The koi had only one thought left in his mind: I need to get stronger.
Bounce and Bite kept him alive. Sense was new, but weak. If he wanted revenge for Mari, if he wanted to face dragons, he had to sharpen it.
So he practiced.
—
At first, Sense was no more than a faint candle flicker in his head. He could barely feel anything beyond the closest humans near the riverbanks. But the more he trained, the clearer it became.
Every morning, after feeding himself on worms and bugs, he drifted into the reeds and stilled his body. When the river went quiet around him, he listened.
The world began to whisper.
An old fisherman on the bank carried hunger like a stone in his stomach. Children throwing rocks into the river shone with quick, simple joy. A woman bent over her laundry felt weary but steady, her will holding her family together like string binding wood.
None of these people were what he needed. Still, each feeling stretched his Sense a little farther.
[Sense: proficiency +1]
The System's messages trickled in now and then, proof that the skill was growing. His coverage widened. He could feel wills further away, like distant ripples on the water.
But still, he found no one who matched what he was searching for.
—
Days passed.
He learned the difference between fear and caution, pride and arrogance, kindness that cost nothing and kindness that came with pain. Sense painted these things not in words, but in shapes, textures, and warmths that pressed into his mind.
And yet, none of them felt like Mari. None carried the bond he longed for.
Until one gray morning.
—
He was drifting near the ruins of Mari's village. Ash still stained the banks, though weeks had passed since the fire. He circled quietly, the way he always did when he came here, paying his silent respects.
Then it happened.
A pulse. A thread of warmth, faint but familiar, brushed against his Sense.
He froze.
It wasn't just a will. It wasn't just intent. It felt like Mari.
His fins trembled as he stretched his Sense to its edge. The thread grew clearer. It came from the road, not the village. Someone was traveling.
He followed.
—
A caravan creaked along the dirt path, carts loaded with goods, mules pulling, travelers grumbling. He skimmed their wills one by one. Tired feet, sore backs, greed, boredom—none of them mattered.
Then he felt it again. The thread.
Someone at the back of the caravan.
He slid through the water, pushing his Sense outward until it stung.
The man who walked apart was young, maybe not much older than Mari when she died. His will was steady but heavy, carrying both weariness and guilt. Yet beneath it all was warmth—stubborn, familiar warmth.
The koi's heart raced.
The name came before he even realized he was sensing it: Ian.
Mari's younger brother.
—
Ian knelt at the river's edge to wash his hands. The koi drifted closer, hiding beneath the weeds.
He could see Mari in him, not in his face—he no longer saw like a human—but in the shape of his will. The patience, the quiet fire, the guilt of someone who had survived when others had not.
When Ian thought of his sister, the koi felt it clearly: memories of blossoms, of laughter, of smoke he had not been there to see. The guilt cut deep.
The koi rose to the surface without meaning to, eyes just above the water.
Ian didn't flinch. He simply looked, as if he was used to noticing small things and taking them seriously. His attention pressed gently against the koi like a warm hand on the back.
The koi's Sense flared. It braided itself to Ian's will, weak but real.
[Sense: resonance detected]
[Potential bond candidate identified]
The System's words matched what his body already knew.
This was him. This was the one.
—
Ian reached into a pouch and pulled out a red cord. Worn but strong, it had tied more than packages—it had carried promises. He dangled it over the water, not as bait, but as an offering.
"Try," he said softly.
The koi's fins quivered. The last red ribbon he had known belonged to Mari, tied to the porcelain bowl she had kept him in.
He pressed his back against the cord. A spark passed through him, not pain, not heat, but recognition. Something in Ian's will answered back.
[Temporary link established: Ian]
The koi almost wept. For the first time since Mari's death, the river did not feel empty.
Ian smiled faintly, tying the cord around his wrist again. He placed a small bowl by the riverbank with a worm inside. "Tomorrow," he promised.
And then he walked back to the caravan without looking back, because he didn't need to.
The koi floated beneath the bowl, the worm wriggling above him. For once, he didn't eat right away. He simply stared at the bowl, feeling the warmth Mari once gave him echoing through Ian.
Tomorrow.
He had found the thread he'd been searching for.