Akarui

One prophecy, one birthmark shaped like a river's bend, one purpose. That was all Akarui carried into Waterfall City. They walked past the plaza, ignoring the statue of the fish, and went straight to the pale stone temple that straddled the rushing river. Asayaka’s texts had foretold this: a child of fate would come to read the water not as a force, but as a language. Akarui stepped into the torrent where the temple met the falls. The current that could tear fishing boats apart simply flowed around them, parting like silk. In the chaos of the spray, they saw it—the shimmer of cosmic will, a path woven into the water itself. When they stepped back onto the stone, their journey was no longer a question.