Chosen by the gods

The air in the subterranean sanctuary had not felt the weight of a living breath for centuries. Not since the last torch had guttered. Not since the last priest had whispered his final prayer. Not since the gods themselves had withdrawn beyond the veil between what mortals called the world and what existed beneath it. The silence had become something more than silence. It had become a presence. It lived in the cracks of the ancient marble. It curled beneath the colossal statues. It slept inside the walls, patient and watchful, waiting for a sound that the sanctuary had long ago forgotten. Then came the light. It did not enter the chamber. It tore into it. A golden rupture split the darkness from ceiling to floor, illuminating enormous statues carved into the walls: Obatala with his sacred staff, Ogun with his iron blade, Osun crowned in flowing water, and Sango surrounded by frozen lightning. Their stone eyes seemed almost alive beneath the violent amber glow. Two bodies fell from the rupture. They struck the cracked marble floor with a collective thud. For several seconds, neither moved. Then the girl coughed. The boy groaned. Dust drifted through the golden light. The sanctuary trembled. And I spoke. My voice had not been heard by mortal ears for centuries, yet when it emerged, it shook the foundations of the earth. “WHO DARES TRESPASS UPON THE SACRED GROUND OF THE ANCESTORS?” The words thundered through the chamber. The boy immediately covered his ears. The girl did not. She pushed herself onto one elbow, blinking furiously at the towering statues surrounding her. “First of all,” she shouted into the darkness, “how exactly am I trespassing if I have absolutely no idea where I am?” Silence. Even I paused. The girl stared upward. Her clothes were disheveled. Dust streaked her jacket. Her hair was a disaster. One shoe was half untied. Yet somehow, impossibly, she looked more annoyed than frightened. Interesting. Very interesting. “You stand upon sacred ground,” I replied. “Great. Congratulations to the ground.” The boy slowly turned toward her. “Victory.” “What?” “I don't think you should insult the mysterious voice.” “I don't think the mysterious voice should have screamed at me before explaining where we are.” “You're arguing with an invisible ancient entity.” “Yes.” “That seems like a bad idea.” “I have had a very bad day, Daniel.” Before I could respond, the temperature in the chamber dropped. The golden light flickered. Something else had arrived. Two enormous presences awakened somewhere beyond the visible world. They were not merely voices. They were ancient forces, immense and sovereign, their power stretching through the chamber like invisible hands. Then they spoke. The walls shook. “THEY ARE OURS, STAY YOUR HAND.” The two children froze at the exact same time. Even I listened. Two names followed. Names that had not been spoken together for generations. Names that carried the weight of royal bloodlines, ancient oaths, forgotten kingdoms and promises made before either child had been born. “PRINCESS VICTORY IMOLEAYO ADEDEJI-STARFALLS.” The golden light flashed. “PRINCE DANIEL CHIZITARAM EZENWEALI-RICHARDSON.” The sanctuary fell silent again. They both exchanged glances that didn’t quite scream fear, just a silent agreement of confusion. Neither spoke. Finally, Daniel whispered, “Did they just call us royalty?” Victory stared into the darkness. “I think they just called us a problem.” She was right. Because destiny rarely announces itself politely. And theirs had just kicked down the door. Victory had spent most of her life being told that she was difficult. Too stubborn, outspoken, quick to question authority, too unwilling to accept the phrase because I said so. She had always considered these qualities evidence of good judgment. Now, however, standing beneath the earth while an ancient divine being examined her thoughts, she was beginning to suspect that perhaps the universe had decided to punish her personally. She tried to stand. Her knees immediately betrayed her. Daniel grabbed her arm. “Careful.” “I am fine.” “You just nearly fell.” “I was testing gravity.” Daniel stared at her. “Gravity passed.” “Unfortunately.” The braziers around the chamber suddenly burst into flame. Victory flinched. The light revealed the full scale of the sanctuary. It was enormous. Pillars rose toward a ceiling swallowed by darkness. Golden inscriptions covered the walls. Ancient masks stared down from alcoves. Statues of gods and kings stood shoulder to shoulder, their faces carved with expressions ranging from solemnity to fury. Victory felt something twist inside her. She knew this place. Not consciously. Not exactly. But something about the pillars, the carvings, the enormous stone staircase disappearing into darkness made her chest tighten. It was like remembering a dream she had forgotten the moment she woke. “Have I been here before?” she whispered. The voice answered. “No.” Victory frowned. “Then why does it feel familiar?” “Because blood remembers what the mind forgets.” She hated that answer immediately. She hated mysterious answers. She hated riddles. She especially hated riddles delivered by invisible supernatural beings. “What do you want from us?” The guardian's voice deepened. “Your destiny.” Victory sighed. “Of course.” Daniel looked at her. “You say that like people have asked you to fulfill your destiny before.” “They haven't.” “Then why are you acting like this happens every Tuesday?” “Because apparently my life has become a fantasy novel.” The guardian continued. “You stand beneath the ancient nexus of Ile-Ife.” Daniel looked around. “Ile-Ife?” “The first city.”