Dawn crept slowly over the valley, touching the charred land with hesitant fingers of light. Smoke still curled from the blackened roots, but beneath the ruin, something stirred—tiny sprouts pushing through the ash, glistening with dew. The world was trying to heal.
Ikenna sat alone at the edge of the Heart Mound, his staff planted in the soil beside him. His breathing was shallow, his skin pale, and faint golden veins pulsed beneath his arms like dying embers. Every connection to the land came with a cost, and he had spent almost all of his strength to seal the Devourer away.
Still, he smiled faintly. "You held on, didn't you?" he whispered to the soil.
The ground hummed softly beneath his palm—an answer, faint but alive.
From behind him, Adaeze approached quietly, a woven basket in her hands. She wore a simple robe now, her once-polished armor set aside. Her hair was messy, her eyes tired, but her presence radiated calm strength.
"You haven't eaten since last night," she said gently, setting the basket beside him. Inside were roasted yams and herbs, still warm. "The healers say your pulse feels strange."
He chuckled weakly. "Strange? That's one way to put it."
She frowned, kneeling beside him. "You burned your spirit core too far. You can't keep doing that, Ikenna. Every time you touch the Heart like that, you draw from yourself."
"I know," he said softly, looking out over the recovering land. "But if I don't… who will?"
Adaeze's gaze softened. "You're not alone anymore. The Guardians will follow you. Even Elder Nnadozie said the earth itself has chosen you."
At that, Ikenna's expression shifted. "Chosen," he repeated quietly. "Or cursed?"
Adaeze opened her mouth to argue—but stopped when the wind changed.
It wasn't the normal morning breeze. It carried a low vibration, almost a whisper, like thousands of voices murmuring beneath the surface. Ikenna stiffened. The soil under his hand trembled.
Then, he heard it.
"Guardian…"
The voice was deep—ancient, layered—as though the earth itself was speaking through stone and root.
Adaeze looked around sharply. "Did you hear that?"
Ikenna rose slowly, gripping his staff. "It's the soil… speaking again."
The ground pulsed, faint light spreading through the cracks. The whisper grew louder.
"The seal weakens… He feeds on the roots that remain…"
Ikenna's heart thudded. "Orodi."
The voice faded into a sigh. "Your bond ties you to the Devourer. His corruption seeps where your roots reach. To save the land… you must sever the link."
Adaeze's eyes widened. "Sever the link? But that would—"
"Kill me," Ikenna finished grimly. He looked down at his hands, golden veins still faintly glowing. "The Heart bound us both when the seal formed. My life force anchors it."
Adaeze shook her head. "There has to be another way. We can strengthen the barrier, use the runes again—"
He touched her shoulder gently. "I appreciate your faith, Adaeze. But if the soil itself says the bond is poison, then maybe I've become part of what I swore to fight."
She grabbed his wrist, her eyes fierce. "Don't talk like that. You are the soil's hope, not its curse."
He met her gaze, silent for a moment, then nodded. "Maybe you're right. Maybe hope can still fight corruption."
A figure appeared in the distance—Elder Nnadozie, leaning heavily on his staff as he climbed the ridge. His robes were tattered, and his eyes were tired but burning with wisdom.
"So, you've heard it too," he said as he approached. "The soil's voice reaches every Guardian now. Orodi gnaws at the seal's edges."
"What do we do?" Adaeze asked quickly.
The elder's gaze drifted to Ikenna. "We prepare for a second awakening. The first sealed him; the next must cleanse the bond itself."
Ikenna frowned. "Cleanse? How?"
Nnadozie raised his staff toward the sunrise. "By returning to the Source. The original Garden—the cradle where the first seeds of life took root. Deep within the Eastern Mountains lies a pool of pure essence. The Soil's Blood. If you reach it before Orodi does, it may heal what was tainted."
Adaeze exhaled. "And if he reaches it first?"
"Then he'll drink from it," the elder said gravely. "And rebirth himself with the land's heart. No barrier, no spell, no Guardian will stop him then."
Silence fell.
Ikenna's grip on his staff tightened. "Then we move before dawn tomorrow."
Nnadozie nodded slowly. "The journey is perilous. The paths are guarded by the remnants of the old world—spirits that even I dare not wake. You'll need strength… and trust."
Adaeze stood beside Ikenna. "He won't go alone. Not while I breathe."
The elder's wrinkled lips twitched into a faint smile. "Then may the soil guide your roots."
As the sun rose higher, the light spilled across the valley—bright, warm, defiant. But beneath the golden glow, the earth whispered still, restless and uneasy.
And far beneath the roots, in the dark belly of the sealed chasm, something stirred.
Orodi's laughter echoed faintly through the soil.
"Run while you can, Guardian… every seed must die before it grows."
The earth quivered, as if in dread.