Chapter 3

Many years passed after Lami’s sacrifice. Kamala became a land of peace and prosperity once more. The rivers were clear, the harvests were rich, and the people built statues in Lami’s honor — calling her The Daughter of the Waters.

But as time went on, memories faded. The children grew up hearing only fragments of the story — tales told by old men at the fireside. The new generation laughed, calling it an old myth. “The Water God is gone,” they said. “He will never return.”

The rivers heard their laughter. The wind carried their words to the mountain.

And far beneath Kamala, in the sacred cave where Lami had vanished, the waters began to stir once more.

One night, the moon turned blue — a sign that hadn’t been seen since the Great Flood. The elders gathered, frightened. “It is the Tear of the God,” whispered Elder Maku’s grandson. “It means something is wrong.”

At that same hour, a young girl named Tara stood by the riverbank. She was seventeen, curious and brave — and though she didn’t know it, she carried the same spark that once lived in Lami. As she stared at her reflection in the glowing water, she heard a faint whisper.

“Tara…”

She froze. “Who’s there?”

The voice came again, soft and calm like the sound of waves. “Do not be afraid. The river remembers you.”

Suddenly, the water rippled, and an image appeared — a woman dressed in flowing blue light. It was Lami.

Tara fell to her knees. “You’re real…”

“Yes,” said Lami’s spirit. “But Kamala is in danger once more. The people have forgotten the balance. They take without giving, and the Water God grows restless.”

Tara’s eyes widened. “What can I do?”

Lami reached out her hand, and the water swirled around Tara’s wrist, forming a glowing bracelet made of liquid light.

“This binds you to the river,” Lami said. “You must journey to the Mountain of Kamala — as I once did. The Water God must hear a pure voice again, before he brings another storm.”

Tara nodded, her heart pounding. “I will go.”

But as she turned to leave, Lami’s image flickered, her voice fading. “Beware, child… not all who drink from the river are friends.”

The next morning, Tara told the villagers about her vision, but they only laughed. “A talking river? A spirit of water? Childish dreams!” they said.

So Tara set out alone. She followed the river upstream, through the forest and across the misty plains, until she reached the foot of Kamala Mountain. The air was colder there, and the ground trembled slightly beneath her feet — as if the mountain itself was alive.

At the mountain’s entrance, she saw strange markings — the same symbols Lami once saw carved into the cave walls. But this time, they glowed red instead of blue.

And before she could take another step, a voice thundered from the depths:

“You come uninvited, mortal. The last who entered came with sacrifice. What do you bring?”

Tara swallowed her fear. “I bring truth. And the will to restore what we’ve lost.”

The mountain went silent for a moment. Then, the voice spoke again — softer this time.

“Then prove it.”

The ground split open, revealing a glowing staircase of water leading down into darkness. Tara took a deep breath… and stepped inside.

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