Sofia staggered through the jungle, her pulse pounding in her ears as the whispers swirled around her, faint but persistent. The rain had become a torrent, soaking her to the bone and turning the ground into a slick, treacherous mire. She had no sense of direction anymore—only the primal urge to escape. But every path seemed to lead her deeper into the jungle, the trees looming larger, their twisted branches clawing at the gray sky.
The whispers weren’t just in her head now. They came from the jungle itself—the rustling leaves, the groaning trees, even the pattering rain. They grew louder with every step, their tone shifting from pleading to mocking.
“You can’t run from the rain, Sofia…”
The words stopped her in her tracks. Her chest tightened as she gripped the sodden cloth in her hand. It was her mother’s voice again, soft and mournful, but it felt wrong—hollow, like it was coming from an empty shell. She clutched her head, trying to shut it out, but the sound burrowed deeper, making her vision blur.
Ahead, the jungle thinned, revealing a break in the trees. She stumbled toward it, desperate for some kind of reprieve. What she found stopped her cold.
A wide, shallow river stretched before her, its surface shimmering like black glass under the stormy sky. It was unnaturally still, the rain leaving no ripples as it struck the surface. The air around it was suffocatingly heavy, as if the water itself was holding its breath.
Sofia hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to turn back. But then she saw it—a shape beneath the water, faint but unmistakable. A face. Her mother’s face.
She froze, her breath catching in her throat. The face was staring up at her from the depths, its eyes wide and filled with sorrow. Her lips moved, but no sound came. Sofia’s heart twisted painfully. She wanted to look away, to deny what she was seeing, but she couldn’t. The image held her captive.
“Mom?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
The face didn’t respond, but its expression grew more desperate. Its mouth opened wider, as if screaming silently. Then it began to sink, slowly disappearing into the darkness below.
“Wait!” Sofia cried, stumbling forward. She splashed into the river, the cold biting into her skin. The water only came up to her knees, but it felt bottomless, like she was stepping into a void. She reached out, her hands trembling as she tried to grasp at the fading shape.
The whispers rose in a deafening crescendo, their voices sharp and piercing. Sofia gasped as something brushed against her ankle—a cold, clammy touch that sent a jolt of terror through her. She yanked her leg back, but the thing grabbed her again, its grip tightening like a vice.
She looked down, and her blood turned to ice. A hand was reaching up from the water, its fingers pale and skeletal. It wasn’t her mother’s. The hand pulled at her, dragging her deeper into the river. She struggled, kicking and thrashing, but the grip was unrelenting.
More hands emerged, clawing at her legs and arms, their cold fingers tearing at her clothes. She screamed, her voice lost in the roar of the whispers. The water seemed to come alive, swirling around her as the hands pulled her down.
Her head went under, and the world turned black.
Sofia awoke coughing, her lungs burning as she spat out water. She was lying on the muddy riverbank, the rain still pouring down around her. Her hands shook as she pushed herself up, her body aching from the struggle. She looked back at the river, but it was calm again, the surface smooth and undisturbed. There was no sign of the hands—or the face.
She wanted to believe it had been a nightmare, but the bruises on her arms told her otherwise. And then she saw it: a mark on her wrist, burned into her skin like a brand. It was one of the symbols from the altar, a jagged spiral that seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive.
The whispers had stopped, but the silence felt worse. The jungle around her was unnaturally still, the trees standing like silent sentinels. She forced herself to her feet, clutching the cloth tighter in her hand. She couldn’t stay here. Whatever had happened in the river, it wasn’t over. She could feel it—the jungle was watching her, waiting.
As she turned to leave, she noticed something glinting in the mud nearby. She bent down, her fingers brushing against the cold surface of a small object. It was a pendant, its chain broken and tarnished, but the design was unmistakable. It was her mother’s.
Her stomach churned as she held it up to the dim light. The whispers might have stopped, but the jungle wasn’t done with her. The Rainwalker wasn’t done with her.
She clenched the pendant in her fist, her jaw tightening. If this place wanted her, it was going to have to fight for her.
And she wasn’t leaving without answers.
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