I awake to a throbbing ache in every muscle and a silence that feels holy. Where chaos reigned moments ago, now I hear only the crackle of settling dust and the distant calls of birds returning to the sky. The eclipse has passed; sunlight pours over Ntanda's stone circle once more, illuminating drifting smoke and the silhouettes of my companions. Laid out on the scorched earth, I blink at a sky that moments ago was darkness. The sun is no longer a devouring eye of eclipse, but a gentle star once more, its light somehow heavier than before.
I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hits. For the first time since my powers awakened, I feel true gravity weighing me down. My limbs are leaden; even a simple motion demands effort. I am like everyone else now, bound to the earth by nature's law. Part of me is relieved, while another part quietly mourns the loss of weightlessness like the passing of an old friend.
"Obasi… you're alive!" Nyota's voice cuts through the haze. She kneels beside me, face streaked with dirt and concern. Nyota. I remember her standing with me against Nyos's onslaught, her resolve as steadfast as these ancient stones. Now her braids have come loose, and tears of relief glint in her eyes as she grips my shoulder.
"I'm okay," I whisper, though my voice is raw. Gently, Nyota slips an arm behind me and helps me sit up. The world tilts, then steadies. All around is the aftermath of our cosmic battle: toppled monoliths, scorched earth, eerie quiet. A few meters away, Kwame—one of our allies—stands vigilant, the edges of his cloak fluttering in the new breeze.
Villagers begin to emerge from where they hid during the eclipse. A pair of elders step cautiously over rubble, sticks tapping the ground. Behind them, wide-eyed children cling to their mothers' skirts, faces still etched with the terror of what they witnessed.
Nyota squeezes my arm, drawing me back. "You did it," she whispers. Her tone holds awe and gentle admonishment. Perhaps she sensed the moment I unleashed everything to seal the rift and cast Nyos out. I recall a crescendo of energy, a final blinding flash, then darkness—until now.
Alive. Powerless. But alive. I flex my fingers in the dirt, just to feel the grit and be sure. The smell of charred grass lingers in the air. Even without my extra senses, something in the atmosphere feels balanced now, as if the world itself released a long-held breath.
A shadow falls over me. Kwame approaches, extending a hand. Sunlight frames him like a halo; sweat and soot streak his face, but he musters a trembling smile. I clasp his forearm and he hauls me to my feet. Without my powers, I'm heavier than I remember, and I wobble until Nyota steadies me.
"We won," Kwame says softly, as if speaking too loudly might break the spell. In his eyes dance relief and gratitude—and a glimmer of grief. I follow his gaze to a cloth-covered shape near a fallen pillar. My heart clenches. Under that bloodstained kente lies Kofi, the elder who fought beside us. Struck down in the final moments—our victory is suddenly bittersweet.
A gentle wind stirs the acacia trees beyond the circle. Their leaves rustle like distant voices. I bow my head and whisper a prayer for Kofi's spirit. He believed in me, and I wish I could have saved him.
"We will honor him," Nyota says softly, reading my grief. Her hand finds my arm in comfort. "He walks with the ancestors now."
I nod, eyes burning. The ancestors... Perhaps they answered at the final hour when my strength failed. I felt a lineage at my back as Nyos bore down, then sensed them ebb like a receding tide once the darkness broke, leaving me in the new dawn.
A hush falls as survivors gather in the shattered circle. One elder lifts his hands to the sky and begins a low chant of thanks, a melody as old as the stones. Others join in softly. The language is unfamiliar—likely the local tongue—but I need no translation. It is a song of gratitude, remembrance, healing.
I lean on Nyota's shoulder and listen. My body is weak, but my spirit feels oddly strong, warmed by the sun and the solidarity around me. I close my eyes and let the chant wash over me. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I see embers drifting into a velvet sky—each a prayer set free.
Tears slip down my cheeks, tracing the dirt there. They are tears of relief, sorrow, awe. I survived the longest night, and now I stand bathed in day's new light, carrying the weight of sunlight in my bones. It is heavy, yes, but it sustains me.
When the chant ends, silence falls once more. I hear Nyota begin to address the villagers, her voice clear and reassuring as she tells them the threat is over. Her words blur in my ears as exhaustion presses on me.
Kwame touches my back. "Come, brother. Let's get you to rest," he murmurs.
I don't protest. My strength is nearly gone; even staying upright is a battle. As they guide me away from the shattered circle, I take one last glance over my shoulder. In the center, the ground where the rift opened is charred black. Yet already, tiny shoots of green peek through at the edges of the scar, reaching for the light. Life returns, quietly and stubbornly.
My heart swells at that sight. A silent promise forms within me: I will help rebuild what was broken, however I can. Power or no power, I am still Obasi Mensah—still a son of this soil and sky.
Leaning on my friends, I limp toward the village beyond the trees. Each step is an act of trust—trust in the earth to hold me, trust in these companions beside me, and trust in the path that now unfolds ahead, one humble footfall at a time.