The river water shimmered like melted bronze, reflecting the fading light. Dominic stepped forward to get a better view, unaware of how slippery the riverbank had become after the previous night’s rain. His polished shoes pressed onto the soft soil, which suddenly gave way. There was a sharp crack beneath his feet. Then his entire body plunged into the cold, rushing water. The world spun.

A burst of icy shock punched the air from his lungs. He tried to fight his way up, kicking desperately, but the mud pulled him downward and the strong current dragged him deeper. His heart hammered violently as he clawed upward, gasping for air that refused to come. The river closed over his head. Darkness swallowed him.

His limbs weakened. His vision blurred. He had never felt fear like this—not in board meetings, not in business wars, not under the gaze of the world. This… this was death. He felt his consciousness slipping. His body stopped fighting. Everything turned quiet.

On the other side of the river, Hannah walked barefoot along the narrow dirt path, balancing an empty clay pot on her hip. Her deep dark chocolate skin glowed under the soft sunset, and her braided hair swayed with each step. She hummed a quiet tune, an old village song her late father used to sing to her. Hannah came to the river every evening; the routine was as natural as breathing.

But today felt different. A strange silence wrapped around the riverbank. The usual sounds of splashing water from fishermen were absent.

Then—splash.

A harsh, violent sound tore through the quiet evening. Her eyes flew open. She dropped her clay pot, letting it shatter on the ground as she sprinted toward the water. At first, she saw nothing. Then she noticed a body floating half-submerged, drifting helplessly. Her heart raced.

“Oh God, somebody is drowning!”

Without thinking twice, without fear, Hannah leaped into the water. The cold hit her like a slap, but she pushed forward. Her arms cut through the water with urgency as she swam toward the sinking stranger. When she reached him, his body was heavy and limp.

His eyes were closed, his lips pale, his skin cold. He was barely alive.

Using every ounce of her strength, she dragged him to the riverbank and rolled him onto the ground. Water gushed from his mouth, but he still was not breathing. Hannah trembled, fear gripping her heart. She leaned over him, pressing her ear to his chest.

Nothing.

Silence.

“No, no, please don’t die,” she cried softly.

She did not know who he was. She did not know where he came from, but she refused to let him slip away. With shaking hands, she tilted his head back just the way the village nurse had once taught her. She placed her lips on his—warm, firm, desperate—and breathed life into him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Suddenly, he coughed violently, choking out water. His chest rose sharply. His eyelids fluttered.

Hannah gasped with relief, tears filling her eyes.

Dominic’s blurred vision slowly caught the outline of a girl hovering over him. Her face was beautiful, soft, glowing—an angel coated in golden light. But before his sight cleared, she panicked. Her heart pounding, she stood up and ran.

She vanished into the trees, too shy and afraid to stay.

Dominic’s hand reached weakly toward where she had disappeared. His lips parted.

“Who are you?”

But only the wind answered him.

Two days had passed since the incident at the riverbank. Yet Hannah still found herself thinking about the stranger whose life she had saved. She did not know his name, where he came from, or why he had been lying helpless by the riverbank. All she knew was the feeling she had when she pressed her lips to his—desperate, shaky, innocent—and the way he had gasped back to life as if dragged from the edge of death.

She tried to push the thought away as she went about her chores: fetc