The days blurred into a fragile calm. Azuji rebuilt, its people moving with a quieter confidence, as if the air itself had been wrung of tension. Naia spent mornings tending to crops and nights poring over Adebayo's ancient texts, searching for whispers of the Dweller's origin. Kofi's sealed letter burned in her pocket, unopened—a promise she'd kept, even from the others.
Tyra, still fragile, avoided the group, sketching somber patterns in charcoal. Jax and Mina worked alongside villagers, repairing homes, their laughter tentative but genuine. Lara tended Kofi's garden, as if hope might sprout there. The mood was a held breath.
One evening, as crickets tuned the twilight, Adebayo summoned Naia to his hut. Shadows danced on walls, thick with premonition.
"Kofi's letter," he said, voice low, handing her a worn knife. "Open it. Now."
Naia sliced the envelope, her pulse quickening. Inside, a folded note, scribbled hastily:
_"Naia, if you're reading this, I hid what they want. Trust no one. The Dweller wasn't the danger. Follow the iboligwe."_
—Iboligwe. Naia's chest tightened. An old word for "hidden paths"—a network of secret tunnels beneath Azuji, used by ancestors to evade slave traders centuries ago.
"What does it mean?" Adebayo leaned closer, scent of kola wafting from his cup.
"Kofi knew something," Naia said, voice barely audible. "He meant for us to find an escape. But escape _what_?"
Adebayo's eyes clouded. "The iboligwe were abandoned generations ago. Rumors say they're cursed—old fears buried deeper than the Dweller."
Naia folded the letter, unease creeping. "You said something was afraid of _us_. What?"
The old man's gaze drifted to a framed photo: Naia's mother, a healer who'd died unraveling a similar mystery. "Your bloodline saw patterns others missed. Your mother followed whispers here… just like you."
A knock broke the tension. Jax entered, eyes sharp. "Tyra's missing. She left a note: _'Following Kofi.'"_
Naia's gut clenched. "The iboligwe. She thinks Kofi's alive."
Adebayo stood, joints cracking. "Then we follow. Tonight. The tunnels are treacherous—colonial-era traps, if not newer dangers. Whoever—or whatever—wants silence, it'll kill to keep secrets."
By midnight, they assembled at the old apothecary: Naia, Jax, Lara, Mina. Adebayo led, carrying a lantern that cast twisted shadows. Tyra's charcoal sketch fluttered in Naia's hand—a crude map, an "X" marking a crossroads below the abandoned church.
"The entrance is hidden in Kofi's family's loft," Adebayo whispered. "Quiet. If Tyra's in there, she's a thread someone'll pull."
They descended, roots snaking through crumbling steps, the air thickening with stale earth. Mina coughed; Jax covered her mouth. Ancient symbols etched walls—warnings in a dead language.
_Split-second decision: follow the left fork (safer) or right fork (quicker)._ Adebayo hesitated, then veered right. Cobwebs clift, and a floor dropped beneath Lara's foot. Jax caught her, breath hissing.
"Almost there," Adebayo murmured, sweat beading.
The tunnel spat them into a cavern—roots shattered a colonial-era door. Crates lay overturned, marked with a symbol Naia didn't recognize: a crescent biting its tail.
Tyra knelt, back to them, staring at a pit. Kofi's voice whispered, echoing… _"Run."_
"Tyra, no!" Naia lunged, but it was too late.
A platform creaked beneath her. Tyra fell, vanishing into blackness. The others rushed, lanterns swinging wildly. Naia peered over the edge—a well, bottomless dark, a draft sucking sound upward.
A light flickered below. Footsteps, retreating. A voice, not Tyra's, not Kofi's, whispered: _"Yours soon."_
The platform shuddered. Adebayo yanked them back as a trapdoor slammed, sealing the pit. Dust choked them.
"Kofi's alive," Jax growled. "And someone's playing us."
Lara's eyes brimmed. "What do they want?"
Naia examined the crescent symbol—a modern stamp, not ancient. "Not the Dweller. Something newer. Something using us."
Adebayo caged his lantern, face grim. "The iboligwe connect to more than history. Someone knows we'll follow."
Silence fell, heavy as the earth. They had two choices: abandon Tyra, or descend more deeper. Naia glanced at the others.
"We go down."
Mina's voice trembled. "What if we're walking into a trap?"
Naia's jaw set. "Kofi trusted us. Tyra's counting on us."
Adebayo handed her a hidden dagger. "Your mother said: _'In darkness, light is always the choice.'"_
The group nodded—a fragile pact. They'd unravel the thread, no matter where it led.
As they hunted for an alternate route, a draft whispered Kofi's name. The crescent symbol glowed faintly on a crate. A message appeared, etched by an unseen hand:
_"Come alone, Naia. Trade secrets for Tyra. The Oriri want you."_
*Oriri.* Adebayo's face drained. "They're shadows. No one names them and lives."
Naia folded the paper, resolve hardening. "They want me. I'll go."
"No," Jax said, voice low but firm. "We go. Together and succeed together.
The tunnel seemed to shrink, secrets pressing in. They knew now: the Dweller was a mask.
Something in Azuji's shadows had awakened, and it wanted Naia—alive.
The darkness outside felt like anticipation. Inside, fear sharpened more