The Aetherium Genesis Institute was quiet now. The hum of machines had faded to a low, steady pulse beneath the floors — like the heartbeat of a sleeping beast. The green light from the Dryad's containment orb still flickered faintly through the glass walls, painting the corridors with ghostly veins of color.
Diviner Zuberi walked alone through those halls, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. Guards saluted as he passed, unaware of the storm behind his calm eyes. When he reached the end of the west wing, he stopped before a heavy iron door marked Authorized Personnel Only.
He placed his hand against the runic sigil at its center. The door unlocked with a hiss.
The room beyond was simple, dimly lit by candles that flickered without wind. Books and scrolls lined the walls, but their inked sigils pulsed faintly, as though alive. Zuberi closed the door behind him, exhaled, and pressed his fingers against his temples.
He didn't have to turn around to know he wasn't alone.
"So," came a soft voice — smooth as smoke, sharp as the edge of glass — "what of this Institute, Diviner?"
A woman stood by the far wall, draped entirely in black. Her face was obscured by a veil of shadow that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Only her eyes were visible — two faint glimmers like dying stars.
Zuberi didn't flinch. "I expected you," he said quietly. "You move like a whisper, but your presence is… heavy."
The woman tilted her head slightly, amused. "You always notice me, little deceiver. Now tell me — what have your human kings built this time?"
Zuberi walked to the desk and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. "Desecration," he said, his voice flat. "They've captured a Dryad — chained her inside aether fluid to fuel their experiments. They claim it's to heal the land. But the Orishas will not look kindly on humans for that transgression."
The woman in black let out a low hum, like laughter turned to ash. "Then things are going well."
Zuberi turned, arching a brow. "Well?"
"Yes," she said softly, gliding closer. "The more they meddle, the more they anger the Orishas. The veil thins. Balance weakens. And when the scales finally tip, we'll be ready to take what remains."
Zuberi regarded her silently for a long moment. "You speak as if destruction is the only plan."
She smiled — a slow, deliberate curve beneath her hood. "Not destruction. Reclamation."
Zuberi said nothing. He swirled the liquid in his glass, watching it catch the candlelight like liquid fire. "There's more. The Green Aseborn is close— the boy, Leonotis. He and his companions are the onew interfering. They killed the Wigu."
At that, the woman's smile widened, almost imperceptibly. "Ah… the Wigu. Njiru's pet."
"Njiru's tether," Zuberi corrected. "And now that link is severed. He's furious. He'll move rashly, and that suits us."
The woman folded her hands behind her back, pacing slowly. Her movements were silent — not even the whisper of cloth touched the air. "Are you going to handle it?" she asked finally.
Zuberi's lips twitched, a faint smile ghosting across his face. "No need. The pawn is already in motion. I don't have to lift a finger."
"The pawn…" she repeated, the words drawn out like a taste on her tongue. "Njiru."
He inclined his head slightly. "He's predictable. His hatred makes him useful. He'll hunt the boy until one of them burns out."
"Or both," the woman murmured.
"Precisely."
The silence that followed was thick — the kind that seemed to carry weight. The candlelight dimmed slightly, as though even the flames were holding their breath.
Then the woman stepped closer. Her shadow stretched across the floor, touching Zuberi's feet. "You play your role well, little deceiver," she said. "But tell me — how long do you plan to keep up this charade? Those fools still think you're Zuberi."
For a heartbeat, the air shimmered. The illusion cracked.
The tall, regal form of the Diviner flickered — and where he stood, there was now a young girl. Barefoot, pale, and dressed in flowing black robes that trailed like ink across the floor. Her eyes were luminous in the dim light. Her hair spilled down in long black curls.
"What can I say?" she said with a mischievous tilt of her head. "Humans are fools. They see what they want to see."
The woman in black chuckled softly. "Indeed. And how long will you be using that name, child?"
The girl smiled faintly, her sharp teeth glinting between her lips. "Zuberi will do. It has such… authority."
"Careful," the woman warned. "You've spent too long among them. Pretend long enough, and even a lie starts to believe itself."
The girl's smile didn't fade, but her voice softened. "I know what I am. The humans can play at divinity — binding Dryads, draining the world — but they forget that everything they touch is still bound by àṣẹ. And àṣẹ remembers."
The woman's eyes gleamed faintly. "Then we are agreed. Let the King tighten his grip. Let Njiru hunt his ghosts. Let the boy and his friends keep running. The web must tighten before it breaks."
The girl bowed slightly, her hair spilling forward covering her face. "As you command, my sister."
"And when your pawn captures the Green Aseborn," the woman added, turning toward the door, "you will deliver the him to me."
The girl's expression flickered — something unreadable behind her calm. "And if I refuse?"
The woman paused, just before the threshold. "Then I'll remind you of your place."
The candles extinguished themselves, plunging the room into darkness. The sound of the door opening came and went, but no footsteps followed.
The girl stood alone now, bathed in the faint green glow seeping through the cracks of the window — light from the Dryad's prison below. She placed a hand on the glass, feeling the faint vibration of the earth beneath.
Her eyes hardened. "Poor little tree," she whispered. "You're not the only one bound here."
The illusion rippled again — her form stretching, fading — until the tall figure of Diviner Zuberi stood once more, robes pristine, expression serene.
When he stepped out into the corridor, the guards bowed their heads as he passed, none the wiser.
And below, the Dryad's eyes opened fully for the first time.
Her lips parted in a soundless gasp — the faint echo of a word lost to time.