Orunmare did not rage blindly.
He listened.
Deep within the fractured heart of the abyss, where light had never survived long enough to become memory, the denial struck him like a closed door slamming against eternity. Not pain. Not loss. Refusal. The one thing the abyss was never meant to face.
Orunmare straightened slowly, shadows peeling off his form like smoke. "So," he murmured, voice smooth with amusement, "una think say sacrifice fit change ending."
The denial hummed—Nkem's seal holding firm, quiet and absolute.
Orunmare smiled.
"Then I go change the rules."
The Stronghold convulsed.
Not from within—but from elsewhere.
Imade jerked awake as the serpent murals screamed. Yes—screamed. Stone mouths cracked open, releasing a shrill vibration that tore through the chamber. The protective glow shifted violently, no longer warm, but warning.
"The seal dey attacked," Zoba cried, clutching her pendant as it burned against her skin. "Not directly—e dey bypass am!"
The elder staggered forward. "Impossible. Denial block am."
"Not if he no dey come through abyss," Ngozi whispered, eyes wide with terror. "Ancestors… Orunmare dey move through people."
Above the island, the sky split.
Not with lightning—but with silence.
Every bird dropped mid-flight. The wind froze. Then, slowly, voices began to rise from the jungle villages surrounding the lagoon—soft at first, then swelling into a chorus of confusion, grief, and anger.
"Them dey come," Olumide said, peering into the darkness beyond the tunnels. "But no be shadows."
Shapes emerged—villagers.
Men and women with hollow eyes. Children holding broken charms. Elders clutching relics turned black. They walked without coordination, without hunger, without fear.
"Them dey alive?," Seyi whispered.
"Yes," the elder said heavily. "And no."
The twins stepped forward instinctively.
Taye raised his hand, fire flickering uncertainly. It did not leap as before. It obeyed restraint, hesitation. "I no fit burn dem."
Kafé swallowed hard as water coiled around his wrist, trembling. "I no fit drown dem."
Orunmare's laughter drifted across the island—not loud, but intimate. "See am? Denial protect una from me—but not from choice. If una strike dem, you go break the seal una guard."
Imade's heart pounded. "Him dey try force our hands."
Adaeze lifted her blade halfway—then froze. "These people… dem be innocent."
"Were," Orunmare corrected gently. "Now dem be door."
The elder sank to his knees.
"This na why prophecy dey incomplete," he confessed, voice cracking. "Denial no end war. E only shift battlefield—from power to conscience."
Ngozi's tears fell freely. "Ancestors never promise easy victory."
The villagers reached the tunnel mouth and stopped—as if waiting.
Waiting for permission.
Imade stepped forward, her rod shaking in her grip. She looked back at the Resistance—at blood, grief, sacrifice, resolve.
"No one strike," she said firmly. "Not yet."
Orunmare's voice softened, almost fond. "Good. Because now, every second una delay, abyss dey grow inside dem."
The twins stood side by side, bond humming—not with power, but with tension.
Kafé whispered, "If we no act, dem go die."
Taye finished quietly, "If we act wrong, world go bleed."
The serpent murals dimmed further.
The Stronghold could not protect them from this.
For the first time since the war began, the Resistance understood the true nature of Orunmare's answer:
He would not defeat them with darkness.
He would defeat them with choice..