring into the flooded field.
Then she whispered,
"...Who are you?"
The child across the field tilted his head.
"I'm your son."
His reflection smiled much wider.
Without warning, Uncle Dinh flung a yellow talisman into the water.
It never touched the surface.
Halfway through the air, the paper burst into brilliant blue flame.
The reflection vanished.
The little boy disappeared with it.
The rice field became empty once more.
Only ripples remained.
The mother collapsed to her knees.
"My boy..."
Uncle Dinh helped her stand.
"They're trying to lead us away from the village."
She grabbed his sleeve.
"He's still alive, isn't he?"
For the first time since arriving at Chanh Village...
Uncle Dinh hesitated.
"I don't know."
By noon, the village had changed.
Every well had been sealed with heavy stone lids.
No one dared fetch water.
Children were forbidden to leave their homes.
Even the livestock behaved strangely.
Buffalo refused to enter flooded fields.
Dogs whimpered beneath wooden beds.
Birds abandoned their nests.
It felt as though every living creature sensed an approaching storm.
Yet the sky remained perfectly clear.
The village elder gathered everyone inside the communal house.
"What do we do now?"
Dozens of frightened faces turned toward Uncle Dinh.
He unfolded an old cloth map onto the floor.
It wasn't a map of roads.
It showed rivers.
Streams.
Underground springs.
Ancient water routes drawn in faded black ink.
He pointed toward the Thach Han River.
"The answer begins here."
An old fisherman frowned.
"At the river?"
Uncle Dinh nodded.
"When I was fourteen..."
he said quietly,
"...I didn't survive the flood alone."
The room fell silent.
"You mean..."
the elder whispered.
"Something saved you?"
Uncle Dinh rolled the map closed.
"Someone."
That evening, only four people accompanied him.
The village elder.
The old fisherman.
A young hunter named Bao.
And Minh's father.
They carried no rifles.
Only lanterns.
Rope.
Incense.
And absolute trust in the quiet seventeen-year-old leading them.
The path to the river wound through broken fields still scarred by war.
Rusted helmets lay half buried in the mud.
Shattered bunkers peeked through tall grass.
Nature had begun reclaiming everything.
But not completely.
The war had left wounds too deep for even the forest to heal.
The Thach Han River flowed quietly beneath the moonlight.
Nothing about it resembled the monster that had swallowed Uncle Dinh three years earlier.
The current looked gentle.
Almost welcoming.
The old fisherman crossed himself instinctively.
"I don't like this."
Neither did Uncle Dinh.
The river was...
too calm.
He walked to the water's edge.
Then removed the talisman from his waist.
It was old.
The edges had nearly worn away.
He held it above the current.
For several heartbeats...
nothing happened.
Then...
the river stopped moving.
Not slowly.
Instantly.
Every ripple vanished.
The entire surface became smooth as polished glass.
Bao stepped backward.
"That's impossible..."
A faint mist began rising from the water.
It twisted through the moonlight like drifting silk.
Within it...
a figure slowly appeared.
Tall.
Clothed in robes that flowed like water.
Its face remained hidden beneath a broad bamboo hat.
No footsteps.
No sound.
It simply stood upon the river.
The old fisherman immediately dropped to his knees.
His voice trembled.
"The River God..."
The figure spoke.
Its voice sounded neither old nor young.
It echoed like water flowing through a mountain cave.
"You have returned."
Uncle Dinh lowered his head respectfully.
"I seek your guidance."
The spirit remained silent for a long moment.
Finally it answered.
"The seal has broken."
"The creatures you call Nan did not belong to this place."
"They slept beneath the mountain long before men built villages."
"The war awakened them."
The village elder swallowed nervously.
"Can you destroy them?"
The River God slowly shook its head.
"I govern the river."
"Not what crawls beneath the earth."
Mist drifted across the water.
The figure raised one hand.
The smooth river surface began changing.
Images appeared.
Like memories trapped beneath the current.
The villagers watched bombers crossing the sky.
Explosions.
Flames.
The earth splitting apart.
Then...
deep beneath the mountain...
something enormous opened one eye.
Only one.
Its pupil was pale silver.
The eye blinked once.
Everything went dark.
The vision vanished.
"The Mother Nan has awakened."
The words settled heavily over the group.
Bao frowned.
"There are seven creatures."
The River God answered,
"There were."
"Now there are more."
Everyone froze.
"The underground rivers connect many valleys."
"They have begun laying eggs."
Minh's father felt his knees weaken.
"Then my son..."
The River God looked toward him.
"He still lives."
Hope flashed across the father's face.
"But not for long."
Silence.
Only the sound of distant water remained.
Uncle Dinh clenched his fists.
"Tell me where they took him."
The spirit looked directly at him.
"I will."
"But first..."
Its voice softened.
"You must remember."
The young sorcerer frowned.
"Remember what?"
The River God slowly lifted its hand toward Uncle Dinh's forehead.
"The truth."
"The three days you believe were lost..."
"Were not lost at all."
Uncle Dinh's breathing stopped.
"You've forgotten them."
"I sealed those memories..."
"So you could return to the world of the living."
The mist thickened.
The river began glowing with faint blue light.
The villagers watched in stunned silence as countless tiny lights rose from beneath the water.
Not fireflies.
Souls.
Thousands of them.
Each shimmered for only a moment before drifting into the night sky.
The River God spoke once more.
"The answer you seek..."
"...has always been inside your own memory."
It gently touched Uncle Dinh's forehead.
The moment their hands met...
a violent surge of freezing water exploded upward.
Uncle Dinh gasped.
His pupils widened.
Fragments of forgotten memories flashed before his eyes.
Darkness.
Deep water.
Ancient stone pillars beneath the riverbed.
A colossal bronze gate.
And standing before that gate...
a young boy.
Fourteen years old.
Wearing the same clothes Uncle Dinh had worn during the flood.
The boy smiled sadly.
Then whispered five impossible words.
May you like
"You never came back alone."
Everything went black.
