The tunnel writhed like the belly of some ancient serpent, its walls twisting and narrowing, slick with damp stone that glimmered under the elder's staff. Each footstep echoed too loudly, chased by the wet hiss and scraping claws of abyssal spawn tearing at the rock behind them. The Resistance fled in broken formation—bleeding, limping, breathless—held together by will alone.
Imade staggered beside the twins, her voice sharp despite her exhaustion. "Elder, this path dey feel like eternity. Where exactly you dey carry us go?"
The elder did not slow. His staff pulsed brighter, runes crawling along its length like living things. "This tunnel no be ordinary passage," he said. "Na refuge. Ancestors carve am before memory. Only the keeper of the serpent's rhythm suppose know am. But prophecy don force my hand tonight."
Adaeze spat blood onto the stone, her blade dragging as she walked. "So all this while, sanctuary dey, and you let us fight blind?"
The elder finally glanced back. His eyes glowed faintly, neither apologetic nor cruel—only burdened. "Reveal am too early, and the power go fade. This place dey wait for reckoning. That hour don reach."
Seyi stumbled, barely catching himself. His fingers shook around his sword. "Reckoning?" he whispered. "You dey talk like this na the end."
"No," Imade snapped, forcing herself upright. The glow of her rod flared defiantly. "No be end. Na chance. If we fall here, abyss go swallow everything. We must live—so we fit finish this fight."
---
The tunnel finally exhaled them into a vast chamber. The ceiling rose high into darkness, supported by towering pillars carved with entwined serpents whose eyes glowed with a soft, protective light. Murals lined the walls—battles long forgotten, sacrifices etched in stone, the endless cycle of sealing and breaking. At the heart of the chamber stood an altar of black stone, its surface etched with runes of balance and order.
Ngozi gasped, clutching her prayer beads. "Ancestors truly dey. This na sanctuary."
Zoba's pendant throbbed violently against her chest, its light steadying as if relieved. "The island heartbeat dey stronger here," she murmured. "Abyss no go breach this place easily."
The Resistance collapsed where they stood. Weapons slipped from tired hands. Blood pooled between cracks in the stone. The twins were lowered gently to the ground, their markings dim, breaths shallow, bodies trembling from what they had barely survived.
Imade knelt beside them, brushing sweat-soaked hair from Kafé's face. Her voice softened. "Rest. Serpent's reckoning no go start without una."
---
Adaeze leaned heavily against a pillar, shame weighing on her shoulders. "I don betray before," she said quietly. "I nearly scatter everything. But tonight, I swear—my blade go break before my will."
Seyi stepped forward, fear still in his eyes but steadiness growing in his stance. "Fear dey," he admitted. "But choice still dey. I choose to stand."
Olumide checked his quiver, jaw clenched as he sharpened an arrowhead. "We don come too far to scatter now. Orunmare dey rise, yes—but so we."
Ngozi's prayers grew louder, her palms glowing faintly as warmth spread through the chamber. "The serpent's rhythm fragile," she intoned, "but ancestors still dey guide am."
At the altar, Imade laid Nkem's body gently upon the stone. Tears slid freely down her face. "You save me. You save all of us," she whispered. "Your blood dey inside prophecy now. I no go waste am."
---
The elder pressed his staff against the floor. Lines of light spread outward, forming a map carved directly into the stone beneath their feet. Pathways, seals, fractures—all pulsed faintly. "This na where we stand," he said. "Sanctuary go shield us—for a time. But Orunmare dey rise fast. The weave of creation dey strain. Abyssal trial dey approach."
Imade clenched her fists. "Then we go meet am with everything we get. The twins go lead."
Adaeze nodded, resolve hardening her voice. "We strike when abyss weakest. We seal the Pathway—once and for all."
Seyi lifted his blade, hands steady now. "Choice dey stronger than fear. Together."
Zoba's pendant flared brighter. "Ancestors dey whisper. Fire and water—together—fit seal what shadow tear open."
The twins exchanged weary glances, unease threading between them.
Zoba frowned, studying the rhythm of their breaths. "If dem stay too long here," she warned, "their link fit fracture. Fire and water no suppose rest inside stillness for long." Kafé swallowed, then whispered, "We nearly die once. But if serpent dey call, we go answer."
Taye's flames flickered weakly along his fingers. "Even if we burn," he said hoarsely, "we go fight."
---
Unseen, something else stirred within the sanctuary. A low hum crept through the stone—not from the abyss outside, but from the altar itself. The serpent carvings along the pillars shifted subtly, their eyes dimming, as if the refuge was demanding a price for its protection.
The elder stiffened. His grip tightened on the staff.
"Something wrong?" Imade asked sharply.
The elder hesitated—a dangerous thing for a man of prophecy. "Sanctuary no be free," he admitted. "Every hiding place dey collect debt. The longer we stay, the more the serpent's balance go demand."
The twins groaned softly. Their markings flickered—fire and water stuttering out of rhythm. Kafé clutched his chest. "I feel am," he whispered. "Like something dey pull us… inward."
Taye's breath came uneven. "As if sanctuary dey feeding on our bond."
Ngozi's prayers faltered. "Ancestors warn me," she said shakily. "Stronghold go protect body—but spirit fit bleed."
---
The chamber shuddered. Hairline cracks raced along the walls as distant roars thundered through the tunnels. Protective runes flickered, straining. Then laughter—low, amused, and monstrous—rolled across the island.
"Una think say stone fit hide una?" Orunmare's voice echoed, slithering into every heart—and this time, it carried mockery sharper than any blade. "Abyss always find wetin e want. This final clash go be una last breath."
Imade rose, lifting her rod high. "We go fight," she declared. "Even if abyss eternal."
Adaeze raised her bloodied blade. "We go stand—even if sanctuary fall."
Seyi spoke with calm certainty now. "Choice dey stronger than fear."
Ngozi's prayers surged, light spilling from her hands. "Harmony fragile—but ancestors never abandon am."
Olumide loosed arrows into the darkness as shadows clawed at the tunnel mouths. "We no go scatter."
---
The elder lifted his staff one final time, voice carrying the weight of ages. "The scales dey tilt. Prophecy dey unfold. Serpent's reckoning don near."
And in that moment, the Resistance understood the truth: the retreat had bought them breath, not peace. Orunmare was rising. The weave of creation was fraying. Sanctuary or not, the closing battle was inevitable.