The Executioner's Field. Back in the lodge, Odion demanded: "How did you know?"
"The robe," Stoneway explained. "I noticed that the shadows under her left arm suggested the fine, dark hair of youth. Yet, the shadows of the right side were too clean, too smooth. Princess Adanna seeks a husband, yet she carries a heavy secret. She hid that private hair in her own closed palm."
Odion scoffed at the simplicity, but Nnamdi looked at the dwarf with dawning respect. "It was the keenest form of wisdom: paying attention to what others dismiss as ordinary."
The second day was a spectacle of manic, jubilant crowds. Princess Adanna appeared, her gaze holding a cold, unwavering fury directed at Nnamdi. She spoke the second riddle: "How many heads does the Monster of the Obsidian Shores possess?" Nnamdi knew it was a trap.
Stoneway leaned forward and whispered into Nnamdi's ear. Nnamdi strode to the podium, ignoring the shouted advice of the other princes. "Princess," Nnamdi declared, his voice trembling slightly, "the legends lie to protect the innocent. It possesses fourteen heads!"
The crowd gasped in unison, feeling he had failed by doubling the known legend. But the Princess's expression spoke a terrible confirmation. Nnamdi had won the second riddle.
That night, Odion and Stoneway were vigilant. "The Princess goes to her true love," Stoneway whispered urgently. Odion and his trusted twelve soldiers followed the dwarf into the deep forest bordering a great, surging river. They saw Princess Adanna, not in silk, but in coarse, worn leather robes, riding upon a colossal, multi-headed creature—the Monster of the Obsidian Shores, all fourteen heads clear in the moonlight.
"He asks for one of my heads, little bride," the beast's thoughts echoed in the air. "That is the final riddle, and it is the only one they cannot win."
Nnamdi, heartbroken by the truth, knew the final riddle was a bloody demand. Odion drew his ancestral blade. "Then the time for poetry is over, brother. If the riddle demands a head, we shall deliver four." Nnamdi poured the dust from the Princess's footprints into the river. The Monster erupted from the forest in a towering rage. The soldiers held their line, and Odion, the master strategist, led the assault. Soldiers died, but with agonizing effort, Odion succeeded, severing four of the monster's fourteen terrible heads.
The third day arrived, and the City of Light was consumed by a frenzy. Princess Adanna entered the arena, her movements slow, her face pale. She smiled, but the expression was tight, hopeful, and desperate—she was betting on the impossible nature of the task.
After the rituals, the Princess raised her hand in an elegant gesture of fatal demand. "Prince Nnamdi of Aziza," she spoke. "The final riddle is this: I ask for a single head of the Monster of the Obsidian Shores. Present it, and the hand of Elara's daughter is yours."
Nnamdi allowed a long, agonizing silence to stretch across the field, making the Princess's face shift to deep, sickening doubt. Finally, Nnamdi spoke, his voice steady. "You asked for one head, Princess, but I shall present four."
Prince Odion unslung a heavy sack and tipped the contents onto the ground. Four massive, grotesque heads rolled before the royal dais. The King and Queen stared, frozen in utter disbelief. The Princess gave a choked cry, covering her mouth with trembling hands, and fled the arena in tears.
That night, a reluctant, devastated Princess Adanna was led to the grand lodge where Nnamdi and his brother waited. Odion and Stoneway were vigilant. The warrior prince, trusting the dwarf, laid a trap: a deep pit covered by fragile matting in the center of the lodge floor.
In the deepest hour of the night, the earth began to tremble. The enraged Lord of the Coast, its remaining ten heads twisting in fury, charged the lodge. It crushed the cedar wall but plunged headlong into the deep pit. As the monster struggled, Odion and his soldiers struck with spears, fire, and scalding water.
With a final, agonizing shriek, the beast died. A shadow—dark, cold, and shapeless—ripped itself free from the Princess's body and vanished. Adanna stopped crying. The haunted look vanished. She was free.
She rushed to Odion, who was collapsed and bleeding severely from several deep wounds. Adanna knelt, her hands glowing with the pure, life-giving light of her healing gift. She placed her palms over his wounds, and the grievous gashes began to close, the blood staunching, the pain fading. The warrior prince was healed, weak but whole. She embraced her husband, Nnamdi, the poet who had saved her soul.
The next day, the City of Light truly rejoiced. Princess Adanna was the prize of the courageous Prince Nnamdi. As the princes prepared to board the Spear of Aziza, Nnamdi sought out the dwarf, Stoneway.
They had reached the shore of the Island of Ota—the place where they had paused on the journey here. Stoneway declined the offer of a place of honour or a chest of gold. He simply asked for a small boat to be lowered so he could alight on the shore.
"My Prince," Stoneway said, looking at Nnamdi with a deep, peaceful gaze. "I am merely a debtor. You paid the debt of my miserable flesh, allowing my spirit to pass through the veil. I could not pass on until my debt to the living was fully paid. You set my soul free. I have repaid you by granting you wisdom when you needed sight, and now, we are even."
The small man of stone stepped out of the boat and onto the sands of Ota. He gave a final, solemn bow, and with a silent tremor in the air, dissolved into the dust. The two Princes looked at each other, the warrior and the poet, now forever bound by the greatest adventure of their lives. They boarded the Spear of Aziza, and with the healing Princess Adanna by their side, they sailed home to save their ailing King and usher in the new Age of Aziza.
The sky blazed with torches. Drums thundered across the plains. Thousands gathered beneath the great stone arches for the ancient marriage rite.
Nkema walked through the palace like a queen born. She was expected—destined—to be chosen by Prince Oran, the warrior heir.
Nkemesit moved quietly behind her, unnoticed by most.
The princes arrived:
Prince Oran, the warrior—storm-eyed, fire-blooded.
Prince Kelan, the poet—soft-spoken, gentle as the dawn.
Tradition demanded the Rite of Spirit Sensing. The heir must place his hand inside the sacred mantle of each witch to feel the strength of her soul.
The crowd fell to silence.
Oran tested Nkema first. The witch-flames around them flickered a strong, predictable red. Approval rippled through the elders.
Then he stepped to Nkemesit.
When he touched her—
The flames exploded white.
A wind roared through the courtyard. The torches bent, nearly extinguished. The drums fell silent on their own.
Prophecy had awoken.
Prince Oran staggered back as if struck by lightning.
And then—
Against every law, every tradition, every expectation—
He chose Nkemesit. The younger witch.
Gasps cut the air. Silence collapsed over the kingdom like a stone slab.
Nkema did not move, but her eyes darkened into something ancient. Something dangerous.
King Akor looked to Queen Avela in alarm.
She whispered, "Let the choice stand. The era shifts. I cannot see the future—this alone tells me the world is changing."
And so the drums resumed. Music forced the night back into motion.
The marriages were completed:
Prince Oran wed Nkemesit, the unexpected bride.
Prince Kelan accepted Nkema, though the flames in her eyes foretold storms.
Three days later, King Akor died. As custom demanded, Queen Avela was buried alive beside him, to guide him in the next realm.
The earth sealed them away.
The kingdom bowed.
And in the river hut far away, Mother Isalena felt the ground tremble beneath her.
A destiny had been broken. A forbidden path had opened.
For Nkema—wronged, proud, and carrying the secrets of immortality—had begun to listen to the hunger whispering inside her.
The hunger for the heart of a king.