Three days slipped by since Adu returned from his perilous yet strangely providential encounter. In all that time, he had not left the confines of his hut. Shadows shifted across the walls, but he remained still, a silent sentinel lost in thought.
"You needn't trouble yourself," Mama Serwaa who stood beside Adu said gently, stooping to retrieve a bowl beside him. "I asked the girls to hire a few hands to bring in the harvest."
She rose with a quiet grace and made for the doorway, but paused as though recalling a detail left behind.
"Oh! I nearly forgot," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a knowing smile. "Your sisters, the chatterboxes they are, spilled everything to Akosua. So—brace yourself."
Adu's head snapped up. "What? But I told them—yesterday—I told them not to breathe a word!"
His voice was tight with disbelief, but Mama Serwaa merely chuckled and stepped outside, leaving the scent of herbs and warm earth in her wake.
---
Adu had made a full recovery—at least physically. But under his mother's watchful eye, he remained indoors. He understood why. The fear she'd carried when he was injured had etched itself into her soul. Even today, with her usual smile, he could still see the worry trembling behind her eyes like a candle in the wind.
He sighed.
Now was supposed to be a time of rest. But rest didn't come easily—not when something new pulsed beneath his skin, something ancient and hungry. He longed to test the limits of his newfound power, to stretch beyond the veil of the ordinary. But he couldn't. Not yet.
"It can't be helped," he muttered.
Then, more sharply: "A.I, are you there?"
A subtle chime answered, followed by the low, magnetic hum of the entity's voice.
"Inheritor."
"Since I'm practically grounded," Adu said, his eyes narrowing, "I wanted to ask you something."
"This A.I. exists to resolve all concerns of the Inheritor."
Adu took a breath. "The alien inheritance I received… its other name is the Ashakar System, right?"
"Yes. Alien Inheritance is the name I acquired after receiving future knowledge. The Ashakar System is the designation bestowed upon me by my creator—"
The next word fractured reality.
Adu flinched. "What? I didn't hear that... or rather, I couldn't comprehend it. It wasn't just unfamiliar—it was untranslatable."
"—****." The A.I. repeated the name again, calm and mechanical.
But Adu heard nothing. Not silence. Not sound. Just… emptiness.
His brow furrowed. It's not that I didn't hear it… My mind couldn't grasp it. Like trying to hold smoke. He recalled the Taboo Teachings—stories of divine names not meant for mortal tongues. Names that bent the fabric of reality simply by being uttered.
To hear such a name unprepared... could invite calamity.
Suddenly, a chill swept across his face.
Drip.
He heard it before he felt it—a droplet striking near his ear.
His vision blurred.
He looked down. Blood was soaking into his mat.
What—?
His body convulsed.
Cough!
A violent spasm wracked his chest. Blood splattered his hands, the walls, the earth. The air warped.
RING!
Blur.
Then—darkness.
As Adu collapsed onto the mat, a glow like molten ruby flickered in his eyes. The world turned crimson. A boundless void opened, pulsing with an eerie red light.
And from that void, she appeared.
A spectral figure emerged—her form laced with blood-carved runes, her hair cascading like a stream of wine. Behind her bloomed bloodleaf cloves, their petals shifting like whispering fire. Her cold, knowing eyes pierced straight into him.
She bore goat-like horns and an expression that made the air freeze.
"You must challenge the Ashakar's Twelve Domains," she said.
Then she leaned forward, placing a single finger to her lips. Her crimson lips moved again, forming a final message—but no sound followed. Only the gesture.
[Lilith: Blood Universe]
Cough!
Adu's body convulsed again.
His consciousness slipped away. The only thing that remained was a name—seared into his mind like a brand.
Lilith.
And with it, a scream.
A scream not of pain, but of realization.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
---
"What a fool," murmured a voice—silken, low, laced with wicked amusement.
It echoed from a corner of the cosmos not touched by time. There, in a space where stars refused to shine, sat a woman on a throne carved from shadowed obsidian and crowned with relics of shattered realms. Her skin shimmered like polished jade under a blood-red veil that masked her face, revealing only the sharp cut of her jaw and lips stained the color of spilt wine. Twin goat-like horns curled gracefully from her head, black as voidstone, tipped with faint crimson glimmers like smoldering embers.
Her crimson robes clung to her long limbs like living fire, and around her floated a crown of silence and tension.
Above her, countless chains descended from the darkness—massive, rune-carved links forged from celestial law itself, each one thrumming with locked divinity.
