The trees bled.
Their bark peeled like scalded flesh, seeping a dark, viscous sap that stank of rot and iron. The wind howled in a tongue no one living should understand. Crows circled, not above—but within the trees—perched like eyes sewn into the branches.
They had reached the Red Grove.
Amarachi's staff pulsed with warning.
"Don't breathe too deep," she whispered. "The grove remembers the dead. It pulls the living closer to fill their place."
Alaric scanned the grove with trembling fingers. "This isn't natural. These trees… they've absorbed blood. Look."
The soil beneath them was black and slick. Here and there, small bones jutted up like pale fingers reaching for the sky.
Chima led the way now, stepping carefully between ritual markings etched into the ground—sigils burned into the earth with what looked like human teeth.
Then—a cry.
Thin. Childlike.
"Help…"
The three of them froze.
"Uchenna," Amarachi whispered.
The child's voice came again—closer this time.
"Please…"
They rushed forward, pushing past thorned vines that clawed at their skin. At the heart of the grove, beneath a tree that twisted up like a shrieking woman, lay a small figure bound in threads of red fire.
The boy. Eyes closed. Barely breathing.
Amarachi moved forward—only to feel something grip her soul.
A presence awakened.
She turned.
The ground split open.
And from beneath the roots of the bloody tree, something rose.
It was tall, shrouded in a cloak of knotted hair and bones, its face a jagged mass of mouths that screamed silently. Its arms were too long. Its fingers cracked with every twitch. In its wake, the sigils on the trees flared with hungry flame.
Chima drew his machete and lunged, slashing the air between them.
The creature caught the blade mid-swing—and snapped it like a twig.
"Run!" he shouted.
Alaric grabbed the boy, hoisting him up. Amarachi raised her staff, chanting in a voice that wasn't hers alone.
"Ọkụ nke nne m… ọkụ nke ụmụ m… ọkụ nke mmadụ!"
(Fire of my mother… fire of my children… fire of the living!)
The staff exploded in light.
The creature shrieked, stumbling back.
But more shadows slithered from the trees. Thin, witch-born things, with claws made from the bones of infants, eyes carved into their torsos. They were Ezuma's spawn—guardians of the Red Grove.
"Too many!" Alaric shouted.
Amarachi stepped forward. Flames licked up her arms. Her hair lifted in a sudden wind. Her eyes were twin embers.
She dropped to one knee, stabbed her staff into the ground—and invoked the codex.
The sigils on her skin came alive.
The ground cracked. A column of fire shot from her chest, spreading into the air like burning wings. The Red Grove howled in pain.
The creatures screamed.
One lunged toward Chima—only for a spear of obsidian fire to impale it mid-air, turning it to ash.
Another reached for the boy, but Amarachi lifted her hand—and ripped its shadow in half.
Alaric stood frozen, holding Uchenna. He had studied solar flares on distant stars, dissected atomic reactions—but never had he seen this.
A woman burning with divinity. Flesh and godfire intertwined.
Chima stared too—but his was the gaze of awe and grief.
The girl he once loved was now something holy and terrible.
With a final scream, the grove began to collapse—trees folding in on themselves, consumed by Amarachi's fire.
The creatures melted into the earth, fleeing into cracks with curses and wails.
Then—silence.
The fire dimmed. Amarachi collapsed.
Chima caught her this time.
Alaric fell to his knees beside them, still holding the unconscious boy.
Amarachi opened her eyes, barely a whisper: "We weren't meant to survive this."
"But you made sure we did," Alaric said, voice shaking.
Chima lowered her gently. His eyes met Alaric's—no longer with rivalry, but with something heavier: uncertain alliance.
"She's more than us now," Chima said.
Alaric nodded. "She always was."
Above them, smoke curled into the form of Ezuma's face—her laughter echoing in the breeze.
"Well done, daughter of fire," she whispered. "Now… come take the rest. Submit yourselves to me and I'll let you live, resist and taste death"