The jungle grew stranger.
Trees leaned too far inward. Vines whispered. The sky above dimmed, though it was not yet night. The deeper they walked, the more the forest felt like breath—warm, watching, waiting.
Alaric stopped, staring at a tree trunk that bled sap the color of bone.
"We're not in the real forest anymore," he murmured. "This place… it's layered."
Amarachi nodded. "We've crossed the Veil."
Chima's grip on his machete tightened. "You should turn back, oyibo. This is not your realm."
"I came this far," Alaric snapped. "I'm not leaving her alone."
"She's not alone. She has me."
Amarachi raised a hand—sharply. "Both of you, silence."
The tension cracked like dry wood.
But the moment shattered when Amarachi stumbled, gasping.
Roots from the earth surged up, wrapping around her ankles. She cried out—but not in fear. It was more like surrender.
"Amara!" Chima moved to cut the roots.
"No," Alaric said. "Wait… look at her."
Her eyes had gone white. Her body rigid. The roots didn't harm her—they held her upright, suspended slightly above the ground.
Then came the whisper, from the trees, from the wind:
"Let the Codex test her."
Within the Trial Realm
Amarachi stood barefoot on a river of obsidian. Around her, flame floated like lanterns. The sky above was scarred with stars that pulsed in patterns she somehow understood—sigils, messages, memories.
A voice echoed:
"Do you remember who you are, child of the soil and flame?"
She turned.
From the shadows stepped a woman draped in black feathers, her face veiled. The scent of her was ancestral—rosemary, sweat, and storm.
"I remember everything," Amarachi said.
"Then show me. Call the Codex."
Amarachi raised her hands, her Sigils flaring with bright flames. "Bià, na mu na gi bu ofu"—come, for you and I are one—she summoned, her voice resonating with power.
Ahead, a Spiral Sigil pulsed with amber light, a tree symbol nestled within its intricate lines. Drawn by an unseen force, she walked slowly towards it, arms outstretched.
Then, a call sliced through the air. Alaric stood at the riverbank, his voice a honeyed plea, painting vivid promises of a life ablaze with passion, a life entwined with his.
Hesitation flickered across her face. Slowly, she turned, drawn by the allure of his words. But as their fingertips nearly brushed, a torrent of sound crashed into her awareness: the agonizing screams of people burning, the heart-wrenching wails of babies, the chilling laughter of witches. The stench of decaying corpses and acrid smoke from burning houses assaulted her senses, shattering the illusion.
With a shuddering breath, Amara spun back. Steeling her mind against the lingering echo of Alaric's promises, she walked with newfound resolve to the sigil, which shrank as she approached. Her fingers closed around it.
The spiral sigil burned into her palm. Fire blossomed from her chest, curling into a scroll of light. She opened it.
It burned the realm.
She screamed—but did not falter.
The veiled woman smiled. "You are the last gate. Guard well."
Then the realm cracked.
And she fell—
Back in the Jungle
Amarachi collapsed into Alaric's arms. He caught her just before she hit the ground.
She was burning. Not literally—but heat pulsed from her skin in waves.
"She's fevered," he whispered.
"She's touched," Chima corrected. "The Codex claimed more of her."
Alaric laid her down gently, brushing damp hair from her brow. His thumb lingered on her cheek.
"I saw her," Amarachi whispered weakly, eyes fluttering. "The guardian. She asked me to prove who I am."
Chima knelt beside her, voice trembling. "And did you?"
"I think I did," she breathed.
Suddenly, the earth rumbled. Trees bowed outward in submission. From the underbrush ahead, red light flickered.
"The boy's near," Chima said.
"Let's move," Alaric urged.
But as they stood, something snapped—inside him.
Not fear. Not even jealousy.
Something deeper: doubt.
Could he, a man of science, truly walk beside a woman chosen by fire and gods?
And Chima… he didn't just know Amarachi. He belonged to her past in a way Alaric never could.
Amarachi noticed the shift in his silence. Her hand touched his.
"Don't go inside your mind," she whispered. "Not now. I need you here."
He nodded. But didn't speak.
They walked toward the light.
Unaware that deep in the witches' lair, Ezuma had felt the trial too.
"She passed," the old witch whispered, stroking the creature's scarred face. "But let her pass again—and she will break."
And the creature hissed its loyalty.