The morning mist curled low over the River of Oath, a sacred ribbon of water that whispered of old pacts and forgotten gods. The river had always been a source of life to Thelara—its crystal waters nurtured crops, soothed wounds, and echoed with the lullabies of peace. But today, something was wrong.
A girl—barefoot and no older than twelve—knelt by the riverbank, cupping her hands to drink from the cold stream. Her lips had barely touched the surface when a chill ran down her spine. The wind halted. The birds fell silent.
She looked up.
A shadow, vast and sinuous, rippled beneath the river's surface. It slithered with impossible grace, leaving the water untouched. Its eyes—faintly glowing, a color between rotting green and drowned gold—rose from the depths to meet hers.
She screamed.
By the time she reached the village, breath ragged and eyes wild, she could barely speak. But the word left her lips like a curse.
"Kolokawa."
Gasps followed. A silence heavier than steel fell. Some scoffed in disbelief, but most froze.
The Kolokawa—a creature of myth, a serpent of unspeakable length and terror—was said to dwell in cursed waters. Over four hundred feet long, with scales like shattered obsidian and a hunger as old as the river itself, it had not been seen in generations. But the elders remembered. They remembered the toll it once took in blood and ruin.
And now, the village needed the river. Nova had planned to divert its water to build fertile terraces—lush fields that could sustain Thelara for years to come. But to do so, the serpent had to be dealt with.
Scarlet stepped forward.
"Let me handle it."
Nova looked at her, a flicker of concern in his eyes. But then he smiled—a small, trusting smile. One only given to the bravest of hearts.
"Then go," he said. "And come back to me."
Scarlet stood at the river's edge as twilight bled into the trees. Her armor was light—dyed leather reinforced with living vines. At her hip, a blade grown, not forged, from the heartwood of an ancient ironwood tree. Around her arms, bracers etched with druidic glyphs pulsed faintly.
The river lay still.
Then it began.
A ripple. A swell. The waters churned and rose, bursting upwards as if something massive was waking beneath the surface. A shriek—not of air or flesh but of ancient rage—tore through the forest.
Kolokawa emerged.
It erupted from the river like a nightmare made flesh. Over four hundred feet of coiled muscle and armored scale. Its skin was not smooth, but jagged—each scale serrated like a blade, dripping with ichor. Its maw opened, revealing rows upon rows of needle-thin teeth and a tongue that pulsed with red rot. Eyes, dozens of them, blinked along the sides of its head—each one twitching, darting, hungry.
It smelled of grave dirt and stagnant water.
Scarlet raised her blade.
The serpent lunged.
She dove to the side, rolling through mud and brush as Kolokawa's jaws slammed shut where she had stood. The earth quaked. A tree was snapped in two by the sheer force of the strike. Scarlet sprang to her feet and slashed—not for flesh, but for attention. Her blade cut across a lower eye.
The beast shrieked.
It coiled, its massive body twisting around trees and boulders, crushing everything in its wake. Scarlet sprinted, leaping onto a rock and vaulting over a striking fang. The serpent's tail whipped across the battlefield, gouging trenches into the earth. She ducked beneath it, then thrust her blade into the underside of its jaw.
But the wound barely bled.
Too strong.
Then she remembered Nova's teachings. Druid Roots. A spell not of destruction, but of life turned weapon. She fell back, hands pressed into the soil.
"By the breath of the forest, by root and rot—bind this beast!"
The ground trembled.
From beneath the trees, roots stirred. They twisted and rose, ancient and gnarled, writhing like living spears. The serpent lunged again—but this time, the roots met it.
Dozens pierced its flanks, crunching through scales, anchoring deep. Kolokawa roared. Roots tangled around its jaws, snapping tight. Others drove into its sides and belly, sucking light and warmth from its monstrous form.
It convulsed.
Scarlet rose, her eyes glowing green.
The roots writhed violently as they drained the serpent—its strength, its lifeforce, its curse. The land itself seemed to scream as its ancient parasite was exorcised. Scarlet advanced, slicing open scale after scale as the creature weakened. Each step she took was heavier. Blood—black and tar-thick—splattered across her face.
With a final cry, she drove her blade through the serpent's skull, straight between its topmost eyes.
Kolokawa fell.
Its body thrashed, then stilled. The roots coiled tighter, then sank into the earth, dragging the beast's corpse back into the soil. What remained was only a scar—a circle of dead grass and scorched earth where the monster had stood.
Scarlet collapsed to one knee, panting.
Then she smiled.
When she returned to the village, caked in blood and mud, the people watched in reverent silence. Nova stepped forward, his expression unreadable—until he embraced her, fiercely.
"You did it," he whispered.
"I did it for us," she said.
The next day, the people of Thelara gathered at the riverbank. The cursed fear that had once tainted its waters was gone. Nova stood with his sleeves rolled and hands raised, shaping the terrain with care. Stones shifted and walls rose. With the help of villagers, a dam began to take form—an elegant structure of carved stone and earthen channels, designed not just to divert water, but to honor it.
As the final sluice was placed, water flowed gently down into the fields below.
For a heartbeat, there was only silence.
Then a farmer dropped to his knees, pressing his fingers into the wet earth. He let out a sob—not of grief, but of relief. Others followed. Some wept. Some laughed. One elder simply stared, tears tracing through the wrinkles of his weather-worn face.
"It's real," someone whispered. "The land lives again."
Children danced barefoot in the shallow run-off, their feet kicking up droplets that sparkled like jewels in the sun. Families came together, turning soil, planting seeds, and tending young sprouts with reverence. The river had not only returned—it had forgiven.
Nova took Scarlet's hand, their fingers lacing together.
"You gave them a future," he said.
"We gave them a home," she replied.
And so, under the shade of watchful trees and the song of flowing water, Thelara began to bloom—not just from magic, but from love, unity, and the courage to fight for peace.
Hope, once more, had taken root.
And this time, it would flourish.