The journey back to Odanjo was a race against the inevitable.
The desert spat them out battered and blistered, and the fertile plains of Odanjo felt like an old memory trying to fade. But as they crossed into the familiar lands, they found them strangely... quiet. No merchants on the roads, no farmers tending to crops, no children playing.
It was as if the heart of the kingdom had stopped beating.
Ayọ̀kúnlé, Adérónké, Tùndé, and the remaining warriors made haste. Ayọ̀kúnlé gripped the Bone Relic close to his chest, its dark whispers curling into his ears whenever he let his guard slip.
Corrupt them before they betray you.
He shook it off. He had come too far to fall now.
They reached the outer villages by dusk. What they found made the blood in their veins run cold.
Ash.
Entire villages reduced to ashes and charred wood. Smoke drifted lazily into the sky. No bodies. Just the sense of violence that still lingered in the air.
"Rányìn," Adérónké said, her voice trembling with fury. "She's begun the cleansing."
"We're out of time," Ayọ̀kúnlé said.
They pressed on, hearts pounding.
By the third village, they found survivors a scattering of hollow-eyed men, women, and children, hiding in caves and forests, too terrified to speak.
One old man clutched Ayọ̀kúnlé's arm and whispered, "She rides a beast of flame. Her armies blacken the skies. She's heading to the capital."
"Father," Adérónké gasped, realizing their home, their family, everything they loved, was in Rányìn's path.
"We must rally whoever remains," Ayọ̀kúnlé said. "We make our stand at Odanjo."
The days that followed were a whirlwind.
Ayọ̀kúnlé and his companions became legends traveling from village to village, summoning farmers, hunters, old warriors, even the young and the frail, forging an army from the ashes.
It was a pitiful force compared to Rányìn's legions, but it was theirs. Loyal and burning with a desperate fire.
Each night, Ayọ̀kúnlé would train them, lead them, inspire them.
And each night, the Bone Relic would whisper darker strategies—urging betrayal, urging sacrifice of the weak to save the strong.
Ayọ̀kúnlé resisted. Barely.
At night, he would dream of Rányìn her voice sweet, her hands gentle, offering him a crown bathed in blood. Offering peace, if he would only kneel.
Adérónké noticed the strain. She would often sit beside him by the campfire, sometimes speaking, sometimes silent. Always anchoring him.
"You're stronger than any relic," she whispered one night, brushing his hand with hers.
He wanted to believe her.
The night before the battle, Ayọ̀kúnlé stood atop the city walls of Odanjo.
The city behind him was a shadow of itself. Markets abandoned. Houses shuttered. Fear lingered in the air like a poison.
Below, the fields stretched out toward the horizon.
And there, rising from the darkness, came Rányìn's army.
An ocean of banners, black and gold. Siege engines that blotted out the stars. Creatures of nightmare, winged and fanged.
And at their head—on a monstrous horned beast of flame and bone rode Rányìn, a crown of molten gold upon her brow.
She raised her sword, and the earth itself seemed to tremble.
"Ayọ̀kúnlé!" she called, her voice carrying across the fields like a storm. "Come to me. Claim your destiny. Kneel, and Odanjo will be spared."
The warriors around Ayọ̀kúnlé stiffened, waiting.
He could feel the relic pulse against his chest. Temptation. Fear. Hope twisted into a weapon.
Ayọ̀kúnlé stepped to the edge of the battlements.
"I will never kneel to you," he shouted back.
Cheers erupted behind him.
Rányìn's smile was cold.
"Then watch them burn."
She lowered her sword.
The drums of war thundered.
And the sky exploded.
Arrows rained down like black hail. Siege engines hurled boulders wreathed in fire. Monsters shrieked and tore through the front lines.
Ayọ̀kúnlé led the defense personally, fighting alongside Adérónké and Tùndé. The relics Fire, Truth, Bone burned bright at his command, turning him into a storm of destruction.
Yet for every enemy slain, two more rose.
Hours bled into each other. The walls buckled. The gates splintered.
Still they fought.
Ayọ̀kúnlé cut through a towering beast with a roar, only to find himself face-to-face with one of Rányìn's generals a man with eyes of pure silver.
"You cannot win," the general hissed. "The throne belongs to darkness now."
Ayọ̀kúnlé plunged his sword into the man's heart.
"Not while I live," he growled.
But slowly, inevitably, the tide turned.
The warriors of Odanjo were pushed back to the palace steps.
Adérónké stood covered in blood and ash, barely holding her sword.
Tùndé had taken a spear to the side but still fought on.
Children clutched daggers with shaking hands. Old men hurled stones.
Desperation.
And atop it all, Rányìn approached serene, untouched, her beast's hooves setting the very ground ablaze.
Ayọ̀kúnlé knew what he had to do.
He stepped forward, the three relics blazing in his hands.
Rányìn dismounted and walked toward him, smiling.
"You see?" she said sweetly. "You cannot save them."
"Maybe not," he said.
He slammed the relics together.
The ground shook. Light erupted. A dome of pure power enveloped the palace and those within.
Outside the barrier, Rányìn's army howled and clawed, but could not break through.
Inside, there was silence.
