They returned to the mansion under the dim orange hue of evening. The halls were quiet, their footsteps echoing off the marble floor as Ronke led the way into one of the unused rooms—bare, cold, and lined with shadows.
A single table stood in the center. On it lay a worn leather bag, a jar of salt, and a knife that looked far too ceremonial to be ordinary.
Without a word, Ronke untied the bag and poured its contents onto the floor. The salt hissed faintly as it touched the polished tiles. With slow, precise motions, she began to draw—circles, lines, symbols that curved and crossed in intricate geometry. When she was done, five circles connected by a spiral lay before her, each one etched with runes that seemed to hum faintly in the still air.
In the center, she drew the same sigil they had seen on the tomb—the mark of the first alpha.
Ajamu watched in silence, his expression unreadable.
Finally, Ronke stood and said, "Your hand."
Ajamu extended it without hesitation. She took the knife from the table and, with a swift motion, cut across his palm. Blood welled immediately, dripping onto the salt-marked floor.
The symbols shimmered, glowing faintly red. A hum vibrated through the air, subtle but powerful.
Ronke's lips curved into a smile. "It's reacting," she murmured, eyes glinting. Her gaze drifted to the remaining empty circles. "Four more to go."
They both stood there for a moment, watching the faint glow before it faded back to still salt. Then Ronke dusted off her hands, her expression hardening. "It's active," she said quietly. "The ritual works."
They left the room together, closing the heavy door behind them.
As they walked down the corridor, Ajamu finally broke the silence. "If my guess is right, we'll need the blood of the alphas of the other packs."
"Exactly," Ronke replied without hesitation.
Ajamu gave a short, humorless laugh. "Then I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that won't be easy. Ige will guard Tade with his life—he'll never let us near him, not until the boy grows strong enough to tear through anything we send. And Bode…" He shook his head. "He's a veteran. He might not care for pack politics anymore, but his instincts? Razor-sharp. He'd sense us coming miles away."
Ronke didn't reply immediately. Her fingers brushed absently against her arm, her jaw tightening.
"And even if you somehow got those two," Ajamu continued, "the remaining two packs vanished long ago. Their bloodlines are ghosts now—probably extinct."
Ronke stopped walking. The flickering light from the hallway lamps cast half her face in shadow. For a moment, the calm mask she always wore cracked—the corners of her lips tightening as frustration bled through.
Was the universe mocking her? After coming this far, chasing this power through centuries of whispers and riddles—only for it to hinge on ghosts?
Then, as quickly as it came, the emotion vanished. Her expression reset into cold determination.
"If the sigil glowed," she said finally, "then the bloodlines still exist. The ritual doesn't respond to the dead."
Ajamu raised an eyebrow. "You think they're still alive?"
"I don't think," Ronke said softly. "I know. Even if they're buried under the earth, I'll find them."
She looked back toward the sealed room, where faint traces of red still glimmered beneath the door. "The ones here in Ogbomosho will be dealt with soon enough. The rest… I'll drag from whatever hole they're hiding in."
Ajamu only nodded, though his expression showed a hint of doubt. "If you say so."
She didn't answer. He turned and left her standing in the corridor, his footsteps fading down the hall.
When he was gone, Ronke exhaled quietly. Her confidence had sounded convincing even to herself—but deep down, she knew the truth. The chances of finding those lost alphas were almost zero.
Still, she couldn't stop now. She'd gone too far, sacrificed too much.
It's better to see it to the end, she thought. Even if it costs me everything.
---
---
The old hall inside Jide's mansion felt heavier than usual; smoke from oil lamps pooled in the corners and the carved wooden beams swallowed sound. At the head of the long table, Tade sat with a seriousness that made the room hush. Around him, Ige Ogundipe and the elder council leaned forward, faces mapped with worry and decision.
Ige cleared his throat. "Now that you've mastered the basics," he said, eyes on Tade, "it's time to expand your reach."
An elder to his right nodded. "Yes. The first wolf you turn will be special. Stronger. Loyal beyond reason. Choose poorly, and you risk everything." He studied the younger faces at the table. "So you must choose the first with care. The rest… you can pick as you go."
Another elder rubbed his chin. "That reminds me — it's been a while since I saw Bode's daughter."
Ige's jaw tightened. "Bode keeps his distance by choice. He's always tried not to get too deep into our matters. If it weren't for his heritage, I think he would have left this town long ago."
"We can't blame him," an elder replied softly. "We were the ones who lost our alpha while we watched." The old bitterness hung thick for a moment.
"Let Bode be," Ige said, voice even but final. "At least he remains an ally. He doesn't help much, but he doesn't cause trouble either."
A low murmur of agreement ran around the room, but the weight of the problem returned with it.
"We may need outside help," one of the elders said quietly.
A ripple of unease spread through the council. Asking for outside aid, everyone knew, was not a small thing. It meant lowering banners, bowing heads; it meant admitting you could not hold your ground.
Tade frowned. "Why do you all look so down?" he asked plainly.
Ige met his eyes and explained, "Calling for external help is a sign — to them and to us — that we cannot control our own territory. They will come proud, demanding favors, and we will have to pay in more ways than one."
Tade's expression hardened. "Then we shouldn't ask. We should fight on our own. Don't give them time to thread their claws into our affairs."
A thoughtful silence followed. Then Tade leaned forward, voice quiet but sharp. "We could turn the table on them. Play them at their own game. Set a trap. All we need is the right bait."
The elders considered the idea, eyes tracking between Tade and Ige. It was dangerous. It would require careful planning — patience and cunning they could not afford to waste.
Finally the elder who had first warned about the first wolf spoke again, slower this time. "If we do this — if we choose bait and cast our net — we must be certain of one thing: the bait must be irresistible."
Ige's shoulders shaded in the lamplight. "Find the bait," he said. "And then choose who will spring the snare."
They fell into plans then — low voices, quiet maps spread across the table, names whispered like currency. The problem was no longer abstract; it was a list they had to fill. Which lineages still breathed? Which allies could be bent? Which wolves would become the sacrifice… or the spear?
Outside the mansion, night settled over Ogbomosho, and the quiet streets took on a sharper edge. Inside, the council worked on a single conclusion: if the town was to stay theirs, they would have to invent the future they wanted — even if it meant dragging it into a trap.