The sanctuary breathed.
Not with air—but with balance.
The low hum deepened beneath the stone floor, a rhythm too slow for the heart yet too deliberate to be ignored. The serpent murals along the pillars shifted again, their carved scales tightening, eyes dimming from protective glow to watchful amber. The Stronghold was no longer merely sheltering them. It was measuring them.
Kafé gasped, fingers digging into the stone as heat rippled across his skin. "Something dey wrong," he whispered. "Fire dey choke me."
Beside him, Taye cried out sharply as frost crawled along his arm, steam hissing where heat and cold collided. "Water dey resist," he groaned. "We no dey flow again."
Imade was on her feet instantly. "Elder," she snapped. "Wetin you no tell us?"
The elder's shoulders sagged, age crashing down on him all at once. "The Stronghold na living covenant," he admitted. "E no just protect. E restore balance by collecting excess."
Adaeze's grip tightened on her blade. "Say am plain."
The elder met her eyes. "Fire and water too powerful together. Sanctuary dey pull dem apart—to keep itself whole."
A tremor ran through the chamber. Cracks spider‑webbed along the altar's edge.
Ngozi staggered, beads slipping from her fingers. "Ancestors warn us," she breathed. "One flame must dim. Or one river must dry."
Silence fell—thick, suffocating
The twins screamed.
Energy surged violently between them, no longer weaving but tearing. Fire lashed outward in wild arcs, scorching stone. Water slammed back in crushing waves, freezing cracks into jagged ice. The air split with thunder as their bond destabilized.
Olumide dragged Seyi backward. "If this continue, dem go tear themselves apart!"
Zoba's pendant flashed erratically. "The bond dey collapsing," she warned. "If severed wrongly, both fit die."
Kafé forced himself upright, pain carving lines into his face. "Then cut am," he rasped. "Better one die than both."
"No!" Imade shouted, moving between them instinctively. "No sacrifice without choice."
The elder raised his staff, voice shaking. "There is… another way."
All eyes turned to him.
"The Stronghold accept substitutes," he said quietly. "A life willingly bound to the covenant. Someone whose blood already touch prophecy."
Imade's breath caught.
Slowly, her gaze slid to the altar.
To Nkem.
---
She shook her head violently. "No. You no go use am again. He don give enough."
The elder's eyes glistened. "His sacrifice already open the door. Binding his spirit will only seal am."
Adaeze stepped forward. "Then bind me."
Seyi followed instantly. "Or me."
Ngozi's voice broke. "Ancestors forbid forced debt."
Before anyone could move, the stone beneath them flared.
Nkem's body glowed.
A soft, painful light rose from his chest—warm, steady, familiar.
Imade collapsed to her knees. "Nkem…?"
His voice echoed—not loud, not ghostly—but calm, like memory made sound. "I choose."
Tears streamed down Imade's face. "You already chose once."
"And I would choose again," the voice replied gently. "Because this fight no end with bodies. E end with balance."
The altar drank the light.
The chamber stilled.
Fire and water snapped back into harmony, the twins gasping as the bond stabilized—changed, tempered, quieter.
The murals' eyes reignited with protective glow.
The Stronghold exhaled.
---
Far above the island, Orunmare screamed.
Not in pain—but in fury.
Something ancient had been sealed beyond his reach. Not destroyed. Denied.
The elder lowered his staff, tears tracing his weathered face. "The covenant don hold," he whispered. "But power always answer sacrifice."
Imade rose slowly, grief hardening into steel. "Then make his choice matter."
Adaeze knelt, blade pressed to stone. "We go end this."
Seyi steadied his sword. "No more running."
The twins stood together, weaker—but clearer. Fire no longer roared. Water no longer raged. They burned and flowed with restraint.
Kafé spoke softly. "We no be weapon again."
Taye nodded. "We be key."
The sanctuary dimmed, no longer draining—only watching.
Outside, the abyss gathered its strength.
Inside, the Resistance understood the truth:
The war would now be fought without mercy—and without second chances