The night is cold—so cold it could pass for winter in most European countries.
Anyawu marches forward, her soldiers trailing behind her. Steadfast as ever, she presses on through the thick, whispering dark.
"Mtchww," she hisses, then mutters aloud, sarcasm dripping from her tone. "Wonderful king."
"Blasphemy," her lieutenant, Chioma, replies sharply.
Anyawu speaks innocently, her voice low but witting, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Blasphemy? What's blasphemous about that? I only praised the king."
Chioma narrows her eyes. "We all know what you meant."
A beat passes—and suddenly, the squad bursts into laughter.
Chioma draws nearer. "But on a more serious note, what's got you vexed? Judging by your tone, it must be the king. Did he try marrying you off to one of his sons?" She watches Anyawu's face for a reaction, but none comes. "Or perhaps he tried to claim you himself?" she teases.
Still, Anyawu says nothing.
"That must be it!" Chioma exclaims, mockingly—trying to pull a smile from her commander. But Anyawu stays stone-faced. Chioma scoffs and looks away, frustrated—eliciting a quiet chuckle from her superior.
"No," Anyawu finally responds. "The king wouldn't dare." Her voice hardens. "It's this expedition I do not understand. We are surrounded by nothing but bushes, yet he brings forty maids and forty children along with my troop. That's a hundred people—eighty of them innocent and inexperienced—forced to travel through these cursed woods en route to Oshimili. Of course I'm angry."
"With all the jewelry they're carrying," Chioma replies, nudging Anyawu with her elbow, "maybe it's the king's elaborate way of proposing."
"But that's not what really has me worried," Chioma adds, lowering her voice. "Following this path, we'll soon reach Ajofia. What then? We have no priest with us. And still, the king insists we continue. No matter what. It's... suspicious."
Anyawu hums, her eyes narrowed in thought. "I have a plan." She straightens, then calls out, "Halt!"
"We'll stop here. A three-hour rest before we proceed."
The troop disbands at once, soldiers and civilians breaking off into their own clusters to settle down to the rest.
Three Days Earlier
At the Nile's edge, soldiers are posted as usual. One lieutenant often goes fishing to abate his hunger, especially when rations run low.
Today, as a few soldiers comb the banks, they stumble upon something strange—a breathtaking woman, drenched from head to toe, perched regally atop a bed of river rock. Water streams endlessly from her skin, cascading down her frame like a living fountain. From her crown to her heels, she drips.
The soldiers freeze. Unnatural. Unholy. Without delay, they alert the palace.
Within the day, the king arrives—bringing with him an entourage of priests, royal guards, virgin maidens, and high chiefs summoned from across the land.
One priest steps forward and begins incantations—mysterious, ancient chants that echo in the air for nearly three minutes.
Then the servants advance, laying offerings before her: ripe mangoes, golden oranges, sweet palm wine, and dazzling jewels.
She does not stir.
Her expression remains aloof, condescending. She looks through them, as though they were mere insects.
Finally, the king himself approaches—frail, sickly, a man on the brink of collapse. His steps are shaky, eyes flickering with fear and reverence.
"Great one," he says, bowing low. "What do you seek? We have brought gifts to honor and appease you."
The woman eyes him with an amused smirk.
"Why do you tremble, Nduka na Chibuike?" she asks coolly. "I am merely... vexed."
She rises, stepping gracefully down to the shore. "For three centuries, you have neglected the rituals—no songs, no sacrifices. I thought perhaps it was poverty, or dwindling faith. Yet before me you lay treasures and wine, more than I have seen in lifetimes."
She snarls, her voice rising like a tide. "So be it. For every child born from this day forth, I will send flood and thunder upon your land!"
"P-please," the king stammers. "Spare us. We will do anything."
"Anything?" Her eyes gleam.
"Yes. Even... sacrifice."
A slow, cruel smile spreads across her face.
"If that is your word, then listen closely. I will tell you my terms."
Present Day
"Have you checked it?" Anyawu asks Uche, a strong young soldier.
"I have," he replies grimly. "Chioma was right. It's Ajofia ahead. And there are no priests in sight—none, where there should be many."
Anyawu's gaze darkens. "Which means there's no one to stop us from going further. The king is up to something."
She turns sharply. "We go to Oshimili. But not through this path. We'll forge a new one."
"Chioma," she calls, "inform the others."
Three Days Earlier – The Nile shores
"A sacrifice of a hundred?!" the king gasps, pale and trembling.
The goddess smiles coldly. "It is that, or I will flood your lands until they vanish beneath Ani herself. What's the greater cost, Nduka? Tens of thousands? Or just one hundred?"
Before he can answer, she vanishes—her body dissolving into a surge of water that crashes back into the Nile.
The Kings Palace
In the king's grand hall, Elders and princes gather for council. They sit at a long table, tension thick in the air.
"My king, what do we do?" Chief Uzo asks gravely.
Eze, the second son, speaks up. "We must give her what she demands. For years, we treated the gods as myth—superstitions meant to control. We shed our beliefs in pursuit of progress. But now..."
"They are real," the king mutters. "And angry."
"Indeed," an elder adds. "This is the curse of forgetting them."
Chinedu, the first son, stands. Resolve flashes in his eyes. "My brothers and I have a plan."
The king lifts his gaze, desperate. "Let's hear it."
"We lead the people through Ajofia."
"That's suicide!" one elder exclaims.
"But it is better than facing the goddess' wrath unarmed," Chinedu retorts. "Besides, the priests will be waiting on the other side."
All eyes turn to the king.
Amidst the whispers, the worried stares, and the silent debate—he nods. Just once.
And so, the plan is set in motion.
Present Day
Unaware of the king's true intentions, Anyawu and her company march steadily toward potential doom.
The air grows dense. From afar, the haunting melody of a siren song drifts toward them, subtle but chilling.
At the Nile's edge, a lone priest awaits. His appearance is strange—water cascading endlessly from his body, a shimmer of the unnatural surrounding him.
Anyawu approaches, cautious but poised.
Without a word, the priest begins to chant.
Blue fire bursts into existence around them. Droplets of water defy gravity, suspended in the air like stars.
Still, the group presses forward onto a massive floating board anchored in the river.
As the last foot steps aboard, the board sinks—plummeting like a stone into the depths.
No time to scream.
Submerged in silence, Chioma and Anyawu exchange a final look—uncertainty etched in their wide eyes—before the darkness swallows them whole.
Then... nothing.