Ada and the broken oat (Continued)
555 Words
Ada sat in the Northern Palace’s ancient library, flipping through scrolls written by the first Flamekeepers. The flame in her palm, once bright and steady, now flickered weakly—fading like an old candle.
She knew what it meant.
Ifunanya hadn’t just escaped—she had taken something.
In one scroll, Ada read about an ancient spell: the Split of Spirit, a f*******n rite that could sever a Flamekeeper’s fire and use it to awaken another.
Ifunanya hadn’t regained her power alone.
She had stolen Ada’s.
Suddenly, the choice before Ada sharpened.
If she didn’t stop Ifunanya, she wouldn’t just lose her fire.
She’d lose herself.
That night, Ada sat by the balcony, the cold air biting at her bones. Prince Danjuma approached silently, offering her a flask of warm honey-wine.
“You’re cold,” he said softly.
“I’m fading,” Ada replied.
He looked at her with something more than sympathy—something warmer. “You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know.”
She hesitated. “I’ve never known anything else.”
“You could,” he whispered. “If you let someone in.”
She looked at him. For a moment, the fire inside her flickered—not from weakness, but something else.
But before she could speak, a guard ran in.
“My Prince, she’s struck again. The Temple of Crows has fallen. Dozens dead. No fire can touch her now.”
Ada stood, her jaw clenched.
“She’s not just stealing flame… she’s becoming it.”
They rode to the Temple of Crows at dawn. What remained was ash, stone, and screams. Ada stepped into the ruins. Her power responded weakly, like a whisper trying to speak through a storm.
On the wall, scrawled in blood and soot, was a new message:
> “You protect kings who killed your kind.
I burn for the forgotten.
One of your own walks beside me.
—Ifunanya.”
Ada froze.
One of your own.
Back in the palace, she confronted Danjuma. “Who among your people has studied flame magic?”
He hesitated. “Only one. A northern scholar named Malik. He once traveled to your land… said he met a Seer in the forest.”
Ada’s stomach dropped. “That wasn’t a Seer. That was Mama Ebere.”
Ada raced back to Nwagu. The journey took two days, and by the time she reached Ọhịa Ndu, the trees felt wrong—silent. Her hut had been destroyed. Smoke rose in the distance.
She reached Mama Ebere’s cave—only to find it cold, dark, and empty.
A trail of burned leaves led into the grove.
And then she saw them—Ngozi and Malik, standing beside Ifunanya at the heart of the shrine. The same friend who once called her “witch” now stood hand-in-hand with the enemy.
“You knew,” Ada said, her voice trembling.
Ngozi’s face was sorrowful, but firm. “You were never meant to carry the fire alone. You should’ve shared it. But you chose the path of kings.”
Ifunanya stepped forward, her power blazing red and gold.
“This shrine doesn’t belong to one girl. It belongs to all of us.”
Then, she raised her hands—and the ground split open beneath Ada’s feet.
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To Be Continued…
- Writer
