The walls of Orun-Saa loomed ahead, tall and imposing, etched with golden symbols that pulsed faintly with divine energy. Guards patrolled the main entrances, their spears crackling with infused Ase, their eyes sharp even in the dead of night. No one entered this city unnoticed—at least, not through the front gate.
But Omo never used the front gate.
She led Chizoba through the underbrush, moving like a ghost. The damp earth of Nsogbu Valley still clung to her boots, but she didn't mind. This wasn't her first time sneaking into Orun-Saa, and it wouldn't be her last.
They stopped before a rocky outcrop nestled against the city wall. To anyone else, it was just a formation of jagged stone, but Omo knew better. She crouched, brushing away dirt and overgrown vines until a narrow tunnel entrance revealed itself.
She grinned. "Told you I had a way in."
Chizoba eyed the tunnel skeptically. "How do you even find these places?"
"By being nosy," she whispered, slipping inside. "Now move before the patrol circles back."
Chizoba sighed but followed, his taller frame forcing him to crouch as they navigated the cramped passage. It smelled of damp stone and rusted metal, but it was leagues better than trying to bluff their way past Orun-Saa's high priests and their god-blessed sentinels.
After a few tense minutes, the passage widened into a darkened storeroom. Crates of incense, preserved foods, and ceremonial cloth were stacked high, likely supplies for one of the lesser temples. Omo peeked through a small wooden grate in the wall. Beyond it, the winding streets of Orun-Saa spread out before them, dimly lit by hanging lanterns.
She turned to Chizoba with a smirk. "Welcome to the City of the Divine."
…......
The city was alive even at night. Priests clad in flowing robes walked the stone streets, their voices hushed in reverence. Distant drums pulsed in hypnotic rhythm from the temple districts, and the scent of burning myrrh drifted through the air. Above, the grand towers of the Orun-Saa elite cast long shadows under the glow of the full moon.
Omo and Chizoba moved carefully, sticking to the less crowded paths.
Omo kept her hood low, but her eyes flicked around with practiced ease, scanning for threats. "So," she muttered, keeping her voice casual, "you gonna tell me why Ezego's personal death squad is after you?"
Chizoba tensed but kept walking. "It's complicated."
"Yeah, well, so is sneaking into the most well-guarded city in the empire, but we're here," she shot back. "You're saying you didn't kill some high priest's son or burn down a sacred temple?"
Chizoba exhaled slowly. "No."
"But you did something."
He didn't respond, his gaze fixed on the path ahead.
Omo scoffed. "You are so annoying."
Rather than answering, Chizoba turned the conversation on her. "What about you?" he asked, voice low but firm. "You called the Nsogbu Valley your backyard. How does someone like you claim a battlefield littered with war machines and monsters?"
Omo blinked. Then, she grinned. "Someone like me?"
Chizoba gave her a look. "You're not some wandering scavenger. Not just that."
Omo tilted her head. "And you're not just some guy running from Ezego."
They stared at each other for a moment.
Omo finally sighed, running a hand through her short, dark curls. "Look, I grew up there, okay? Kinda. I was born somewhere else, but Nsogbu is where I learned to survive. My—" she hesitated. "Let's just say I had people who taught me how to make use of the past."
Chizoba caught the unspoken weight in her words. "And those people?"
"Gone." She rolled her shoulders, as if shrugging off the past. "Killed, scattered, who knows? Point is, the valley is mine now."
Chizoba studied her for a moment. "That's why you know so much about Iron King relics."
Omo smirked. "Damn right."
She expected him to ask more, but instead, he just nodded. The silence stretched between them again—not the awkward kind, but the understanding kind.
They continued moving, slipping deeper into Orun-Saa, past towering temples and the golden avenues where only the favored walked.
"Where are we headed?" Chizoba asked.
The streets of Orun-Saa whispered with life even at this late hour. The city never truly slept—priestly processions murmured prayers under the night sky, and patrols of elite warriors moved with disciplined grace through the sacred avenues. The golden domes of the high temples gleamed under the moonlight, casting long shadows on the cobbled roads below.
Omo and Chizoba stuck to the outskirts of the grand districts, taking the winding alleys where only merchants, laborers, and the forgotten dared to tread. They moved quickly but without panic, just two more shadows in a city full of them.
Omo led the way, her steps confident despite the labyrinthine paths she took. Chizoba followed in silence, his presence calm yet watchful.
