Sixteen years after the blood moon that birthed her.
The Silver Garden had become a living legend that no longer needed walls to defend it.
The vines now arched over entire neighborhoods beyond the original compound — not invading, but inviting — creating shaded paths where children from Surulere and Ebute Metta played without fear. The lagoon inside the training grounds had grown wider and deeper, its water so clear that the bottom looked like polished obsidian flecked with emerald stars. The pack had tripled in size — not through conquest, but through choice. Wolves, half-bloods, bitten strays, even a handful of humans who had seen too much to look away — all came because of one name.
Ayomide.
At sixteen she stood taller than her mother — lithe, powerful, every movement carrying the effortless grace of deep water and solid earth. Her braids reached her waist — silver threads now forming deliberate patterns that shifted when she walked, as though the current itself braided them. Her eyes had deepened: the amber-silver-green blend had become a steady, luminous trinity — colors no longer shifting with mood, but layering, like light refracted through moving water. She wore a sleeveless wrap of black and silver cloth that left her arms free, silver vines tattooed along her forearms in living ink that pulsed when she called power.
She no longer trained on the platform.
She trained in the lagoon — sometimes submerged for hours, sometimes walking on the surface, sometimes rising into the air on columns of water that obeyed her like extensions of her limbs.
Temi — now twenty-four, a senior warrior and one of Ayomide's closest confidantes — stood on the shore, arms crossed, watching with quiet pride.
Leke — twenty-two, no longer thin or jittery, now lean and steady — waited beside her, hands loose at his sides.
Ayomide floated above the center of the lagoon — feet barely touching the surface — three orbs of water orbiting her slowly: one silver, one gold, one emerald.
She raised her arms.
The orbs accelerated — spun faster — then fused into a single sphere of tri-colored light.
She brought her hands together.
The sphere collapsed inward — became a point of blinding brilliance — then exploded outward in a perfect ring of silver-gold-emerald energy that swept across the lagoon without harming a single vine or person.
The water stilled.
Ayomide landed lightly on the surface — walked across it to the shore — stepped onto solid ground.
Temi gave a low whistle.
"You're showing off now."
Ayomide smiled — small, knowing.
"I'm preparing."
That night — after the pack had eaten, after the younger children had been sent to bed — Ayomide slipped away alone.
She walked to the narrow channel that connected the inner lagoon to the open water beyond the compound walls — the same place she had once faced the miniature serpent at twelve.
The blood moon was still two years away.
But the Hunger no longer waited for red moons.
She stepped into the water — let it rise to her waist.
Closed her eyes.
And listened.
The whisper came — softer than ever — almost tender.
You have grown so beautifully, little bridge.
Ayomide opened her eyes.
A figure rose from the water in front of her — not serpent, not shadow.
A girl.
Sixteen — same height, same build, same braids threaded with silver.
But her eyes were pure crimson.
Her skin shimmered black-red.
She looked exactly like Ayomide — except for the quiet hunger in her smile.
Look at what you could be, the illusion said. No more fighting. No more fear. No more saying no to what feels right. You could rule the city. You could make the pain stop — for everyone.
Ayomide tilted her head.
"You're prettier than last time."
The illusion laughed — soft, musical.
I'm not an illusion. I'm you. The part that's always been waiting. The part the Hunger only wants to free.
Ayomide stepped closer — water parting around her.
"You're good," she said quietly. "Better than before. You almost look like me. You almost sound like me."
She lifted one hand — emerald light blooming in her palm.
"But you forgot one thing."
The illusion tilted its head — curious.
Ayomide smiled — small, fierce, certain.
"I've never been afraid of myself."
She pressed her palm to the illusion's chest — right over the heart.
Emerald-silver-gold light flared — bright, blinding.
The illusion screamed — high, shattering — then cracked like glass.
Black-red shards fell into the water — dissolved — left nothing behind.
Ayomide exhaled — long, slow.
The lagoon rippled once — gently — as if proud.
She turned — walked back toward the compound.
Her parents were waiting at the channel's edge — silent, watchful.
Elara stepped forward first — searched her daughter's face.
Ayomide met her eyes — steady, unshaken.
"It tried again," she said simply. "It showed me a version of me that said yes."
Kael's claws pricked out instinctively.
Ayomide shook her head.
"I said no. Louder this time."
She looked between them — eyes bright with emerald flecks.
"I think… I'm ready to stop waiting for the red moon."
Elara cupped her face — thumbs brushing her cheeks.
"Then we don't wait."
Kael placed one hand on Ayomide's shoulder — the other on Elara's.
"We end it," he said — voice low, certain.
Ayomide nodded.
"Together."
The lagoon behind her glowed — silver-green-emerald — approving.
Far beneath Apapa — the ancient thing felt the rejection.
Felt the light burn away its sweetest lie.
And for the first time in sixteen years — it felt something close to anger.
The child had grown.
The bridge had learned to stand firm.
And the next blood moon — now only months away — would not be a game.
It would be judgment.