The silence that followed the collapse of the spirit god's presence was deafening. The chamber of Ọba Gbẹ́nga stood still, littered with flickers of residual magic and broken stone. Ayọ̀kúnlé's body remained cradled in Adérónké's arms, his breath shallow, his skin pale with exhaustion. She brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead and listened his heart was still beating, a slow but steady rhythm that gave her hope.
He had survived.
But the cost of what they had done what they had unleashed or stopped remained unknown. The spirit was gone, sealed again in a vault of light and blood, but something about the world had changed. It was as if the realm itself had exhaled after centuries of holding its breath.
Above them, the sky rumbled.
With a groan, Ayọ̀kúnlé stirred. His fingers twitched, and then his eyes opened tired, but clear. "Did we do it?" he asked, voice hoarse.
Adérónké nodded. "The curse is broken."
He managed a faint smile. "Then it begins."
"What begins?" she asked.
Before he could answer, a new sound echoed through the tomb a series of quick footsteps, followed by torches illuminating the passageway. It was Captain Tùndé and a handful of loyal palace guards. Their faces were pale, eyes wide at the sight of the ancient chamber.
"My prince," Tùndé said, falling to one knee. "The palace is under siege."
Adérónké's heart sank. "By who?"
"Not by men," Tùndé said. "By something... unnatural."
Ayọ̀kúnlé rose to his feet, leaning on Adérónké for support. "Take us back."
As they ascended the crumbling stairs, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down harder than any spirit. If the kingdom had been quiet for centuries because of the seal he carried, then its breaking would not only free him but awaken forces held back for generations.
When they reached the surface, the first thing they noticed was the color of the sky no longer red, but a dark, swirling indigo laced with golden lightning. The city of Odanjo was in disarray. People ran through the streets, and strange creatures twisted echoes of warriors long dead roamed the palace gates.
"What are those?" Adérónké whispered.
"Memories," Ayọ̀kúnlé replied. "Echoes from the curse. They've taken form."
A beast lunged toward them, spectral blades for hands. Tùndé stepped forward, shield raised but Ayọ̀kúnlé held out a hand.
"Let me."
Drawing from the same power that had once bound the spirit god, Ayọ̀kúnlé summoned a spear of light in his palm and hurled it. It struck the beast's core, and it evaporated in a burst of light.
"We can fight them," he said. "But not alone."
That night, Ayọ̀kúnlé called a council, what remained of it. Only a few elders remained; many had either fled or perished in the chaos that erupted when the skies cracked. In the palace war chamber, maps were unrolled, candles burned low, and the echoes of an ancient throne watched over them.
"Tell us what we face," said Elder Bámidélé, his voice trembling. "You brought peace... but now, all is unravelling."
Ayọ̀kúnlé stood at the head of the table. "The curse sealed more than a god. It locked away the sins of our ancestors, the dark bargains they made, the memories they tried to erase. Now that I'm free, so are they."
A heavy silence followed.
"So what do we do?" someone asked.
"We finish what they could not," Ayọ̀kúnlé said. "We cleanse the past. And we prepare for what's coming next."
Across the ocean, in a kingdom long thought lost, another figure stirred.
Wrapped in a cloak of sapphire fire, a woman stood on a mountaintop, watching Odanjo through a mirror of obsidian. Her eyes shimmered gold, and her voice was the wind that whispered over deserts.
"He is awake," she murmured.
Behind her, dozens of warriors knelt in silence. Cloaked in armor that shimmered like moonlight, they awaited her command.
"Then so shall we rise."
She turned, lifting a blade carved from the bone of a star. Her voice thundered:
"The Lost Empire returns. And we will claim what is ours."
Back in Odanjo, Ayọ̀kúnlé sat on the palace steps with Adérónké. The fires of battle had dimmed, but the sky had not returned to normal. They both knew the peace was temporary.
"I saw her," Ayọ̀kúnlé whispered.
Adérónké turned to him. "Who?"
"The woman in my visions. She was never part of the curse. She's older. She's coming."
Adérónké frowned. "Then we must be ready."
He took her hand. "This time, we don't run from our bloodline. We fight for it."
She smiled. "Together."
Lightning danced across the horizon.
And the next war began with the echo of a promise made beneath a cursed moon.