The quiet of the Makeni coastline was a deception—a thin, mirror-like surface stretched over boiling chaos.
Nkemesit stumbled onto the beach, the sand cool beneath her bare feet, her breath ragged. She pushed deeper into the shadow of the jungle island. The air thickened with the smell of wet earth and ancient, whispering forces. She had to blur her presence. She had to confuse the sea and silence the powerful life growing inside her.
She knelt in a clearing and pulled out the river-sand and dried roots her mother, Isalena, had prepared years ago. This was their most delicate and dangerous family magic—the Binding of Essence. A spell that made a witch's soul seem distant, hazy, unrooted from her body.
Nkemesit began the chant.
Pain shot through her skull—sharp as Nkema's psychic needles, but this time self-inflicted. She forced her mind to detach from her flesh, urging the unborn heir to dim its fierce, royal light.
A final, burning spike of agony ripped across her temples. Her vision blurred. Darkness swallowed the trees.
Nkemesit collapsed, the river-sand scattering around her.
The Immortal's Fury
Aboard the disguised fishing boat, Spear of Aziza, Odion gripped the tiller so hard his knuckles whitened. The current seemed steady, the wind calm. They were leaving, honoring Nkemesit's impossible request.
Then Chief Priest Mazi gave a strangled cry.
"Look!"
A streak of heatless white light—Nkema's unmistakable signature—cut diagonally across the sky, aimed straight toward the jungle island.
"The binding failed," Nnamdi whispered, horror freezing his voice. "She saw through it."
Odion didn't hesitate. The warrior returned to his bones like a second heartbeat. He wrenched the tiller brutally, forcing the ship into a sharp turn. They were going back.
The coastline finally came into view.
Nkemesit lay motionless. And above her, shimmering and half-formed in white fire, stood Nkema, the Immortal Queen.
Her presence warped the air. She noticed the scattered sand, the failed ritual.
"Foolish, pathetic sister!" Nkema hissed, her voice cold and layered with centuries. She raised a hand, gathering obsidian shards meant to end Nkemesit instantly.
But then—the air thickened.
A low hum rose from the ground itself. The scattered river-sand began to glow, not with witch-light, but with a warm, ancient emerald.
The glow spread from Nkemesit's unconscious form, swelling like a protective mist.
The power of the River Omu—an old force that had guarded their lineage before kingdoms learned to speak—awakened.
The green light struck Nkema like a burning wall. She shrieked—a mix of pain and rage.
"The balance!" she roared. "You cannot stop me! The ritual was broken long ago!"
The shield tightened, pressing against her, forcing her aura to shrink. She fought back, immortal power straining, but the river's defense grew stronger the longer she resisted.
Desperate, Nkema condensed the remaining obsidian shards and hurled them downward.
Odion's Charge
"Adanna! Nnamdi! Hold the line!" Odion roared.
He leaped off the boat, Aziza's Tooth gleaming in his grip. He sprinted across the sand like a storm, abandoning strategy for instinct.
He charged the Immortal.
"Nkema! Face me!" he shouted, a mortal challenging a god.
Surprised, Nkema shifted her focus toward him—and at that moment, the river's shield flared, lashing against her exposed aura.
With a final scream of fury, Nkema exploded upward in a crack of shattering air. Her form dissolved into white fire and vanished.
The battle was over—for now.
Odion dropped his sword and scooped Nkemesit into his arms. She was pale but breathing. He carried her back to the boat with the careful desperation of a man holding something irreplaceable.
🏰 The Citadel of Refuge
Adanna immediately began stabilizing Nkemesit, her emerald healing magic intertwining with the fading river-light.
Mazi stared into the sky, his old eyes trembling.
"The ritual did not fail," he rasped. "It was merely incomplete. The blurring technique exposed the heir… but when Nkema struck, the Omu River intervened. It recognized the unborn child as the balancing force—the third daughter who was never born."
Nnamdi swallowed. "So the river protected her?"
"Yes," Mazi said. "But the shield will not return. It is a single flare of ancient power. When Nkema comes again, she will be prepared."
He turned to Odion. "There is only one place where the life she carries can be born safely. A place Nkema cannot enter."
"Where?" Odion demanded.
"The Citadel of the Dwarf Witches. They are bound to the oldest ley lines of the earth. Their ward rejects any magic tainted by royal blood. Nkema is locked out."
"Then we go," Odion said instantly.
"But the location is lost," Nnamdi warned, pulling out his damp maps. "The only map was hidden in the city we fled."
Mazi nodded gravely. "The Royal Library of Makeni."
The Makeni Infiltration
Under cover of darkness, the Spear of Aziza cut silently through the water toward Makeni. Odion and Nnamdi prepared for infiltration. Every second felt like a heartbeat of suspense.
Nnamdi scanned the docks first, memorizing the guards' movements. He whispered to Odion, "They rotate in seven-minute cycles. At the third shift, the east gate is minimally guarded."
Odion nodded. "Then we go there."
They slipped ashore, moving like shadows. Each creaking plank of the dock made Odion's heart race. Nnamdi, despite the tension, maintained a quiet focus, calculating distances, timing, and lines of sight.
They reached the palace walls. The first guards were a test of etiquette. Nnamdi bowed, whispered of a forgotten treaty, and passed with deceptive calm. Odion's blade remained ready, just in case.
The Map Vault was cunningly guarded. Five ceremonial locks, each with a unique pattern, required precise motions and timing. One mistake and an alarm—magical or physical—would sound.
Nnamdi's fingers danced over the levers, turning them in sequences remembered from old court scrolls. Odion kept watch, muscles coiled, every shadow a potential threat. A guard passed too close—Odion froze, holding his breath until he moved on. Another patrol nearly glanced their direction, but Nnamdi's whispered charm distracted them.
Finally, a soft click echoed. The vault door sighed open.
Moonlight revealed the stone tablet, its glittering iron lines almost alive in the dim light: the Map to the Citadel of the Dwarf Witches.
Nnamdi wrapped the tablet carefully in thick linen, Odion scanning for any sign of pursuit. They retraced their steps, more cautious than before. Every guard, every creaking floorboard could betray them.
As they stepped onto the docks, a horn split the night air. Then another. Then dozens.
Odion froze.
Black-sailed ships emerged from the horizon, torches burning red across their prows. The Makeni Fleet surged forward, coordinated and menacing.
At the lead, a tall figure in ceremonial dark robes raised his staff. His eyes glowed with controlled, cold sorcery.
Councilman Dara of Makeni—King Adekunle's adviser and secret wizard loyal to Nkema—called out:
"Thieves of Makeni!
Return the sacred map,
or be judged by fire!"
Rows of archers readied their arrows. Sorcerers stepped forward. Drums pounded, echoing across the water.
Odion gripped the wrapped map. Nnamdi whispered, "They've blocked the sea. We're trapped."
And the Makeni fleet surged toward them, leaving them exposed and outnumbered on the pier, the irreplaceable map now an anchor of death.