The villagers did not move.
They stood at the mouth of the tunnel, eyes glassy, breaths shallow, as if the world had paused and forgotten to release them. The jungle behind them rustled softly, unaware that something ancient had slipped into human skin.
Imade's arm trembled as she held her rod aloft. "Nobody cross this line," she warned, more to herself than to them. "We go find another way."
Orunmare laughed—low, patient. "Another way always sound sweet until time start to bleed."
A child stepped forward.
Barefoot. No older than eight. His charm—once a simple wooden carving—hung blackened around his neck.
Ngozi choked back a sob. "Ancestors… na child."
The Stronghold shuddered again. The serpent murals dimmed further, their eyes now dull stone. Sanctuary was losing interest.
The elder pressed his staff into the ground, desperation cracking his voice. "There is ritual," he said quickly. "Old. Dangerous. It fit draw Orunmare influence out—without killing the host."
Adaeze turned sharply. "Then why you never talk am?"
"Because e require anchor," the elder whispered. "A living will. Someone must step into shadow willingly—to pull it out."
Silence fell like a blade.
Imade's heart sank. "That na suicide."
"Not exactly," the elder said. "But shadow never release without tearing something."
Before anyone could speak, Seyi stepped forward.
"I go do am."
"No!" Adaeze grabbed his arm. "You no fit—"
"I fit choose," Seyi said quietly. His fear was still there, but it no longer ruled him. "I don run enough. If choice truly stronger than fear, make e start with me."
Orunmare purred with delight. "Yes… courage always taste sweetest."
The ritual circle was carved hastily into the stone floor—salt, ash, blood. The villagers were pulled just inside the boundary, their bodies trembling as shadows writhed beneath their skin.
Seyi stood at the center, breathing hard.
The twins flanked him instinctively.
"Your bond fit stabilize am," Zoba said urgently. "But only if una trust each other completely."
Taye closed his eyes. Fire pulsed—not wild, but focused.
Kafé raised his hands. Water gathered—calm, deep.
They moved together.
The shadows screamed.
Darkness tore free from the villagers like black smoke, clawing toward Seyi, wrapping around his chest, his throat, his eyes.
He cried out—but did not step back.
"Hold me!" he gasped.
Imade lunged forward, gripping his shoulders. "You no go face this alone!"
Orunmare's laughter cracked.
The shadow recoiled—not from power—but from refusal.
"This no part of the design," Orunmare hissed. "You were meant to break."
Seyi screamed as the darkness ripped away—taking something with it.
Then silence.
The villagers collapsed, breathing freely, eyes clearing one by one.
Seyi slumped forward.
Alive.
But when he looked up, his eyes no longer reflected light.
Adaeze's voice broke. "Seyi…?"
He smiled faintly. "I still dey," he said. "But fear… is gone."
The elder staggered back in horror. "Shadow don mark am. He no belong fully to light again."
Far away, Orunmare watched in stillness.
Something precious had slipped through his grasp.
But something else had been born.
He smiled slowly.
"Good," he whispered. "Now the game don truly begin."
The Stronghold fell silent—its role complete.
And the Resistance understood:
Choice had been made. But it had broken something that could never be whole again