Ayọ̀kúnlé turned to his people.
"This is not surrender," he said. "This is a promise. We will endure. We will rebuild. Even if I fall, Odanjo will live."
Adérónké's eyes filled with tears.
"Don't do this," she whispered.
He smiled sadly.
"I must."
He turned back to Rányìn, stepping beyond the barrier alone.
The ride back to Odanjo was fraught with tension. Every mile closer to the kingdom felt like a ticking clock, each step echoing the unspoken truth—war was coming. Ayọ̀kúnlé sat in silence atop his steed, the Bone Relic pulsing faintly at his side. The trio of relics now rested in their possession, but their power came with a price none of them could yet fully comprehend.
"Will they accept us?" Adérónké asked, breaking the silence. "We left as fugitives. Now we return as…"
"Symbols," Ayọ̀kúnlé replied. "Or threats. Depending on who still sits on the council."
They rode through the Verdant Pass, the once-blooming flowers now wilting as if mourning the coming storm. Scouts moved ahead, messengers behind. Tùndé rode beside Ayọ̀kúnlé, his eyes scanning the skies.
"She won't wait long," he said. "Rányìn will move before we reach the gates."
"She wants the relics. But more than that, she wants me."
"And what do you want?" Tùndé asked.
Ayọ̀kúnlé didn't answer.
By the time they reached the outer ridge of Odanjo, the sun had set. But the horizon blazed red, orange, and sickly green. Fires.
The city was already under siege.
Airships hovered in the sky like vultures. Rányìn's banners rippled across the battlefield. And from the northern ridge, columns of dark-armored soldiers poured down like oil.
Ayọ̀kúnlé turned to his companions. "We split. Tùndé, take the Bone Relic to the temple vault. It must be sealed until we're ready. Adérónké, with me we head for the palace."
"What about you?" Tùndé asked.
"I need the people to see me," Ayọ̀kúnlé said. "Before Rányìn twists the truth."
They moved fast. Through alleyways, crumbling walls, past burning homes. The smell of smoke and ash clung to their skin. The cries of the wounded rang out all around them.
A group of royal guards spotted Ayọ̀kúnlé and raised their spears—until they saw the Fire Relic blaze in his palm.
"The prince lives!" one gasped.
"Not a prince," Ayọ̀kúnlé replied. "A warrior of Odanjo. And I've come to fight."
The guards bowed. One stepped forward. "We thought you dead. The Queen said"
"She lies," Ayọ̀kúnlé said firmly. "She's no queen. Not anymore."
The palace was a war zone.
Battles raged at the gates. Within the royal square, magic crackled, arrows flew, and relic energy surged like storms. The last of the loyalists fought a desperate defense.
Ayọ̀kúnlé and Adérónké moved like a tempest through the chaos. Side by side, they fought through enemies shadow creatures conjured from Rányìn's cursecraft, corrupted soldiers, even old allies turned traitors.
Every slash, every block, every fire spell cast felt like a rebellion against fate.
Then they reached the throne hall.
And there she was.
Rányìn.
Clad in black-gold armor, crowned with obsidian, she stood at the dais like a goddess of war. The Mirror Relic floated behind her, humming with stolen truths.
"I knew you'd come," she said, smiling coldly. "You always do, little prince."
"This ends tonight," Ayọ̀kúnlé growled.
"No," she whispered. "It begins tonight."
She raised her hand. Lightning arced. Adérónké moved to block it—but Rányìn redirected it at Ayọ̀kúnlé, who caught it in his palm, the Fire Relic flaring in response.
The hall trembled.
Relic against relic.
Truth against deception.
Love against power.
They clashed.
Ayọ̀kúnlé charged. Their swords met with a scream of metal and light. The Mirror Relic exploded in shards as it tried to absorb the Bone Relic's pulse. Ghostly images of Ayọ̀kúnlé's past flashed across the room his childhood, his exile, his betrayal, his love.
Rányìn faltered.
"You were never meant to rule," she hissed.
"No," he said, pushing her back. "I was meant to protect."
He struck.
The Fire Relic burned through her defenses. The Bone Relic pulsed like a heartbeat of judgment. And at last, the Truth Relic glowed bright revealing her final fear.
Loneliness.
Power had never filled the emptiness in Rányìn. She had wanted Ayọ̀kúnlé not just for control, but for the companionship she had lost centuries ago.
But it was too late.
She fell.
As the crown rolled from her hand, Ayọ̀kúnlé stood over her.
"It didn't have to be this way," he whispered.
Rányìn smiled faintly. "It always had to."
With a sigh, her body turned to ash.
The relics calmed.
And silence returned.
Outside, the tide of battle shifted. The dark army faltered. Shadows fled. Loyalists cheered.
Tùndé returned with warriors from the vault. "It's done," he said. "She's gone?"
Ayọ̀kúnlé nodded slowly. "She's gone."
Adérónké touched his shoulder. "And now?"
Ayọ̀kúnlé looked out over the ruined palace. "Now we rebuild."
But deep in his soul, a whisper remained. The relics still pulsed. The prophecy had not ended.
You will die, and yet not die.
The final test still waited.
The final battle had begun.
To be continued...