The Guardian Spirit of the Paraná
Reading time: 6 min
About this story: The Guardian Spirit of the Paraná is a set in the . This tale explores themes of and is suitable for . It offers insights. A fisherman’s defiance of the Paraná’s legend leads him to an unforgettable encounter with its Guardian Spirit.
The Whisper of the River
The Paraná River, a vast and untamed artery of life, winds its way through Paraguay like an ancient storyteller, whispering tales of old. Its waters have seen centuries of change, bearing silent witness to the rise and fall of empires, to the struggles of fishermen, and to the secrets buried beneath its depths. But among all the stories it carries, one legend remains timeless—the tale of Anahí, the Guardian Spirit of the Paraná.
No one truly knows where she came from. Some say she was once a Guaraní woman, a protector of the river who defied invaders and was granted eternal life by the gods. Others claim she was never human at all but rather a spirit born from the water itself, an ancient force that ensures balance between man and nature.
It is said that she appears when the river is in danger—sometimes as a shadow beneath the waves, sometimes as a ghostly figure gliding across the current, her hair floating like riverweed. And when she speaks, her voice is not heard but felt, carried in the ripples of the water.
Many believe in her. Others scoff at the mere mention of her name.
Diego Ferreira was one of the skeptics.
A fisherman by trade, he had spent his life navigating the Paraná’s unpredictable waters. He had heard the old stories, the warnings passed down from generation to generation. But to him, they were nothing more than superstitions—tales designed to keep children from wandering too close to the river’s edge.
But legends have a way of making themselves known, whether one believes in them or not.
And Diego was about to learn that some spirits are more than just stories.
A Fisherman’s Doubt
Diego had always prided himself on being a man of reason. He understood the river, not through myths, but through experience—through years of watching its currents, studying the migration of fish, and predicting the weather before a storm.
That morning, as the first light of dawn stretched across the sky, he set out alone in his wooden boat. The air was thick with mist, the scent of wet earth and decaying leaves filling his nostrils. The river was unusually quiet—no birds calling, no insects buzzing. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stir.
Diego paid it no mind. He had fished these waters for decades; he knew the Paraná’s moods well enough to tell when it would be generous and when it would be stubborn.
Rowing out toward a deeper section of the river, he cast his net, humming an old tune under his breath. But when he pulled it in, it was empty.
Puzzled, he tried again. And again.
Nothing.
His frustration grew. The Paraná had always been unpredictable, but never like this. It was as if something beneath the surface was keeping the fish away—pushing them deeper, out of reach.
Then, the water stirred.
A ripple moved against the current, unnatural and deliberate. Diego frowned, leaning over the edge of his boat. The river was deep, but even in the dim morning light, he could see something shifting beneath the surface.
Then—eyes.
Golden, luminous eyes staring up at him from the depths.
He jerked back, his breath catching in his throat. For a brief moment, the figure of a woman appeared—her hair floating around her like silk, her gaze locked onto his.
Then, she was gone.
Diego sat frozen, gripping the edges of his boat. His heart pounded in his chest. He told himself it was a trick of the light, the reflection of the rising sun on the water.
But deep down, something inside him stirred—a feeling he hadn't known in years.
Doubt.
The River’s Warning
The unease lingered long after the vision had disappeared. Diego continued fishing, but the river refused to yield its bounty. Hours passed, and yet his nets remained empty, as if the Paraná itself was rejecting him.
Annoyed, he muttered under his breath, “Damn stories. Making me see things.”
He rowed further into the river, determined to prove to himself that nothing supernatural was at play. He reached a spot where the water was deeper, where he knew fish should be abundant.
Ignoring the growing tension in his chest, he cast his net once more.
This time, he felt something.
The net tugged, heavy with weight. Relief flooded him—finally, he had a catch. But as he pulled it in, he saw that it was not fish tangled in his net.
It was bones.
Human bones.
Diego stumbled backward, his breath turning to ice. The skeletal remains were wrapped in riverweed, as if the water itself had claimed them long ago. He had heard of old drownings, of forgotten stories buried beneath the Paraná’s waves. But why here? Why now?
A gust of wind tore across the river, howling through the trees. The sky, once clear, darkened with unnatural speed. The water, once still, began to churn.
And then, a voice.
Not spoken aloud, but felt deep in his chest, as if the river itself was whispering to him.
“Leave.”
A chill ran down Diego’s spine.
The river had given him a warning.
And he had ignored it.
The Tempest
The storm struck without warning.
The sky cracked open, releasing a downpour so fierce that Diego could barely see beyond the edge of his boat. The river, once calm, turned violent—waves rising unnaturally high, tossing him like a mere twig.
Diego rowed with all his strength, but the current was too strong. The Paraná had turned against him, as if it had a will of its own.
Then, he saw her again.
Anahí.
She stood atop the waves, her form luminous against the darkness, her eyes burning with something beyond anger—something close to sorrow.
A massive wave rose behind her, curling like the hand of a god.
Diego barely had time to cry out before it came crashing down.
Then—darkness.
Between the Worlds
He was sinking.
The water was endless, the river stretching into an abyss with no bottom. His lungs burned, his limbs felt heavy, but he could not move.
And then—Anahí was there.
Her presence surrounded him, not like the weight of water, but something else. Something ancient.
“You take, but do not give,” the voice murmured. “You demand, but do not respect. You have forgotten the river’s gifts.”
Diego struggled to respond, but the words were not his to speak.
Anahí raised her hand.
For a moment, the silence was absolute.
Then—he was rising.
A Changed Man
Diego woke on the shore, his clothes soaked, his body aching. The storm had passed. The river was calm once more, as if nothing had happened.
But he knew better.
He had been given a warning.
From that day forward, Diego was a different man. He fished only what he needed. He no longer took the river for granted.
And every morning, before casting his net, he whispered a quiet prayer.
To the Guardian of the Paraná.
Because now—he believed.
