Omo stirred as the first rays of morning light filtered through the cracks in the safe house's wooden shutters. The scent of old parchment, burnt metal, and faint traces of gunpowder filled the air—remnants of whatever work she had last done in this small, hidden corner of Orun-Saa.
She let out a low groan, stretching her arms before pushing herself up from the rough cot. Instinctively, her hand went to the hilt of the short knife she kept under her pillow.
Then she noticed Chizoba.
He was already awake, sitting by the single window, his posture unnaturally still. His mismatched eyes—one dark, the other glowing faintly with Chi—watched the sun creep over the rooftops of Orun-Saa.
Omo frowned.
"You didn't sleep, did you?" she asked, her voice still heavy with sleep.
Chizoba glanced at her but didn't answer immediately. Then, in that ever-calm voice of his, he said, "I slept enough."
Omo scoffed, rubbing her face with one hand. "That's not an answer, you know."
Still, she didn't push. She had already figured out that Chizoba wasn't the type to reveal much unless it was necessary.
Just as she was about to start gathering her things, Chizoba's eyes narrowed slightly.
"They're coming," he said.
Omo stiffened. "Who?"
Chizoba didn't answer. Instead, he rose to his feet, his expression unreadable but his body already tense.
Omo didn't ask again. She trusted his instincts.
She grabbed her satchel, slung it over her shoulder, and hurried toward the back exit of the safe house. "We'll take the sewer tunnels—"
Before she could finish, a heavy thud echoed from outside. Then another. Footsteps—multiple sets, closing in fast.
Omo cursed under her breath.
Within seconds, the doors and windows burst open as armored guards flooded the room, their weapons drawn. At least twenty men surrounded them inside, with dozens more waiting just outside. Their leader, a warrior in red and gold armor, raised his palm, revealing a glowing binding sigil already forming in the air.
"By order of the High Priest of Èṣù', you will surrender!" the man bellowed.
Omo and Chizoba barely hesitated.
Chizoba moved first, his body twisting as he weaved between the closest guards, his hands striking pressure points that sent them sprawling. His movements were fluid, efficient—his Chi flaring just slightly as he dodged incoming strikes.
Omo, on the other hand, fought dirty. A concealed explosive device slipped from her sleeve, detonating in a flash of smoke and light, giving her just enough cover to dart behind an attacker and snap his arm backward. She moved swiftly, striking joints, using her smaller frame to get inside their defenses.
But the guards were prepared.
The sealing sigils activated.
Golden inscriptions flared in the air around them, forming intricate patterns that pulsed with divine energy. The sigils latched onto Chizoba and Omo like spectral chains, weighing them down.
Chizoba gritted his teeth as his body tensed—his Chi was being locked down, suppressed under the weight of the bindings.
Omo felt it too. Her limbs grew heavy, her mind foggy as the sigils disrupted her connection to her Ase-lost enhancements.
Still, she struggled, reaching for the blade at her hip—
A powerful force slammed into her back, forcing her to the ground. Chizoba was pinned beside her, his breathing even but strained.
The guards pressed their knees into their backs, restraining them further.
"It's over," their leader said coldly. "Take them to the Grand Sanctum."
As Omo's vision blurred from the suppression sigils, she clenched her teeth in frustration.
They had walked straight into a trap.
The streets of Orun-Saa had been loud with morning activity when they were captured, but as Omo and Chizoba were marched through the city, the world grew eerily quiet.
Omo knew why. They were being taken to Èṣù's Shrine.
It wasn't a place just anyone could walk into. In Orun-Saa, where the gods reigned supreme, their temples were sanctuaries of power, mystery, and fear. Èṣù's shrine, in particular, was unlike any other.
Chizoba didn't resist as they were led deeper into the city. His mismatched eyes took in everything—the narrow, winding paths, the countless symbols of protection carved into walls and doorways, the shifting glances of onlookers who recognized their captors but dared not stare too long.
Omo, however, gritted her teeth in frustration. If she had known the guards would be this prepared, she would have planned an escape route in advance.
Too late now.
At last, they reached the gates of Èṣù's Shrine.
The shrine was both a paradox and a masterpiece.
The entrance was unassuming—an archway of polished black stone, humble and narrow compared to the grand golden temples of other gods. But as soon as they stepped through, the illusion of simplicity shattered.
Inside, the shrine was massive, stretching farther than the eye could see. The walls twisted in strange, shifting patterns, as if the very space refused to remain constant. The floor was made of reflective obsidian, creating the eerie sensation of walking on an endless abyss.
At the center of the shrine stood a great, bronze statue of Èṣù, the Trickster-God, his many hands outstretched—one offering a blessing, the other a curse.
The shrine was filled with low, haunting whispers, though no one spoke. Were they echoes of past prayers? Or something else entirely?
Omo felt a chill crawl up her spine. She had seen many strange places in her life, but this…
"This place feels alive," Chizoba murmured beside her.
She glanced at him. His expression was neutral, but she noticed the slight tension in his jaw. He felt it too.
Before either of them could speak further, the guards stopped before a raised platform of white stone.
There, waiting for them, was Adégún.
Adégún was a man who radiated authority.
