The abyss was not empty.
It was layered.
Seyi fell through darkness that behaved like memory—soft in places, sharp in others. Images brushed against him as he descended: broken altars, burning villages, serpents coiling around stars. None stayed long enough to be understood.
When he landed, there was no impact.
He stood on a plain of black glass that reflected a sky filled with fractures instead of stars. Each crack pulsed faintly, like veins carrying something sick and ancient.
Orunmare waited.
Not as a monster.
As a man.
Tall, calm, robed in shadow that moved only when it chose to. His face was handsome in a way that felt deliberate—crafted to invite trust. Only his eyes betrayed him: bottomless, amused, endlessly patient.
"Welcome," Orunmare said. "This na the part dem never tell you."
---
Seyi said nothing.
Silence stretched.
Orunmare smiled. "You notice? Abyss no attack you. E recognize you. Shadow-mark don align you with truth."
Seyi's voice was steady. "You lure me."
"I educate you," Orunmare corrected gently. With a flick of his fingers, the glassy plain rippled.
Scenes rose around them.
The first sealing.
The twins—older, different—fire and water raging without restraint. Cities drowned. Lands burned. The serpent's rhythm shattered under excess power.
"World nearly end," Orunmare said softly. "Not because of abyss—but because of balance broken by heroes."
The scene shifted.
Ancestors gathered, terrified. A choice made in desperation.
"They cut truth from prophecy," Orunmare continued. "Left only obedience. Fear dressed as wisdom."
---
Seyi clenched his fists. "You lie."
Orunmare nodded. "Of course. I lie often. That no mean this one false."
Another vision bloomed.
A Stronghold rising. Covenants formed. Sacrifices demanded.
"Every seal dey built on denial," Orunmare said. "Not justice. Denial. Push problem forward. Let future bleed."
Seyi felt the truth of it settle—not clean, not whole, but heavy.
"And you?" Seyi asked. "You wanted destruction."
Orunmare laughed softly. "I wanted continuation. Abyss na what happen when creation refuse to adapt."
---
He stepped closer.
"You different," Orunmare said. "No fear. No blind obedience. You act when others debate."
"I won't join you," Seyi replied.
"I no ask," Orunmare said easily. "I ask you to remember."
The shadow-mark flared.
Memory surged.
Seyi saw himself—earlier, smaller—hesitating, choosing safety over action. He saw villages fall while leaders argued. He felt the weight of every delayed decision.
"You think fear protect people," Orunmare whispered. "But hesitation kill more."
Seyi staggered.
---
Far above, the Resistance fought panic.
The Pathway surged violently, fractures spreading like veins.
The twins dropped to their knees as fire and water screamed out of sync.
"He dey pulling Seyi deeper," Kafé gasped.
"No," Taye whispered. "E dey pulling truth closer."
Imade felt it then—a tug not of power, but of choice.
---
Back in the abyss, Orunmare stepped aside.
"Look," he said.
Before Seyi stood two paths.
One glowed faintly—return. Broken trust. Fearful allies. Endless restraint.
The other sank deeper—into shadow not ruled by Orunmare, but shaped by will alone.
"I no need you to kneel," Orunmare said quietly. "I need you to choose what fear never allow."
Seyi closed his eyes.
For the first time since the mark, something warm stirred.
Not fear.
Responsibility.
The abyss waited.
And for once, so did Orunmare.