The morning sun warmed my shoulders as I followed the familiar path home, my wet small wrapper clinging uncomfortably after crossing the river. The antidote pressed against my chest, waterproof and secure, wrapped in oiled animal hide and sealed with raffia, a small miracle amidst the chaos. I had checked it compulsively during the swim, my fingers reassuring me that Rimi's salvation was still secure.

The scent reached me first – not the usual sweet smoke of cooking fires or medicinal herbs, but something sharper, darker. My steps faltered as I looked up, seeing thick black smoke coiling against the morning sky like angry spirits. It rose from the direction of...

No.

I broke into a run, bare feet pounding against the earth, heart thundering in my ears. The smoke grew thicker, carrying with it the unmistakable stench of burned thatch and something else – something that made my stomach clench.

I rounded the last bend and stopped dead. Where my compound had stood just hours before, flames still licked at the remains of collapsed huts. The healing house, the sleeping quarters, the storage rooms – all reduced to smoldering ruins. The crops and meat I'd spent moons collecting curled and blackened in their pots, releasing toxic smoke into the air.

Yet, the scene in the compound's center froze me in place, turning my blood to ice.

Mairo knelt in the bloody dirt, her body curled protectively over Rimi's still form. An arrow protruded from her back like a cruel standard, but she seemed oblivious to it, her shoulders shaking with raw, guttural sobs. And Rimi... gods, Rimi. The arrow in her chest had struck true, the shaft still quivering slightly with each of Mairo's movements.

"No, no, no..." The word fell from my lips like stones as I stumbled forward. My knees hit the ground beside them, hands hovering uselessly over Rimi's body. Her skin was still warm, but her eyes... her eyes stared sightlessly at the smoke-stained sky.

"They came as Dawn approached," Mairo choked out between sobs. "So many... we couldn't... I tried to..."

The antidote pressed against my chest like a mockery. All that effort, all those risks, only to return to... this.

I forced myself to look closer at the arrow shaft, at its fletching. Not ordinary hunting arrows. These were war arrows, designed to pierce armor. The kind used by...

"Ashangi," I whispered. The truth hit like a physical blow. I hadn't just failed to save Rimi – I had led them straight to her. To my home.

Ashangi assassins—deadliest of our kind. No one knew exactly where their lair lay hidden, not even the shadows of night like myself, could catch a glimpse of them. They moved like whispers, silent and unseen, leaving no trace but the cold, finality of their blade. I had lived far out on the outskirts, carefully choosing a location so remote, so labyrinthine, that it would be nearly impossible to trace. Only the Ashangi could find me. But hiring them was no small feat; their blades were reserved for those who could pay a price most could scarcely imagine. So, who could have summoned their hand against me?

Mairo's sobbing grew weaker, her strength finally fading as shock set in. I caught her as she slumped sideways, careful of the arrow still embedded in her back. It was a cruel mercy – positioned to wound and immobilize, not to kill. They had wanted her to watch.

And for me to find the aftermath when I returned.

As the sun rose higher, indifferent to our tragedy, it cast long shadows through the encroaching smoke. In my hand, the antidote felt heavier than ever – a cure that had come too late, turned useless by arrows and flame.

But as I held Mairo and stared at what remained of my new life's work, something else began to burn inside me. Something harder and colder than grief. Because now I understood – this wasn't just about a poisoned smoke or palace intrigue. This was a message, written in blood and fire.

And I had just received it.

"Hold still," I whispered, examining how the barbed head had lodged beneath her shoulder blade. My hands moved with practiced precision despite the trembling in my heart. First, I broke off the arrow's shaft close to her skin – the sound made her flinch, but she didn't cry out.

From the ruins of her healing hut, I'd salvaged a small clay pot of numbweed paste, miraculously intact. My fingers worked it gently around the wound. As the herb took effect, Mairo's breathing steadied slightly.

"I couldn't save her," she mumbled, her face still turned toward Rimi's body. "I tried... I tried..."

"Shhh." I couldn't bear her guilt, not when mine weighed so heavy. With the area numbed, I gripped what remained of the arrow shaft. "Breathe in deeply."

When she inhaled, I pulled – quick and sure, the way my uncle had taught me. The barbed head came free with a sound that turned my stomach. Mairo's body jerked, but still she made no sound. Blood welled up, dark against her skin.

I worked quickly, cleaning the wound with what little water remained in the compound's pots. Then, from a pouch at my waist, I took the sleeping herbs I had carried – the same kind I'd used on Ozo Ibezim's guards. Mixed with healing roots and pressed into the wound, they would ensure she slept through the worst of the pain.

"No," she protested weakly, recognizing the herbs' scent. "I need... need to avenge..."

