Two rivals. One fate. The path forward is not strength, but unity.
The sacred plateau atop the Abiriba hills was nothing like Uzoaru and Nwanne expected.
There were no grand shrines or flaming altars—only a vast circle of stones arranged in perfect symmetry, worn smooth by time. At the center sat the Oracle. A woman. Old. Her hair white as chalk, coiled like smoke around her head. Her skin shimmered in the morning light, as though dusted with powdered gold. And her eyes… her eyes saw too much.
"You come," she said without looking up. "Two shadows of one fate. One heart burdened by love, the other by hunger."
Neither maiden responded at first. They stood, unsure, until the Oracle beckoned with a crooked finger. Uzoaru stepped forward first. She bowed low, her hand trembling as she offered the token from the palace: a carved pendant from the prince's neck, a symbol of royal blood.
The Oracle touched the pendant, then touched Uzoaru's forehead. A rush of wind spiraled from the ground, rustling her wrapper and drawing up dust.
"The prince is caught in a binding of pride and prophecy," the Oracle said. "He drank from the sacred stream without rite, ignoring the warnings of his elders. Now his spirit lingers between worlds."
Uzoaru's heart clenched.
"Can he be saved?" she asked.
"Yes," the Oracle replied. "But only by one who journeys to the River of Echoes, gathers the bark of the silent tree, and sings the name of the first ancestor under the moon's gaze."
She turned to Nwanne now.
"You do not bring a token. Only ambition."
Nwanne lowered her eyes, swallowing her pride.
"I want to help," she said. "I want to save him too."
The Oracle's laugh was low and rusted, like dry leaves scraping stone.
"You want to win him. That is not the same."
Nwanne's fists clenched at her side.
"Then let me prove myself," she whispered.
The Oracle rose slowly. Her form seemed taller than the sky for a moment, stretching like a shadow over both girls. The wind grew sharp, carrying voices—chants in old Abiriba tongue, words forgotten by most.
"You must both go," she declared. "Together. For the curse will not break unless the hearts of rivals beat in unison."
She reached into her woven pouch and brought out two charms—silver leaves carved from bone.
"These will protect your minds," she said. "But know this: the River of Echoes remembers all things. If your hearts are not clean, your secrets will rise to drown you."
Uzoaru took her charm with reverence. Nwanne hesitated, then accepted hers, eyes filled with questions.
As they turned to leave, the Oracle called out once more.
"One of you will return with what the prince needs."
"And the other?" Uzoaru asked.
The Oracle's eyes turned skyward.
"Will return with what the prince deserves."
Then she sat once more, her form vanishing into the rising mist.
The path forward was clear—but the bond between the maidens was now as fragile as the charms they wore.
And the journey into the River of Echoes was just beginning.