After a few minutes, Omo broke the quiet.
"You know," she said, adjusting the strap of her satchel, "it's impossible to heal yourself without outside help."
Chizoba glanced at her from beneath his hood. "Is that so?"
"Yes," she said, matter-of-factly. "Ase healing, Chi restoration—it all depends on external forces. Gods, spirits, rituals. No one just fixes themselves. So how the hell did you do it?"
Chizoba said nothing at first, his expression unreadable.
Omo sighed. "I watched you," she continued. "Back in Nsogbu Valley, when we fought those Red Claw bastards. You got stabbed—bad. You should've bled out, or at least needed serious healing. But an hour later, you were moving like it never happened. That's not normal."
They walked in silence for a few more moments.
Then, finally, Chizoba answered.
"I learned it from my father."
Omo raised an eyebrow. "Your father?"
He nodded but said nothing more.
Omo frowned. "That's it? No details? No 'oh, he was a wandering healer, blessed by the gods' nonsense?"
Chizoba's gaze remained forward. "No."
Omo scoffed. "You're so damn secretive."
Chizoba didn't respond, and the silence stretched between them again. But this time, it wasn't comfortable.
Omo wanted to push further—wanted to understand why he could do what no one else could. But she knew better than to pry too hard. Not yet.
Instead, she exhaled and turned her attention back to their path.
"Fine," she muttered. "Keep your mysteries. But don't think I won't figure it out eventually."
Chizoba's lips curled slightly, just a hint of a smirk. "I'm sure you will."
They walked on, weaving through the backstreets of Orun-Saa, the city of gods watching from above.
The safehouse was nothing grand. Just a small, forgotten space tucked behind an abandoned cloth shop in the lower districts. The entrance was hidden behind a warped wooden panel, leading to a single-room hideout stocked with supplies—dried food, fresh water, weapons, and a bedroll.
Omo pushed open the hidden door and gestured inside. "Home sweet home."
Chizoba stepped in, scanning the space with his usual caution. "You have safehouses in Orun-Saa?"
Omo grinned. "I have safehouses everywhere."
She moved quickly, lighting a small lantern and checking supplies. Chizoba sat on a crate, still alert, still on edge.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, Omo sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "We should rest. If Ezego's forces are here, we'll need our strength."
Chizoba nodded, but Omo noticed his posture—straight, stiff, never truly relaxing.
She sighed again. "You don't trust me, do you?"
Chizoba looked at her, unreadable as ever. "I don't trust anyone."
Omo chuckled, shaking her head. "Smart man."
And with that, they settled in for the night, the weight of Orun-Saa pressing down on them from all sides.
…....…..
In the towering halls of the Grand Sanctum, where golden pillars stretched toward the heavens and intricate murals depicted the victories of Orun-Saa's greatest champions, Adégún sat in quiet contemplation. The dim glow of oil lamps flickered against the polished marble, casting long shadows as the High Priest of Sàngó listened to the evening reports.
A soft knock echoed through the chamber doors before a warrior entered—a temple guard, clad in ceremonial armor, the insignia of Orun-Saa emblazoned across his chest. He knelt before Adégún, pressing a fist to his chest in salute.
"High Priest," the guard said, his voice level. "The two fugitives have entered the city."
Adégún did not react immediately. Instead, he remained seated, fingers lightly drumming against the armrest of his throne-like chair. His piercing eyes, sharp as a falcon's, studied the kneeling man with quiet intensity.
"And you are certain?" Adégún finally asked, his voice smooth, measured.
"Yes, my lord. The woman, Omole Kehinde, used a hidden passage near the lower districts. The boy, Chizoba, was with her."
A flicker of amusement crossed Adégún's face. "So she really does know this city better than most of its own citizens."
The guard remained still, awaiting orders.
"Shall we apprehend them?" he asked. "Ezego's men will surely be looking for them. If we strike now, we can hand them over before dawn."
Adégún leaned forward slightly, a slow smile curling at the corner of his lips.
"No," he said. "Let them be. For tonight."
The guard hesitated but nodded. "And at sunrise?"
Adégún's smile widened, but his eyes remained calculating.
"At sunrise, bring them to me."
The guard pressed his fist to his chest once more. "As you command, my lord."
With a final bow, he turned and exited the chamber, leaving Adégún alone once more.
The High Priest exhaled softly, his fingers tapping against his armrest in thought.