CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: The Shape of Water, The Shape of Want

The Bloodbound moved at dawn, the mist curling low around their ankles as they left the stream behind. The earth here felt… loose. Like every step might sink into something deeper, something waiting.

Kael led them, his silence heavier than his footsteps, white hair still streaked with dried blood from the last fight. Dendera followed close, shield slung across his back, eyes scanning the trees for movement — but it was Ranga who kept drifting toward the rear, his attention constantly yanked sideways.

Liora walked just behind Nyeredzi, her bare feet brushing the dew-soaked grass, leaving no prints at all. Her body — her form — never stopped shifting. Not full transformations, nothing grotesque, but subtle, living adjustments.

Her curves would swell and shift, her hips narrowing for a moment before widening again, her shoulders lifting and smoothing like the tide was reshaping her to fit the world around her. Even her skin carried a faint ripple, as if the air itself was constantly negotiating with her presence.

Ranga couldn't stop staring.

He wasn't even subtle about it.

"Hey," Tafara whispered, appearing beside him like smoke. "You're drooling."

"Am not," Ranga muttered, wiping his mouth just in case.

Tafara grinned, teeth flashing. "You've got it bad, man."

"It's not like that," Ranga hissed, but even he didn't believe it.

Tafara's grin only widened. "Right. You just like staring at her… personality."

Before Ranga could answer, Liora glanced back. Just a small motion — a tilt of her head, the faintest curve of her lips — but Ranga stumbled over a root like his legs had forgotten how to work. Tafara burst out laughing, barely muffling it with his sleeve.

"Smooth, Chidawo. Real smooth."

But Ranga barely heard him. Because when he caught himself, planting one spear into the ground for balance, the mud around the spear rippled — like a puddle disturbed from below.

Ranga froze.

"Liora…" His voice wasn't loud, but she heard it anyway. She always seemed to.

She turned, the glyphs along her collarbone swimming upward, forming new patterns — a spiral within a spiral, faintly glowing. The ground beneath her feet darkened, and water, impossibly clear, welled up around her ankles.

"Don't move," she said softly.

The water spread outward, touching the edges of the group's path, sinking into the earth, finding cracks no one else could see. The land remembered her. Not just her feet — her bloodline, her spirit. Something ancient stirred in response.

Kael's hand went to his blade, but Liora lifted her fingers — a gentle gesture, but the water obeyed instantly.

"Not enemies," she said quietly. "Not yet."

Ranga, still half-stuck in his awkward stumble, couldn't help himself. "See that? She's not just a spirit — she's the whole damn river." His grin came back, nervous but wide. "And I've got her back."

Liora's smile was faint, but real. "You're a fool," she said — but the warmth in her voice made it sound almost like a compliment.

"Yeah," Ranga agreed, still smiling. "But I'm your fool."

The water at her feet curled up, a tendril that almost — almost — brushed his ankle before retreating back into the ground. Not a threat. Not a touch. Just… a promise.

Nyeredzi, her glowing eye flickering faint silver, watched it all in silence.

Tafara, of course, couldn't resist. "If you two start making out mid-battle, I'm leaving."

"Shut up," Ranga and Liora said at the same time — and for a moment, the Bloodbound walked with laughter instead of fear.

But beneath their feet, the water remembered.

It remembered Manjuzu, the spirit of tides and drowning promises.

And now, it knew her name.