"You need to heal," I said firmly, binding the poultice in place with strips torn from my wrapper. "The dead will wait. The living must be tended first."

I held her as the herbs took effect, feeling her resistance fade as sleep claimed her. Only when she was fully unconscious did I allow myself to really look at her face – streaked with tears, ash, and the kind of grief that leaves permanent marks on the soul.

"I'll make this right," I promised her sleeping form, though I had no idea how. I moved her carefully to the shade of the one wall still standing, positioning her so the wound wouldn't press against the ground. One small mercy – the arrow had missed anything vital. She would recover, though the scar would remain as a reminder of this morning's horror.

My mind raced through possibilities, each more disturbing than the last. Ibezim and his daughter – their motive was clear after my infiltration, but the timing felt wrong. Even with the fastest messengers and the deadliest Ashangi warriors at their disposal, organizing such a precise attack by dawn would have been impossible. No, this bore the Onowu's signature – the calculated cruelty, the message in the arrows' placement, the deliberate sparing of Mairo's life so she could witness everything. This was the beginning of his revenge, served cold and methodical, just like the poison he'd used on that widow years ago. A widow I'd saved, undermining his authority for the first time in front of the entire village. He had vowed that my defiance would cost me dearly. Even after I tore Mairo and Rimi from his grip, making him a laughingstock before the Igwe and his council, his eyes burned with a promise of revenge. Now, surrounded by ashes and death, I finally understood the full weight of that vow.

I walked to the pigeon shed—somehow spared from the flames—standing like a lone survivor amid the burnt ruins. As I approached, my steps faltered. There, in the dim interior, sat a figure I knew too well. Nne Ogwu's aged frame seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the smoke-stained air, her ceremonial staff laid across her lap like a sleeping serpent.

"Were you about to send for me, child?" Her voice carried the weight of decades. She didn't look at the devastation around us, didn't acknowledge the scent of death that hung in the air. Her eyes, clouded with age but sharp as ever, fixed on mine.

"You knew." It wasn't a question. My hands clenched at my sides. "You knew this would happen."

"I knew many things could happen." She traced patterns in the dirt with her staff's tip. "The future branches like a river in flood season. I saw you stealing through Ibezim's shadows. I saw you in ropes. I saw you return with a cure. And I saw this..." She gestured at the ruins without looking. "All equally possible."

"Then why didn't you warn me?"

"Would you have listened?" A smile creased her ancient face. "When did you last heed an old woman's warning about rushing into danger?"

The truth of her words stung. I slumped against the shed's doorframe. "It was the Onowu, wasn't it?"

"Ah." She stopped drawing patterns. "Now you ask the right question. Tell me why you think so."

"The timing is wrong for Ibezim. The arrows were too precise for common mercenaries. And the Onowu..." I swallowed hard. "He never forgave me for ...undermining his authority."

Nne Ogwu grunted.

"I need to end this." I stepped into the shed. "Before he comes back to finish what he started."

"Revenge?" Her eyes glittered. "Is that what you seek?"

"Justice."

"Ah, but whose justice? The gods'? The king's? Or your own?" She leaned forward. "Tell me, farmer, when you set a broken bone, do you first ask who broke it? When you draw poison from a wound, do you stop to curse the snake?"

"This is different."

"Is it?" She stood, suddenly seeming taller despite her stooped frame. "You stand at a crossroads, child. One path leads to vengeance – blood for blood, fire for fire. The other..." She touched my chest, where the useless antidote still lay strapped. "The other leads to healing. Not just bodies, but something far more poisoned."

"The Onowu will never stop. He'll come for Mairo next."

"Unless?"

I met her gaze, understanding slowly dawning. "Unless he's offered a cure for his own poison. The fear that drives him to destroy any threat to his power."

She smiled – not the indulgent smile of an elder, but the sharp grin of a teacher whose student has finally grasped a difficult lesson. "Now you begin to think like a true grandson of the king of kings. Remember: some poisons can only be drawn out slowly, with patience and wisdom. Strike too quickly at a festering wound..."

"...and the infection spreads," I finished. "But Nne Ogwu, Rimi is dead. I failed her."

"Yes, she's dead," she said, her voice firm but not unkind. "But you can't let that consume you. We must look ahead."

I hesitated, the weight of guilt still pressing down on me. "How? It feels like everything I've tried has only led to more loss."

"The future still branches, child," she said, stepping past me to the shed's entrance. "And not all is lost. Not all death is final—ask any seed buried in burned earth." She tapped her staff once against the ground. "Come. We have work to do before the next sun rises."

I followed her out into the smoke-filled morning, my mind racing with possibilities. Behind us, a pigeon cooed softly in its cage, as if reminding me that messages, like medicine, could travel many paths to reach their destination.

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