Nne Ogwu's personal hut smelled of herbs and destiny. She sat cross-legged before what looked like a divination bowl, the water within black as night despite the fire's glow. Around her neck, leopard teeth and hyena bones clicked together as she swayed, her eyes clouded with visions.

"Sit," she commanded, not looking up. "The spirits are restless tonight."

I lowered myself across from her, watching as she scattered cowrie shells onto the water's surface. They didn't sink, instead forming patterns I couldn't read. Her gnarled fingers traced the air above them.

"Ah," she whispered, "they speak of you, child. Always of you." The firelight flickered over the white tribal runes she had painted onto the charcoal smeared across her face, making them seem to come alive, shifting and dancing with every movement. "The bones whisper that your path tonight runs deeper than rescue."

"Justice, then?" I asked, but she clicked her tongue.

"No, but your destiny has teeth." She reached into a raffia pouch at her waist, pulling out what looked like a curved lion's claw. "Three times I cast the bones for tonight's mission. Three times they showed me the same thing – a crossroads marked in blood."

Thunder rumbled outside, and the fire flickered. "What kind of crossroads?"

She held the claw up to the light. "I see sacrifice. I see loss that will echo through generations." Her clouded eyes found mine with unsettling clarity. "But I also see victory, though its face is hidden from me. The spirits show me your thread weaving through it all, strong as spider silk, vital as heartbeat."

"You're saying I'll survive?"

"I'm saying you may have more to do." She lowered the claw. "The bones speak of choices you'll face tonight. Choices that will shape not just your path, but the path of everyone around you, tonight." She reached out suddenly, gripping my wrist with surprising strength. "But remember this – even the clearest sight can be clouded by storm. I speak not certainty, but possibility."

I nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle into my bones. "And the others? Mairo? Amadi?"

Nne Ogwu released my wrist and turned back to her divination bowl. "Some paths I cannot see. Some fates refuse to be read." She scattered a handful of dried herbs onto the fire, filling the hut with sweet smoke. "But know this – the spirits gather thick around tonight's mission. They hunger for... something. Change, perhaps. Or justice." A small smile creased her aged face. "Or maybe just a good story to tell our children."

"You believe we'll succeed?"

"I believe in the signs I see. I believe in the strength of your arm and the fire in your heart." She began gathering her divination tools. "But most of all, I believe in the necessity of what must be done. Whether the gods will it or not, some things must change."

She pressed something into my palm – a small animal hide pouch that felt warm to the touch. "For protection," she said. "And perhaps a little luck, though the gods can be stingy with that."

I clutched the pouch, feeling something shift inside it. "Thank you, Nne Ogwu."

"Thank me by surviving." She waved her hand through the smoke. "Now go. The charcoal pool awaits, and the night grows no younger."

As I rose to leave, she spoke one last time: "Remember, child – sometimes the greatest victories come disguised as losses. And sometimes..." She trailed off, her eyes distant. "Sometimes the path we think we walk is not the path at all."

I left her then, the pouch warm against my skin, her words echoing in my mind. Outside, the storm continued its assault, and somewhere in the darkness, destiny waited with sharp teeth and patient eyes.

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Nne Ogwu's charcoal pool bubbled without heat, black as a starless sky. Steam rose in patterns that looked like dancing spirits, carrying the scent of crushed herbs and ancient power. One by one, we stepped into the pool.

I went first, the liquid thick against my skin. Nne Ogwu circled me, rattling her bone charm and speaking words that made my teeth vibrate:

"Mkpụrụ obi gị ka mkpume, anụ ahụ gị dị ka ígwè..."
(Your heart like stone, your flesh like iron...)

The charcoal clung like a second skin, darker than any natural shadow. Mairo followed, then Amadi, and then the other five, each receiving the same blessing. As we emerged, Nne Ogwu pressed sacred nsibidi symbols into our foreheads with white chalk – protection glyphs older than the kingdom itself.

"Ọ́nyá àgwọ̀ agaghị ejide unu. Mma agha agaghị eme unu ihe..."
(Snake traps will not hold you. Blades will not harm you...)

She fed each of us three bitter kola nuts, marked with symbols I couldn't read. The last step: she spat palm wine across our chests, the liquid sizzling where it met the charcoal coating.

"Lọta na ndụ," she commanded. Return alive.

We stood transformed – not warriors now, but living shadows, blessed by powers older than memory. The storm raged on, ready to hide our approach, and in the distance, war drums beckoned.

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Mairo's machete caught what little moonlight filtered through the storm clouds, her practiced swings cutting neat arcs through the rain. The charcoal coating made her movements seem like living shadow – here then gone, here then gone. I approached, adjusting the strap of my quiver against my bare shoulder.

"Your form has improved," I said, watching her feet shift in the mud. "Though you still favor your right side too much."

She didn't pause her practice, but I caught the slight curl of her lips. "Says the farmer who favors a machete. I'm surprised to see you with a bow and arrow tonight." The machete whistled through the air.

Thunder rolled overhead, and I waited for it to pass before speaking. "The onowu will answer for what he did to Rimi. But that's not our mission tonight."

Mairo finally stopped, turning to face me. Raindrops traced paths through the charcoal on her face, but never revealing glimpses of skin beneath. "Promise me," she said, her machete loose at her side. Her hand pressed against my chest. "No heroics, no sacrifices. I need you alive."

A familiar guilt stirred in my chest – a shadow of the mistakes I couldn't undo, the lives I hadn't saved. I covered her hand with mine, feeling her calluses against my palm. "I've survived worse odds."

"That's not a promise." Her fingers curled against my skin. "I have lost so much—my family, my home, Rimi... But I refuse to lose you. Don't let me watch you slip away too."

Lightning flashed, illuminating the determination in her eyes. In that brief moment, I saw past the warrior's stance to the girl who stole corn from my farm a year ago, who had made me realize that a man who has inflicted so much harm, despite all the harm done to him, is worthy of redemption?

"I promise," I said softly as I managed a small smile. "Someone needs to correct your sword form, after all."

"Say Walah," she insisted. She once told me Walah was a word for promise where she came from.

"Walah," I murmured.

She snorted, but her hand relaxed against my chest. "Just remember – if you die, I'll have Nne Ogwu bring you back so I can kill you myself."

"That seems fair."

Mairo stepped back, resuming her practice stance. But before she turned away, she caught my gaze one last time. "Mean it," she said. Not a question, but a command.

I nodded, feeling the weight of her concern like a physical load. "I mean it. We both walk away from this. Tonight isn't about revenge – it's about going home."

She held my eyes for a moment longer, then nodded once. The machete began its dance again, cutting through rain and darkness. I watched her for a few more moments, memorizing the rhythm of her movements, before turning to check my own weapons.

Behind us, Nne Ogwu began the final preparations, her voice rising above the storm. Soon, we would move out. Soon, we would find out if the earth truly had room for more blood.

But first, I had a promise to keep.

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