The winds that swept through the corridors of Odanjo's palace bore whispers silent cries from the past that stirred even the thickest stone walls. As dawn broke, its light barely pierced through the violet haze that still clung to the sky, painting the palace in a perpetual twilight. Ayọ̀kúnlé stood at the eastern balcony, eyes on the distant horizon, where the lands of the forgotten empire were said to sleep beneath the sea mist.
He had barely slept. The vision of the woman cloaked in sapphire fire haunted his thoughts like an unanswered riddle. She wasn't a spirit, nor a phantom. She was real alive and connected to the bloodline of Odanjo in a way he had yet to understand.
Footsteps approached from behind. It was Adérónké, wrapped in a shawl and carrying a folded parchment.
"A message from the outposts," she said.
Ayọ̀kúnlé unfolded the parchment and read. His eyes darkened.
"They've spotted a fleet approaching from the west ships bearing a symbol of a flaming crown."
"That matches the vision," Adérónké whispered. "The same symbol on the blade she held."
"She's not just coming," Ayọ̀kúnlé said. "She's bringing an army."
He turned to her. "We need to find the Three Relics."
Adérónké frowned. "The relics of Olódùmarè? They're myths."
"They're more than myths," Ayọ̀kúnlé replied. "My ancestors sought them once items of balance forged by the gods to protect the kingdoms from divine wrath. We need them now more than ever."
Far away, in the volcanic cliffs of Àbàmì Mountains, the first of the relics waited.
The journey to the mountains took three days. Ayọ̀kúnlé, Adérónké, Captain Tùndé, and a small group of warriors traveled under the cover of dense forest, avoiding corrupted beasts and strange portals that pulsed in the trees like eyes. The land itself was sick echoing with ancient magic disturbed by the breaking of the seal.
On the fourth morning, they reached the cliffs. Smoke hissed from deep cracks in the rock. The wind here carried no scent of life, only ash and memory. Before them stood the Temple of Eérú, hidden in plain sight for generations.
Its gate was a circular arch, carved with warnings in forgotten tongues. At its center, a stone statue of a serpent god towered, mouth agape.
"This is where the Fire Relic lies," Ayọ̀kúnlé said.
"But to claim it," Tùndé added, "we must face a trial."
They stepped inside. The temple closed behind them.
The air changed instantly. Heat pressed against their skin, and the floor beneath their feet shimmered. Shadows twisted unnaturally. The deeper they went, the louder a voice became a guttural growl that echoed through every corridor.
"I smell royal blood," the voice hissed. "I smell guilt."
They emerged into a circular chamber. Flames danced along the walls, and in the center floated a burning orb the Fire Relic.
But between them and the relic stood a figure nine feet tall, cloaked in living fire. Its face was masked, and its voice split the air.
"To claim the Fire Relic, one must burn," it said.
Ayọ̀kúnlé stepped forward. "Then I will burn."
"No," Adérónké said, grabbing his arm.
But the guardian pointed. "Only he of cursed blood may pass."
Ayọ̀kúnlé looked back at them once, then stepped into the ring of fire.
The flames wrapped around him like a cocoon. Visions flooded his mind his ancestors' cruelty, the betrayal that led to the sealing of the spirit god, the lives lost to ambition. He screamed, not from pain, but from truth. The fire showed him everything, and in return, it demanded only one thing:
"Do you accept your blood?"
"I do," Ayọ̀kúnlé whispered. "And I will redeem it."
The fire surged then died. When it cleared, he stood with the relic in his palm, glowing with contained rage.
He had passed.
Meanwhile, in the City of Serpents, the woman cloaked in fire Queen Rányìn sat upon her throne of glass and bone. A messenger approached, kneeling with trembling hands.
"They have retrieved the first relic, my queen."
She smirked. "Good. Let them think they're winning."
She rose, her blade humming with celestial energy.
"Begin the awakening of the Sea Tombs."
Back in Odanjo, Ayọ̀kúnlé and his group returned with the Fire Relic. Its heat seemed to breathe new life into the city. The palace shamans placed it within a pedestal in the royal courtyard, where it lit the skies with golden light and pushed back the violet storm clouds if only slightly.
Two relics remained.
"The next," Ayọ̀kúnlé said, "lies beneath the Lake of Reflections."
He stared into the horizon, where waters whispered secrets and monsters guarded what mortals dared not claim.
But he knew now this wasn't just a battle of magic or swords.
It was a battle of stories. Of legacy.
And he would rewrite his.
To be continued…