The village noticed his absence by evening.
Rana had been gone only a few hours, but Kagari felt… colder. Like a warmth had left with him.
He followed the coastal path that twisted through jagged rocks and whispering pines, a trail that only the fishermen and smugglers knew. His only companions were gulls above and the bow at his back — silent, heavy, almost too quiet.
It hadn't pulsed since that night.
But he could still feel it.
Like a heartbeat… not his own.
Just past the cliffs, near the old ship graveyard where wrecked hulls rotted in the tides, he saw someone.
A man, sitting calmly atop a broken mast, barefoot, legs dangling like a child. Long, white coat flapping in the sea breeze. A worn traveler's hat shadowed his face.
Rana paused. There shouldn't be anyone out here.
The man spoke first.
"You don't walk like a villager. Too light. Like you're expecting the ground to betray you."
His voice was deep, but lazy — like someone who woke up from a dream and forgot the rules of being awake.
Rana reached for his bow out of instinct.
But it didn't move.
It wouldn't.
The man hopped down from the mast. And that's when Rana noticed something that froze his blood.
The man had no shadow.
None.
The setting sun cast long shadows of every broken mast, every pebble on the sand. But not him.
Rana's hand trembled slightly.
"W-What are you?"
"A warning," the man said. Then smiled. "And maybe… a friend."
Before Rana could move, the man held out a small, black coin. It shimmered like water, and then — vanished.
Into Rana's palm.
Just like that.
"They'll come for you now. You've been chosen. That bow on your back isn't just old wood — it's a scream. And gods love to hear screaming."
Then he turned and walked straight into the ocean… and disappeared under the waves.
No splash.
No trace.
Only the coin remained in Rana's hand, warm as fire, pulsing faintly — in rhythm with his tattoo.