The great Zanaka—the boy who swam through the sea—is a tale my mother used to tell me when I was little.
Zanaka joined a merchant group heading out to sea, even though his mother tried to stop him. Later, a violent storm struck. While everyone panicked and prayed to the gods, Zanaka planned to survive. He coated himself in oil to keep out the cold, stuffed himself with food so he wouldn't go hungry for days, and after preparing his body and mind, he climbed the mast and dove into the sea.
He swam and swam—for seven long days—until his body finally gave out.
At the edge of death, he was saved by the Sea Goddess, who admired his determination.
The moral of the story? Never give up… and always listen to your mother.
But I wonder—what if Zanaka had succeeded? What if he'd crossed the ocean, traded successfully, and returned home? Would he have been praised as a brave boy who dared to chase his dream? A good son who risked his life to make his mother's life easier?
…
But me?
Right now, I'm not swimming because I want to live—I'm swimming because I don't want to die.
Or… am I?
I'm tired. Of course I am. It's been a long day. Even the sun is resting, fading from the sky.
It's dark. And I… I want to sleep.
I can't keep my eyes open anymore.
I fall asleep.
"Mom… Mom…"
I reach out in the dark.
"I'm sorry… please don't leave me. I was wrong. I'll do as you say… just don't go…"
"MOM!"
I scream and bolt upright, gasping for air.
"Huuuh…"
I try to calm myself. My breath steadies. I look around.
Where am I?
It looks like I'm still in the Magal Forest, by the river. I'm lying on a mat, covered by a light blanket. The sun is gone, but there's still light—coming from a fire. A campfire.
"You're awake." A man carrying firewood walks over. "Are you hurt? Do you feel uncomfortable?"
I try to speak—but my throat is sore. When I force out a sound, it feels like it's tearing me apart. Maybe I damaged it when I screamed.
I just stare at him, unable to respond.
He lowers the firewood and pauses, thinking. Then he seems to realize and hands me a bottle of water.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod.
"And, uh… I changed your clothes. They were soaked. I didn't want you to get cold. I hope you don't mind," he says, taking a seat by the fire.
I glance down. I'm wearing black pants and a white button-up shirt. It looks like… office clothes?
"Why would I mind someone who saved my life?" I let out a quiet chuckle. "Thank you."
He seems to relax. "I made some coffee. Want some?"
"Yes, please."
I get up and walk to the fire. As soon as I sit down, he hands me a mug of black coffee.
"So," he says with a teasing grin, "were you diving in the river to look for a shipwreck?"
I raise an eyebrow. "And what are you doing in a cursed forest? Hunting for a ruined temple?"
He laughs. "Fair enough. We all have our reasons. But no—I wasn't looking for anything. I come here every weekend. I fish, read, drink coffee… some people call it 'touching grass.' I come every Saturday and head back Monday morning. That's why I have the suit. You're wearing it, by the way."
"What do you do for work?" I ask.
"I'm an editor at Cosmic Daily. Stressful job—but rent doesn't pay itself, right?" he smiles softly.
"So you're the guy who censors all the news I watch," I tease.
He chuckles. "No, no. I'm in the literature department. I edit books."
I study him—messy hair, odd nostrils, a miss-buttoned black shirt, and oversized jeans.
A bookworm, clearly.
But somehow… there's something attractive about this weird look of his.
"Bamba," I say, shifting the topic.
"Hm?"
"My name. It's Bamba."
He nods. "Call me Kaluu."
I want to ask for his first name—his blood type—but maybe that's rude.
He pauses, then adds, "You should rest. You might want to leave, but it's not safe here at night. Remember, this is a cursed forest. You can sleep in the tent. I'll stay by the fire."
"Thank you again," I say, standing up.
"You're welcome. After all… this is my duty."
I give him a puzzled look.
"Good night, Kaluu."