Chapter 6 – When the Sea Claimed the Nameless One
That night, the sea roared as if recalling an ancient wound.
The waves rose like black walls, crashing against the southern cliffs and scattering salt into the air. The wind howled mercilessly, twisting the clouds in the sky; even the moonlight dared not stand against it. It was a night for endings, not beginnings.
On the edge of the cliff, the women of the Southern Sea clan stood; their garments were soaked, their feet planted on the ground with ritualistic stillness. None of them spoke. None of them wept. The law they followed was older than mercy, older than compassion.
In the middle of the group lay a young woman.
Meenakshi.
Weakened by childbirth, her body was frail and motionless. Her chest rose faintly with each breath, as if each one were borrowed. Strands of dark hair clung to her pale face, and below her, blood mingled with rainwater. On her wrist, a single ornament gleamed a dark silver bracelet inscribed with unknown symbols.
It did not belong to the Sea clan.
It had been given to her by a man from another world.
From the circle, a woman stepped forward.
Her name was Vellachi, an old woman with a voice that carried the weight of centuries. Though her spine was straight, her eyes trembled.
"A child born of the river and the sea clan cannot live," she said, raising her voice above the storm.
"Balance forbids it."
She bent down and lifted the newborn child.
The child did not cry. No sound came from his lips.
Still wet from birth, his small body lay motionless in her arms, as if the sea had already touched him once. Some women turned their eyes away. Others clenched their jaws.
Below the cliff, chaos erupted.
Metal clashed against metal.
Men screamed.
Blood stained the sand and the waves alike.
The dark river tribe of the West had poured onto the battlefield like a raging torrent.
At its heart, a man whose very presence cleaved the waves fought.
Kumaran.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his body marked by countless battle scars, Kumaran fought with brutal precision. His sword moved like a river flowing in flood unstoppable, relentless. Yet, even as he struck down another enemy, his heart faltered.
Something was wrong.
He sensed it before he saw it. His gaze shifted towards the rocks.
There among the women he saw her.
Meenakshi.
Motionless.
Time froze.
"Meenakshi!" Kumaran roared, his voice cutting through the air and the battle.
Hearing the sound, Vellachi turned.
Their eyes met.
In that instant, fate overcame hesitation.
She threw the child.
The infant disappeared into the darkness below.
There was no cry.
Only the roar of the salty sea was heard.
Kumaran froze.
For a moment, the world stopped turning. Then
"No…" he murmured.
He turned away from the battlefield and ran towards the cliff; arrows whizzed past him. His lungs burned. His vision blurred. He reached the edge just in time to see the waves closing in.
The sea swallowed the child completely.
There was no movement.
No floating form.
No sign of life.
The water churned, then grew calm.
A silence spread like ash.
"The child is gone," someone murmured.
"The sea has taken him."
Kumaran stared at the dark water, searching intently.
There was no answer.
The child was still.
Gone.
Dead.
The men lowered their weapons. The clash of battle faded into distant echoes. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Behind them, Meenakshi lay unconscious.
She did not move.
She did not cry out.
She knew nothing.
Then a subtle event occurred.
So subtle that almost no one noticed it.
The bracelet on Meenakshi's wrist pulsed softly.
Once.
A pale, almost invisible light flickered across its surface.
Years ago, Kumaran had placed it on her wrist with trembling hands.
"This is a bracelet crafted by my clan," he had said then, in a low, firm voice.
"It holds the blessing of the running water.
Wherever you are… you will not be alone."
Now, that promise came to life.
The bracelet slipped from Meenakshi's wrist. Before it touched the stone, it broke not loudly, not violently but rather, as if surrendering.
Light emanated from it.
From that light, a crow emerged.
Its feathers were as black as deep night, and the edges of its wings had a faint silvery sheen.
There were tracks, which vanished as quickly as they appeared. There was no reflection in its eyes.. only depth.
The crow did not caw.
It just watched, that was all.
Then it launched itself from the rock.
Straight into the sea.
Kumara watched it.
"Wha.. was that?" he gasped.
The crow disappeared beneath the waves.
Moments passed.
Long.
Heavy.
Nothing surfaced.
Neither child.
Nor bird.
The rain blurred the vision. The darkness swallowed the details.
Then the crow rose again—its wings tearing through the storm—but from a distance, between the rain and the shadows, no one could tell what it was carrying.
It was doubtful it was carrying anything at all.
The bird turned towards the open sea and vanished into the night.
"The crow wasn't carrying anything," a woman whispered.
"It was a spirit."
"The child is dead," another said with certainty.
"The sea has passed judgment."
Kumara believed them.
His knees buckled.
He slumped to the edge of the cliff, his fists clenched so tightly that blood oozed.
Between his fingers. Rain and tears mingled on his face.
"My son…" he murmured in a hollow voice.
"I have failed you."
Behind him, the warriors stood in silence.
Vellachi recoiled, her authority finally shattered.
"The sea has spoken," she said quietly.
"The child of two clans is no more." Meenakshi remained motionless.
She did not see the light.
She did not see the crow.
She did not know.
The storm slowly loosened its grip.
The waves returned to their endless rhythm.
The battlefield was deserted.
And so the world accepted a single truth
The child born of the dark river and the endless sea clan
lived but for a breath
and died nameless.
At a distance beyond sight, beyond knowledge, beyond belief
The sea carried away its secret.
Fate remained silent.