Seated on a high-backed ebony throne, he looked down upon them like a god surveying mortals. His robes were deep crimson, embroidered with golden sigils, and his dark skin was marked with intricate Ase inscriptions that pulsed faintly—wards of protection, spells of dominion.
His eyes burned like embers.
The guards forced Omo and Chizoba to kneel before him.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then, Adégún spoke.
"Stand."
The guards hesitated. "High Priest, they are—"
"I said, stand."
At once, the sigils binding Omo and Chizoba flickered and shattered.
The weight lifted from their bodies, and Omo let out a slow breath. Her strength returned. Chizoba flexed his fingers, feeling his Chi flow freely again.
Yet, neither of them moved to run.
They weren't fools.
Omo had heard stories of Adégún—the High Priest of Èṣù', the man who commanded the threads of Fate. Running from him in the heart of his own domain? Suicide.
Chizoba met Adégún's burning gaze with quiet calculation.
Omo, however, wasn't one to stay silent for long. She crossed her arms and smirked.
"I take it you didn't have us dragged here just to test how well those sigils worked?"
Adégún chuckled, his voice rich and dangerous.
"No, Omole. I have far more interesting things in mind for the two of you."
A shiver ran down Omo's spine, but she didn't let it show.
Beside her, Chizoba's expression remained unreadable.
Whatever Adégún wanted from them… it was only beginning.
….......
Adégún leaned forward slightly, resting his chin against his fist, studying them both with an expression of calculated amusement.
"Chizoba," he said smoothly, rolling the name over his tongue like he was tasting it. "You seem troubled."
Chizoba remained silent, his posture rigid. But Omo, standing beside him, wasn't one to ignore a statement like that. She glanced at Chizoba before turning back to Adégún, arms crossed.
"You say that like you know something the rest of us don't," she said.
A knowing smirk touched Adégún's lips. "I know that Ezego wants him. Desperately."
The words struck something in Chizoba.
Omo didn't miss it—the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his fingers twitched almost imperceptibly. The ever-composed Chizoba was shaken.
Omo's curiosity flared.
"Alright, now I have to ask," she said, eyes narrowing. "Why? Why does Ezego want him? And why did she send the Red Claw after us in Nsogbu Valley?"
Chizoba shot her a look. A warning.
Adégún chuckled. "A good question, but not one I need to answer. Not yet."
Omo gritted her teeth. She hated when people did that—dangled information just out of reach.
Chizoba exhaled slowly, then spoke for the first time since their sigils were removed.
"You brought us here for a reason," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture. "What do you want?"
Adégún's smirk widened.
"Ah. Straight to the point. I can respect that."
He leaned back, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his throne.
"I have no intention of handing you over to Ezego. You have my word on that."
Chizoba didn't relax.
"But," Adégún continued, "in return, I need something from both of you."
Omo narrowed her eyes.
"And what would that be?"
Adégún's expression darkened slightly, his smirk giving way to something more serious.
"A group of cultists have been stirring within Orun-Saa. They call themselves the Riftborn."
Omo felt a flicker of recognition. She had heard the name before. A whisper in the underbelly of the city, a rumor among scavengers and relic-hunters.
Chizoba frowned. "Riftborn?"
Adégún nodded.
"Seekers of the Broken Sky. Zealots who believe the gods are false rulers and that the Rift is the key to true freedom. Dangerous fools, every last one of them."
Omo didn't like the sound of that. She knew what happened when people got obsessed with old, forbidden things. She had been to Ume-Ojinmo. She had seen what was left behind.
"And what, exactly, do you need us to do?" she asked.
Adégún's gaze sharpened.
"Destroy them."
Omo and Chizoba exchanged a look.
"You're asking us to hunt down a whole cult?" Omo raised an eyebrow. "Sure, I enjoy a good fight, but that sounds more like a problem for your elite warriors. Why us?"
Adégún smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"Because," he said smoothly, "the Riftborn are not ordinary cultists. They operate in hidden enclaves, using Iron King relics to push the limits of both magic and technology."
That made Omo pause. Iron King relics?
Her mind raced through the possibilities. Weapons. Machines. Maybe even forgotten war constructs.
"They have managed to remain hidden within Orun-Saa," Adégún continued. "If I send an army after them, they will vanish before we even get close. But you two…" He gestured at them with one hand. "You are unknown factors. Outsiders. You can move through places my men cannot."
Omo exhaled. "So you want us to infiltrate them."
Adégún nodded.
"Take care of the Riftborn problem, and I will ensure Ezego's forces never touch you within Orun-Saa." He turned his gaze to Omo specifically. "And you, Omole—this city is not a place you can walk freely anymore. Help me, and I will ensure your freedom here. No one will question your presence again."
Omo went silent.
That was a tempting offer. She loved Orun-Saa. It was her city. A place she had moved through like a ghost for years, taking what she needed, selling what she didn't, never staying in one place too long.
But lately, things had changed. More eyes. More suspicion. More risk.
Chizoba, however, remained unreadable.
"And if we refuse?" he asked.
Adégún's smirk returned. "Then you may leave. But you will not last long. Ezego's reach is vast, and I promise you—he will not stop."
A heavy silence settled over them.
Omo sighed. "Looks like we don't have much of a choice, huh?"
Chizoba glanced at her, then back at Adégún.
"When do we start?"