Mbòri's night hid them well.
The moon hung low and thin above Akàra, a pale scar across the sky, its light swallowed by clouds drifting like slow, deliberate ghosts. Wind slid through the city's stone corridors, carrying the scent of burning oil, old iron, and distant rain. Most of Akàra slept, but not peacefully. Even in rest, the city seemed to hold its breath, as if the stone itself sensed the violence creeping closer.
From the highest palace wall, three shadows detached themselves as smoothly as ink bleeding into water.
They moved with practiced ease, bodies bending and flowing as one. Cloaks stitched from layered black fabric clung tightly, breaking up their outlines. Their boots barely touched the stone, every step measured, every breath controlled.
They were Ògùrù's best.
The Talons.
Each had survived dozens of missions that should have killed them. Each had learned to move through guarded cities like ghosts and leave nothing behind but bodies and fear. Tonight was no different.
Below them lay Akàra, proud and ancient, its walls thick with history and blood. Lanterns flickered along distant streets, guards patrolled lazily, unaware that death had already entered their city.
The order echoed clearly in their minds, spoken hours earlier in Ògùrù's private chamber.
Kill Kàdàri. Cripple Zàfara.
No hesitation. No questions.
Failure was not an option.
Zàra walked the western wall alone, spear balanced easily in her grip. Her bare feet made no sound against the cold stone. She had learned long ago that armor dulled the senses, and tonight her instincts needed to be sharp.
The wind brushed past her face, lifting the short curls at her temples. She slowed her steps.
Something was wrong.
The night carried a smell that did not belong.
Not smoke. Not rain.
Blood.
Zàra stopped completely, closing her eyes for a heartbeat as she focused. The wind curled around her skin, whispering faint warnings. Somewhere above the wall, stone shifted just slightly.
She opened her eyes.
"Dogs approach," she said calmly into the darkness.
From the stairwell behind her, Adebáyò emerged, twin blades crossed across his back. His relaxed posture vanished instantly as her words sank in.
"Talons?" he asked.
Zàra nodded once. "Three. Moving fast."
Adebáyò exhaled slowly. "Then they are confident."
His gaze shifted toward the inner chambers of the palace.
"Kàdàri," he said under his breath. "He is not ready for this."
"No," Zàra agreed. "But they are already here."
Kàdàri dreamed of fire.
Not the raging inferno of destruction, but a deep, steady warmth that pulsed like a living heart. He stood barefoot on scorched earth, the ground cracked beneath his feet. Above him, the sky was split open by veins of red light.
Something watched him from beyond the flames.
Ancient. Vast. Patient.
Awaken.
The word pressed into his chest, heavy and insistent.
The warmth suddenly sharpened, twisting into pain.
Kàdàri gasped and shot upright, breath coming in ragged pulls. His heart hammered violently as if trying to escape his ribs.
The blade Ìjè lay across his chest.
Its dark metal glowed faintly, runes along its length pulsing slowly like veins beneath skin. The sword vibrated softly, a low hum that he felt more than heard.
Danger.
Before he could speak or move, a scream ripped through the palace.
Steel rang.
Shouts followed.
The sound of something heavy hitting stone echoed through the corridor.
Kàdàri's blood turned cold.
The first Talon vaulted over the western wall just as Zàra lunged forward. His curved blade swept toward her throat with lethal speed. Zàra twisted aside, the wind itself seeming to guide her movement, and drove the butt of her spear into his ribs.
Bone cracked.
The Talon grunted but rolled with the blow, slashing upward as he regained his footing. Their weapons clashed, sparks flashing briefly in the darkness.
They circled each other in silence, eyes locked, reading every shift of balance.
On the eastern side, Adebáyò met the second Talon head on. Their blades collided with brutal force, the impact shuddering through Adebáyò's arms. The Talon pressed hard, attacks sharp and relentless, each strike aimed to kill.
"You are slower than I expected," the Talon hissed.
Adebáyò grinned without humor. "Then you expected wrong."
He ducked low, twisted, and countered, steel flashing in tight arcs.
Kàdàri stumbled into the corridor just as a shadow dropped from the ceiling.
The third Talon landed silently in front of him.
Steel flashed.
Kàdàri barely had time to react. He raised Ìjè instinctively, the blade catching the strike with a jolt that rattled his bones. Pain shot down his arms as the runes flared crimson, heat burning into his palms.
He cried out, staggering backward.
The Talon advanced without pause, attacks coming in rapid succession. Each strike was precise, merciless. Kàdàri retreated, heart pounding wildly, vision narrowing until all he saw was the blade aimed at his throat.
You will die if you hesitate.
The thought did not feel like his own.
The Talon lunged.
Kàdàri swung blindly.
There was resistance, sudden and heavy, followed by warmth splashing across his face.
Blood.
The Talon froze, eyes wide in disbelief. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came.
He collapsed at Kàdàri's feet.
Kàdàri stood shaking, chest heaving, staring down at the body. His hands trembled around Ìjè, which now glowed a deep, living red.
Alive.
A scream echoed from the courtyard.
Adebáyò drove one blade through his opponent's shoulder, twisting hard before ripping it free. The Talon staggered, trying to recover, but Adebáyò was already moving. His second blade flashed, ending the fight cleanly.
Across the wall, Zàra feinted left and struck right, her spear piercing the final Talon's throat. She held him there for a heartbeat, eyes cold and unyielding, before letting the body slide free and crash onto the stone.
Silence followed.
Broken only by ragged breathing and the distant cries of citizens waking to chaos.
Kàdàri stared at Ìjè.
Blood slid along its edge and vanished, absorbed into the metal as though the blade were drinking. The runes dimmed slowly, their glow fading back into darkness.
His stomach churned.
"What are you?" he whispered.
Adebáyò approached and placed a firm hand on Kàdàri's shoulder, grounding him.
"The Blood protects," he said quietly. "But it demands a price."
Zàra joined them, wiping her spear clean. Her expression was grim.
"Mbòri will not stop," she said. "Tonight was only a test."
Adebáyò nodded. "Ògùrù wanted to see if you could survive."
Kàdàri tightened his grip on Ìjè. Fear coiled in his chest, but beneath it burned something stronger.
Anger.
Resolve.
"Then we do not wait," he said, voice low but steady. "We strike first."
The wind surged through the palace, carrying his words into the coming dawn.
And far away, in the depths of Mbòri, Ògùrù smiled.