[Eternal Devil-Sealing Chains]
They swayed slightly, reacting to a tremor far beyond this plane—an echo born from a boy's reckless question.
She crossed one leg over the other, the movement effortless and exact, like a queen on judgment day. "Who would have thought he'd be foolish enough to ask for that bastard's name…"
Her chuckle curled through the void like perfume laced with venom.
"Lucky me he didn't die," she whispered, licking her lips as though tasting fate. "Or I'd have had to wait another eternity."
Beside her throne, a single rose unfurled—its petals deep crimson, glistening with dew that smelled of iron and ruin.
"Adu Gyamfi, hmm?" she said, letting the name fall from her lips like a prophecy. Her horns glinted faintly as her head tilted with predatory interest.
"I'll be watching you, little inheritor. And when the Twelve Domains begin to fall…" She paused, and the entire chamber seemed to inhale. "I'll be waiting at the other side."
---
Brago Household…
Twilight cloaked the compound in deep amber, the last light brushing against ancient wood and stone. Beneath the carved arch of the central courtyard, Akosua sat motionless on a low stool, her posture regal even in stillness. Her skin glistened like polished ebony under the fading sun, her braided hair cascading down her back in meticulous rows. She was a portrait of grace and defiance, but her frown betrayed the storm within.
Her deep green eyes—like moss-covered emeralds—glared at the man before her. Tall, handsome, draped in fine cloth and ego, he returned her gaze with a lazy smile, unbothered.
"What are you doing here?" Akosua asked, voice sharp and trembling with restrained fury. "I told you—I already have someone in my heart. Whatever poisoned honey you speak, it will change nothing."
She stood, her presence suddenly filling the space with fire.
"In this life, the next—and every breath of eternity—I will be with Adu Gyamfi."
Her voice cracked the air like a thunderclap.
She turned now to the man standing off to the side—broad-shouldered and aging, with a heavy jaw and deep-set eyes like riverstones. Her uncle, Owusu Brago, once a respected warrior, now the newly named patriarch of their line. His frame had thickened with age, but the commanding presence remained. His robes were stiff with ceremonial gold-thread, the weight of status clinging to him like armor.
"What is the meaning of this, Uncle?" she asked coldly, voice taut like a drawn bowstring.
Before he could respond, another voice cut through the tension—silken, sharp, and serpentine.
"Watch your tone, child."
The woman stepped forward from the gathering shadows. Lady Ameyo, Owusu's sister and Akosua's aunt. Her beauty was undiminished by age, but there was venom in her elegance. Her slit-like eyes, long-lidded and cunning, narrowed with disdain. A silver serpent ring coiled around her finger as she folded her arms.
"Is this how you speak to your elders?" she hissed. "Akosua, you've grown brazen. To raise your voice before one who could have birthed you—"
But Akosua's fury, long tempered by obedience, could no longer be contained.
"Elders?" she snapped, turning on them both. "My father arranged the bond between me and Adu. The Gyamfi family honored our customs—paid the bride price. And when the harvest failed, it was they who fed this household! The food you cook for your children comes from them!"
She turned slowly, addressing the onlookers now gathering in the courtyard.
"And now you ask me to spit on their generosity? To betray a promise for the sake of pride—or politics?"
The courtyard held its breath.
Then—CRACK!
A sharp slap echoed like a whip through the air.
Akosua staggered, a crimson handprint blooming across her cheek.
Her eyes, wide and glistening, met those of her uncle.
"I am the patriarch now," Owusu said, his voice cold as slate. "And my word is law. Tomorrow, you will come with us to dissolve your betrothal. This matter is settled."
A hush fell.
Akosua's chest rose and fell. Her hands trembled—but her spine did not bend.
"I would rather die," she said, voice breaking, "than marry anyone but Adu."
And with that, she turned and fled—her tears scattering like shattered glass in the dirt behind her.
The crowd remained silent.
Only the rustle of her passing remained, until a man draped in dark beastskin stepped forward from the shadows. A hunter. An enforcer.
"Patriarch," he intoned.
Owusu raised a hand. "Let her go."
His gaze shifted back to the handsome man, still watching Akosua's retreat with a crooked smile.
"We go to the Gyamfis tomorrow," Owusu said, voice heavy with finality. "The noble guest need not worry. Before your greatness, a small household like the Gyamfis…"
The man smiled faintly, cruelly.
"…is nothing."