The morning broke over Umuaka like a drumbeat—sharp, insistent, carrying a tension that made the birds silent. Amaka woke to the scent of smoke, the faint metallic tang of iron. Chike was already awake, sitting by the open window of the compound, hands wrapped around his knees, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if he could see the river itself writhing beneath the land.
"Something wrong?" she asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
He shook his head slowly, his voice low, carrying a weight she hadn't heard before. "The river… Mami Wata's mark, it's not just on you. Something… deeper stirs."
Before she could question him, a shout rang from the courtyard. Nneka appeared, running, her wrapper fluttering, a wild urgency in her small frame. "Amaka! The shrine… smoke!"
They raced outside. The villagers had gathered around Okeke's shrine, the air thick with tension. The chalk symbols he had drawn for the gods' protection glowed faintly, flickering like dying stars. The iron blade on the altar quivered violently, vibrating against the stone. Even from a distance, Amaka could see the silver runes etched into the blade twisting and coiling, almost alive.
Okeke's voice thundered. "Stay back! The balance… it shifts again!"
Then, without warning, the ground beneath the altar cracked. A thin line of water spurted from the fissure, dark and oily. The crowd screamed as a shadow rose from it—long, serpentine, scales glinting black. It moved like liquid iron, weaving through the villagers, leaving fear in its wake.
Amaka's amulet burned against her chest. She felt Chike's hand close around hers, grounding her. "It's testing us," she whispered. "Not just the river. The world."
The creature's head rose above the altar, eyes like molten metal, and it hissed a voice that reverberated through the village. "The Daughter and the Ironborn… your love defies the tide. But the tide remembers."
Chike stepped forward, fists tightening. "Then let it remember me too!"
He ran, the ground beneath him cracking as sparks of iron danced from his footsteps. Amaka followed, Nneka clutching her waist as they approached the creature. The river's smell intensified, the wind whipping through the village, carrying whispers of old debts, old sins.
Amaka lifted her amulet. The spiral glowed white-hot, and for a moment, the creature recoiled, its form wavering. "We are not your pawns!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the water and earth alike.
Suddenly, the air split with a blinding light. From the horizon came a figure—draped in red and gold, Sango's presence undeniable. Lightning crackled across the sky as if answering her call. The villagers fell to their knees, shielding their eyes.
Sango's voice was both thunder and laughter. "So, the Daughter of the River and the Son of Iron test their bond. The storm obeys those who dare."
The serpent recoiled again, the metallic hiss rising to a scream. Sparks of lightning collided with the iron, and Chike caught them in his palms, molding them into a crude hammer of light and metal. The crowd gasped as molten iron and electricity twisted in his hands, reflecting in Amaka's wide eyes.
"Chike, together!" she called. Her amulet pulsed in rhythm with his forged lightning hammer, their energies synchronizing. Nneka's small hands glowed as well, holding a fragment of the river's own essence she had touched in the cavern. Together, they formed a triangle of power, forcing the creature backward.
But just as they thought they had gained control, the creature's form split, revealing two more serpents emerging from the fissure, each larger than the last. The villagers scattered, screaming. Smoke choked the sky, and the iron blade on the altar lifted into the air, spinning like a windmill, slicing the ground where it hovered.
Amaka's heart pounded. She looked at Chike, and he met her gaze, unflinching. "We can't run," he said. "We fight. Not just for us, but for everyone here."
She nodded. "Then we bind them… together."
They charged, Nneka in tow. Chike's hammer collided with the first serpent, sparks flying like fireworks, while Amaka's amulet flared, creating a wave of energy that pushed the second back. Nneka, small but fearless, stepped onto the iron blade, holding the river fragment above her head, chanting words she barely understood, and the blade shot beams of light at the final serpent.
For a moment, time seemed to freeze. The three of them—Daughter, Ironborn, and Child—stood at the vortex of power. Then, with a deafening roar, the serpents shrieked and dissolved into shards of liquid metal, raining down harmlessly on the village square.
The villagers stared in awe and terror, speechless. The altar blade clanged to the ground, lifeless. Okeke stepped forward, eyes wide. "The test… incomplete. But you… survive. For now."
Amaka sank to her knees, Chike's arm around her, Nneka pressed to her chest. The village was silent, the only sound the faint drip of water from the fissure, now closing slowly.
A wind stirred, carrying whispers from far away. "Not done," it said, faint but certain. "The river… the iron… the storm… they call for more."
Chike looked at her, the city farmer and the boy who had grown into something more. "Another one?"
She nodded, her palm still glowing faintly from the amulet's pulse. "Another test. But we no run. We never run."
Far above, lightning danced across the clouds, spelling an ominous warning. And beneath the river, a cowrie shell pulsed once, then twice, then a third time, its light spilling like molten gold across the currents—watching, waiting, as if ready to claim a new debt.
The village of Umuaka would never be the same again and what else will happen.
A black figure stood at the edge of Lagos, silhouetted against the frozen clock hands of midnight. Its eyes burned with the same molten metal as the serpents. It whispered into the wind: "The Daughter awakens. The Ironborn rises. And I… am coming."