The drums did not return that night.
That was what frightened Chukwudi the most.
The world felt too quiet, like a forest after hunters had passed through — not peaceful, but cautious. Even the wind seemed to move around them instead of through them.
They walked for two days without seeing another settlement.
Grasslands stretched endlessly, broken by blackened tree stumps and shallow pits where villages once stood. The soil had changed color, darker in patches, almost bruised. Each step Chukwudi took felt watched.
The earth remembered what had happened.
And it was not sure how it felt about it.
---
Obinna was the first to speak what everyone else feared.
"Something followed us," he said quietly.
Adaeze didn't look back. "Yes."
"Since when?"
"Since the drums stopped."
The cursed children drew closer together.
Chukwudi pressed his palm briefly to the ground again. Nothing spoke back, but something deep below shifted slowly, like a sleeper rolling onto their side.
"We didn't just bury that thing," he said. "We woke others."
---
By the third day, they found signs of humans again.
But not villages.
Camps.
Organized ones.
Wooden barricades. Prayer symbols carved into trees. Iron chains hanging from poles. Strange weapons rested against stones — long spears tipped with dull gray metal that seemed to swallow light.
Obinna frowned. "These are not hunters."
"No," Adaeze said. "These are believers."
They had heard rumors already — humans preparing for war, learning to fight not just spirits, but alụsị and cursed bloodlines.
Now the rumors had shape.
And smell.
Smoke drifted from the camp ahead.
---
They did not reach it before the attack began.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Then another.
The ground around Chukwudi exploded into motion as iron nets shot from hidden pits, rising like jaws trying to close around him.
Adaeze screamed, half-serpent in an instant, slicing one net apart before it could fall.
"RUN!" Obinna shouted.
Men and women in ash-colored robes emerged from behind barricades, faces marked with chalk symbols of protection. They did not shout. They did not panic.
They moved like people who had practiced killing monsters.
"Do not damage the boy!" one of them commanded. "The vessel must remain whole!"
Chukwudi's stomach twisted.
Vessel.
---
A spear struck the ground beside him.
The metal hummed when it touched soil, and suddenly the earth beneath his feet felt distant — like trying to hear someone speak through thick water.
He staggered.
"They're cutting you off from the land!" Adaeze shouted.
Another spear landed.
Then another.
Each one dimmed the earth's voice further.
The cursed children fought wildly — shadows twisting, wind slamming into attackers, stones leaping from the ground in defense — but the humans did not break formation.
They adapted.
They learned.
They advanced.
---
A man stepped forward from the camp.
Older. Calm. Wrapped in layered white cloth covered in protective symbols written in charcoal and blood-red dye.
Around his neck hung dozens of charms made from bone and iron.
His eyes fixed on Chukwudi.
"So," the man said softly. "The son of the serpent finally walks the open land."
Adaeze bared her fangs. "Priest."
The man nodded slightly.
"Missionary," he corrected. "Though the word has changed."
Chukwudi forced himself to stand straight.
"You're hunting children."
"I am hunting gods hiding inside children," the missionary replied.
---
The spears in the ground began to glow faintly.
The soil hardened like baked clay.
For the first time in a long while, Chukwudi felt powerless.
And the humans saw it.
They moved faster.
Ropes flew.
Chains followed.
One of the cursed children screamed as iron wrapped around his arms, pinning him to the ground.
Obinna rushed forward, only to be thrown back by a burst of blinding white powder.
Adaeze lunged at the missionary — and stopped mid-motion, her body trembling violently.
He held up a small carved idol shaped like a coiled serpent pierced by nails.
"You remember this," he said.
Adaeze's voice came out broken. "You desecrated sacred things…"
"We studied them," he replied.
---
Chukwudi's fear turned into anger.
Hot.
Heavy.
Alive.
He could not hear the earth clearly — but he could still feel it.
And the land remembered him.
He slammed both hands into the ground.
Nothing happened.
The missionary smiled.
"History has changed, child. Humans are learning."
---
Then something unexpected answered.
Not the earth.
The cursed children.
Obinna crawled to Chukwudi's side and placed a shaking hand on the soil.
"Together," he whispered.
One by one, the others did the same.
Shadow. Wind. Fire. Silence. Fear.
Different powers.
Different curses.
One intention.
The ground trembled.
Not from command — from recognition.
The land remembered them too.
---
The spears cracked.
Iron split open like rotten wood.
The soil surged upward in a wave that threw the attackers backward.
Adaeze roared as the idol in the missionary's hand shattered, its power breaking like glass.
The missionary fell, stunned.
He looked at Chukwudi with something new in his eyes.
Not confidence.
Not hatred.
Understanding.
"You are not alone," he said.
Chukwudi shook his head.
"No," he replied. "We never were."
---
The group fled before more hunters could arrive.
They did not stop running until night swallowed the land again.
No one spoke for a long time.
Finally, Adaeze said quietly, "Humans have begun their war."
Obinna added, "And they're not afraid anymore."
Chukwudi looked down at his hands.
The earth's voice was returning slowly, like someone waking from deep sleep.
"This isn't about gods anymore," he said.
"Then what is it?" Adaeze asked.
Chukwudi stared into the darkness ahead.
"Survival."
Far away, thunder rolled across the sky without clouds.
And deep beneath the ground, something ancient turned its attention toward the boy who had learned to stand with others.