The air bites.
So cold it could pass for winter in most of Europe.
Anyawu marches ahead, steady and resolute. Her soldiers follow closely, their footsteps muffled by the dense underbrush. The forest swallows the sound of their movement, but not their tension.
"Mtchww," she hisses through her teeth. Then louder, her voice thick with sarcasm, "Wonderful king!"
"Blasphemy," Chioma mutters beside her, sharp as a blade.
Anyawu feigns innocence, turning to the troop with mock surprise. "Blasphemy? What's blasphemous about what I said? I was only complimenting our beloved king."
"We all know what you meant," Chioma replies, eyes narrowing as they meet hers.
A pause.
Then laughter erupts from the ranks, low and knowing.
Chioma steps closer, voice dropping. "But seriously. What's vexed you so badly? The way you said it—it must be the king. Did he try marrying you off to one of his sons?"
Anyawu gives no answer. Her expression remains unreadable.
"Or was it him?" Chioma presses, her tone teasing. "Don't tell me the king tried to take your hand himself!"
Still, Anyawu says nothing.
Chioma rolls her eyes and looks away with a frustrated sigh.
A soft chuckle escapes Anyawu's lips.
"No," she finally says. "The king wouldn't dare." She pauses, gaze fixed on the winding trail ahead. "It's this expedition. I don't understand it. We're surrounded by nothing but bush, yet he brings along forty maids and forty children, tagging them onto my troop to make a hundred. That's eighty innocent, untrained souls marching through dense forest on the way to Oshimili. Of course I'm angry."
"With all the jewelry they're carrying," Chioma says, elbowing her playfully, "maybe it's an elaborate proposal."
But then her voice drops again, serious now. "That's not what's troubling me. You know what path we're on. If we stay on it, we'll reach Ajofia soon. And there's no priest with us. Not one. Usually, there's at least a handful by now."
Anyawu hums thoughtfully. "He did say to stay on this route no matter what." She frowns. "It's suspicious."
"I have a plan," she says at last.
Then she calls out, "Halt!"
The company stops.
"We'll rest here for three hours before continuing," she announces. The troops immediately disband into smaller groups, setting up camp.
Flashback – Three Days Ago
The soldiers stationed near the Nile had taken up their usual routines. The lieutenant, as often, wandered off to fish, hoping to ease his hunger while waiting for the next supply shipment.
But instead of fish, they found her.
A woman—no, a vision—sat on a rock by the riverbank, drenched from head to toe, water endlessly dripping from her body. It streamed from her hair, her fingers, her feet, as though she were made entirely of it. She sat in perfect poise, a haunting majesty cloaking her silence.
The soldiers froze. This was no ordinary woman.
They ran.
By the next day, the king had heard of it. And when he arrived, she was still there—unmoving, unbothered.
He brought with him a host: priests, warriors, virgin attendants, and high chiefs from across the realm. The entire court came to see her.
A priest stepped forward, chanting in a tongue older than the river itself. His incantation flowed for three minutes. When he finished, the king's servants approached, offering gifts—fruits, palm wine, and glittering jewels, laid gently at her feet.
She did not move. She did not speak. She only watched them with a gaze full of contempt.
Finally, the king stepped forward.
He was a thin, sickly man, fragile as old bark. Each step looked like it might be his last.
"Great one," he said, trembling. "What is it you seek? We have brought all we have to appease you."
He could not meet her eyes.
The woman smirked.
"Why so worried, Nduka na Chibuike?" she asked. "I'm merely... vexed."
She rose with grace and fluidity, stepping onto the earth. "For three centuries, the offerings to sea and sky have dwindled. I thought perhaps your people had fallen on hard times. I thought to bless you again. Fish, salt, rain. But no—your offerings say otherwise."
Her voice dropped, deadly. "So let it be thunder and flood. For every child born in this land, a storm shall rise."
"Please!" the king begged. "Give us a way out—we'll do anything."
"Anything?" she echoed with a sly smile. "Then hear my demand."
Present Day
"Have you checked it?" Anyawu asks Uche, a broad-shouldered soldier from her unit.
He nods grimly. "Chioma was right. It's Ajofia ahead—and not a priest in sight."
"No one to redirect us," she murmurs. "The king planned this."
"We'll still go to Oshimili," she says firmly. "But not by this cursed path."
She turns to Chioma. "Spread the word."
Three Days Ago – The King's Chambers
"A sacrifice of a hundred?!" the king gasped.
The goddess only smiled, cold and cruel. "Would you rather I flood your kingdom off the face of Ani? What's a hundred lives compared to tens of thousands? Choose wisely, Nduka."
Before he could speak, she burst into a torrent of water and vanished into the Nile.
Later, in the great hall of the palace, the king sat at a long table with his sons and the council of elders.
"What do we do?" Chief Uzo asked.
Eze, the second son, answered somberly. "We obey. I was raised to think the gods were myth. That we needed to cast off superstition to advance. We succeeded. Our kingdom is the most powerful in the region. But now…"
"They're real," the king said. "We abandoned them. And this is the cost."
"She's angry," an elder muttered.
"My king," said Chinedu, the eldest son, eyes flickering with uncertainty and resolve. "My brothers and I have a plan."
"I'll take anything at this point," the king sighed.
"We lead our people through Ajofia."
Gasps followed.
"It's dangerous," said an elder.
"But less so than the goddess," Chinedu argued. "The priests will be there, waiting."
The room fell silent.
Despite resistance and uncertainty, the king nodded. Decision made.
Present Day
Unaware of the king's true intentions, Anyawu and her company march toward their doom.
The air is thick, suffocating. Faint, hypnotic singing drifts in from a distance—siren song.
At the river's edge, a priest waits. But he is no ordinary priest. He is not of the human world. Water runs endlessly from his skin.
They approach cautiously.
The priest begins to chant. The world around them is swallowed in blue flames. Water droplets rise, floating in defiance of gravity.
They step onto a giant wooden platform hovering over the river.
It sinks.
Like a falling elevator, it drops violently. They don't even have time to scream.
Submerged, Chioma and Anyawu lock eyes—sharing only fear and silence—before darkness takes them both.