🧜 IN LOVE WITH THE RIVER GODDESS 🧜 EPISODE 8️⃣ Oba wandered the depths of the river with the weight of his choice pressing like stones on his chest. Though his form now moved like water and his breath came easy beneath the currents, his heart clung to the memory of Maria and the life he had left behind. The river goddess, radiant and terrible, appeared to him in glimmers and reflections. “You are restless,” she said one night as they stood beneath the twisted roots of an ancient tree submerged in silence. “I thought being your guardian would bring peace,” Oba said. “But the river feels… sick. Angry.” The goddess narrowed her glowing eyes. “Because it is.” She turned and swept her hand through the water. A veil lifted, revealing a cavern deep beneath the riverbed—its entrance a jagged mouth, pulsing with dark light. “There is a place even I do not enter often,” she said. “A tomb born from betrayal. Your ancestor’s theft did not just wound me—it awakened something older, something buried before time had a name.” Oba stared into the depths. “What lies there?” “A spirit that feeds on sorrow,” she replied. “It was sealed long ago by my kind. But the wound your bloodline opened weakened the seal. And now, it stirs.” Oba felt the river tremble around him. “If it breaks free?” “The river will not only drown this land—it will lose its memory, its balance. And the guardian must face what lies beneath.” Oba nodded slowly. “Then show me the path.” The goddess touched his forehead. Instantly, symbols etched into his skin shimmered like fire, and a trail of glowing fish began to swirl downward, pointing the way. With spear in hand and a chant on his lips, Oba descended. The water grew colder. The light dimmed. And then—silence. He reached the cavern mouth. The stones around it pulsed with red energy, veins like roots crawling along the rock. He stepped in. The water here didn’t feel like water—it felt like memory. Heavy. Grieving. Full of voices. “Who dares disturb my dream?” a voice echoed from the shadows. Oba gripped his weapon. “I am Oba, guardian of the river. I’ve come to seal you again.” A laugh, long and cruel, echoed all around. “You are the blood of the thief. And you think you can command me?” From the dark, a shape emerged—shifting, skeletal, eyes like molten gold. Its body was a mass of drowned souls, weeping and wailing as they spiraled around it. Oba’s heart pounded. This was no ordinary spirit. It was the Krobo, the River Devourer—an ancient demon once worshiped and feared by long-dead kingdoms. “You are bound no longer,” Oba said, raising the goddess’s token. “But I am bound to protect this river.” The Krobo lunged. Oba met it with a cry, and the battle began—flashes of light and soundless shockwaves tearing through the deep. For every blow Oba struck, a vision from the past answered—a crying child, a drowning village, his own father gasping for breath. But Oba held on. Not for power. Not for glory. But for Maria. And for a future where the river could be more than a grave