"He stopped," Keles whispered, her voice rasping like dry parchment. She didn't need to specify who, she reached down, her trembling hand covering the spot where Ikenga's had just been. "The screaming in the blood... the psychic roar. It's gone. It's so quiet now."
Ikenga sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of Nana's warning still pressing into his marrow. He took Keles's hand, lacing his fingers through hers. He could feel the pulse of her divinity, the sharp, cold edge of Death softened now by the exhaustion of carrying a miracle.
"He has declared himself," Ikenga said softly, his voice lacking the detached resonance of a god. He sounded, for the first time in eons, like a man. "The ripples we felt in time were his final word. From here until his birth, he chooses to be silent. He chooses to be... just a child."
