The Devourer's Tooth did not sleep.
Even sealed within layered cloth and runes, its presence pressed against Kàdàri's senses like a low, constant hum. As they returned to Akàra, the night felt heavier, the air thicker, as though something unseen walked beside them.
Adebáyò ordered the grove cleared.
No guards. No witnesses. Only ancient stone, old roots, and moonlight filtering through the leaves of Tùwò. The Oracle stood at the center, staff planted firmly into the soil, eyes fixed on the pouch in Kàdàri's hands.
"Place it there," Adebáyò said quietly.
Kàdàri obeyed.
The moment the Tooth touched the stone altar, the air shuddered. Leaves trembled. The ground seemed to breathe. Zàra's knives slid halfway free of their sheaths.
Hènta took a cautious step back. "That thing's louder than I remember."
"It consumes," Adebáyò said. "Not flesh. Not blood. It feeds on power itself. Hunger made solid."
Kàdàri frowned. "What did Ògùrù want it for?"
Hènta answered before the Oracle could. "Control. He believed if he could chain the Shadowmaw, he could rule whatever it touched."
Zàra scoffed. "He couldn't even control Mbòri."
Adebáyò lifted the pouch with careful hands. "This relic cannot remain in Zàfara. The land is already wounded."
"Then destroy it," Kàdàri said.
The Oracle shook his head. "Some things cannot be broken. Only buried."
Their destination lay far from any road.
Lost Dèlà.
They traveled through the night, priests walking in silence behind them, faces pale beneath hooded robes. No birds cried. No insects stirred. Even Ìjè felt subdued, its usual hum replaced by a tense stillness.
At dawn, the earth opened.
The pit of Dèlà yawned wide and endless, a scar in the world where nothing grew. Stone sloped inward, vanishing into darkness so deep it swallowed light itself.
"This place rejects life," Zàra murmured.
"That is why it was chosen," Adebáyò replied.
The chanting began.
As the seals were stripped away, the Devourer's Tooth screamed.
Not aloud.
Inside Kàdàri.
Power surged through his veins, wild and disordered. Memories flashed, fire, shadow, hunger without end. The pit seemed to breathe faster, as if eager.
Kàdàri…
The voice was soft. Familiar.
You carry me already.
He staggered, dropping to one knee. Zàra caught his arm. "Hey. Stay with us."
Adebáyò drove his staff into the ground. Light flared. The Tooth writhed, then slipped from the altar, falling into the abyss below.
The scream cut off abruptly.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
"It's done," one priest whispered.
But Kàdàri did not feel relief.
Back in Akàra, the drums changed.
Their rhythm faltered. Stumbled. Missed a beat.
Kàdàri felt it in his chest before Adebáyò summoned him.
"The seal is holding," the Oracle said slowly. "But the Tooth… it whispers."
Kàdàri's jaw tightened. "What does it want?"
Adebáyò met his gaze. "You."
That night, sleep claimed him against his will.
He dreamed of the pit.
Of shadows climbing its walls.
Of a voice that no longer whispered.
Come back.
Kàdàri woke gasping. Ìjè glowed faintly beside him, the blade warm beneath his fingers.
Adebáyò waited outside his chamber, already dressed, already certain.
"You must return to Dèlà," the Oracle said.
Kàdàri rose to his feet.
Because some hungers do not stay buried.