The Gathering Storm
High above Keiko, perched on the edge of the cliffs, monks in faded saffron robes had begun their dawn chants, their guttural voices ringing out prayers to Yomi, the realm of spirits. Their silhouette against the rising sun seemed fragile, almost ephemeral, as if Nagi herself could pluck them from the world at a moment’s notice. Their chant ushered in a distant rumble; the ocean stirred as the waves began to rise almost imperceptibly.
"You should go no further, Keiko-chan," a voice called gently from behind her. She turned her head to see Kana, her childhood friend, dressed in a simple indigo yukata. Her round face was poised halfway between relief and terror. The woman gripped a clay jar tightly to her chest—sake for the Offering, the last fragment of hope the village could scrape together. "I don’t care what the elders said. There has to be another way." Her voice cracked, betraying the weight of grief she carried.
Keiko gave her a faint smile but said nothing. Even if she wanted to turn back, the staff in her hand thrummed with a quiet compulsion. The gods called to her, and some calls could not be ignored. Without a word, she gently plucked the jar from Kana’s hands and began her descent toward the water’s edge. The other villagers stood back, their faces masked with a haunting mixture of pity and fear. Keiko adjusted the crimson ribbon in her hand—it shimmered faintly in acknowledgment of her purpose—as the waves grew louder, their rhythm nearing a crescendo.
The Ocean’s Judgment
As her bare feet stepped onto the water’s surface, a flicker of disbelief washed over the gathered crowd. But the ocean held her. The tide did not drag her down, nor did she sink; instead, she stood firmly as if walking on stone. Ripples froze mid-crest beneath her, revealing the shimmering symbols that now adorned her wrists and forearms, glowing like molten gold. Each step she took toward the endless horizon deepened the stillness hanging over the bay. Even the monks fell silent in awe. Only Kana couldn’t bear to watch; she turned away, her hands shaking.
Halfway to the invisible point where the sea met the sky, Keiko stopped and knelt, placing the sake jar into the water. She tilted it slowly, watching as the amber liquid melded seamlessly into the tide. Closing her eyes, she wrapped the crimson ribbon around the staff and held it high. Deep inside her chest, a voice—not her own—began to speak.
"The world has long forgotten reverence," the voice boomed across the water, chilling and inhuman. It wasn’t a sound so much as a feeling, a trembling that resonated in the bones of every villager. "You destroy what sustains you and curse what you cannot tame. Tell me, child, why should I not let you all drown?"
Keiko’s lips trembled, but her voice did not falter. "Great Nagi-sama, we are children of arrogance, yes, but children nonetheless. Punish us if you must, but grant us the chance to amend what we’ve broken. The tides carry life and death alike—you know this more than anyone." She opened her eyes, staring into the infinite depths before her. "If you must take another, take me. Let the others remain." Her hands tightened around the staff as her legs braced against the vibration of Nagi’s growing fury.
A Keeper’s Legacy
The water around Keiko began to spiral upward, twining like serpents made of liquid crystal. The villagers screamed, some breaking down to the earth in prayer, while others fled into the forest. The waves towered above Keiko, growing into a monstrous dome of translucent water that blot out the sun. For a moment, it reflected everything—Keiko’s wide, terrified eyes, the cowering villagers, even Kana’s tear-streaked face. It was less a wave and more an executioner’s blade.
But just as it roared toward her, the ribbons around the staff unfurled, flaring out like wings, and wrapped the water in a crimson glow. The vengeful tide stilled, its roar softening into a whisper. Slowly, the massive pillar of water drained back into the sea, leaving foam and silence in its wake. The villagers stared in disbelief as Keiko still knelt, breathing heavily but alive.
The staff finally stopped humming, and Keiko dropped it beside her. She closed her eyes, leaning forward until her forehead touched the water’s cool surface. The voice in her mind, Nagi’s voice, softened. "For now, I am appeased. But only for now."
As the tide receded and calm returned to the shores, Keiko rose. She was no longer simply the youngest daughter of a small fishing village. She was Keeper of the Tides, the last hope between humanity and the oceans’ wrath.
She turned to the village, her crimson robes soaked but gleaming. For the first time, the markings on her arms dimmed to a faint glow. Kana ran to meet her, sobbing in relief, while the others remained frozen in reverent fear. And as she walked back, the staff in her hand again thrummed—this time, with the comforting rhythm of still waters.
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: How can ships become more environmentally cleaner? | DW Documentary
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