The rains returned, but so did the river's anger. It overflowed its banks, swallowing paths and flooding crops. The villagers said it was cursed, that something had disturbed the spirit of Ilemba. They whispered about Joel and Lina how he had broken a sacred vow.
Joel scoffed at the rumors. "Just old folk tales," he told Amina.
But one night, as he crossed the swollen river on his way to see her, a thick fog fell. The current grew wild, thrashing beneath the bridge. Halfway across, Joel felt a cold hand grab his ankle.
He screamed, clutching the railing, but the force pulled harder.
The last thing he saw before the river swallowed him was a figure in the mist—long hair flowing, eyes glowing like stars beneath the water.
They found his body at dawn. Eyes wide. Mouth agape. Blood dried at the base of his thumb, as though freshly pricked.
Lina never remarried. She grew quiet, her once vibrant spirit now soft and distant. But every year on the anniversary of their covenant, she returned to the river, laying wildflowers at its edge.
One year, she whispered, "I kept my promise."
The river shimmered, calm for the first time in years.
But peace does not last forever.
Two lovers now visit Ilemba's banks. Young. In love. Naïve. They speak of forever beneath the same crimson sky, their laughter ringing through the trees.
The river listens.
And the spirit waits.