Chapter Eleven: The Choice
241 Words
She didn’t sleep after that.
Not for days.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the gate.
A door made of bone and fire, slowly opening.
Spirits were marching into the village. Children turned to ash. Trees were bleeding.
And always, her mother was there beside the fire, reaching out.
She stopped eating. Toba begged her to take a break.
“I can’t,” she said. “If I sleep, the gate will open more.”
He held her hand. “What if we found another way?”
“There isn’t.”
“There has to be—”
She snapped, “There isn’t, Toba! The world needs one flame. I’m that flame.”
Silence.
He stood up slowly. “Then I’ll burn with you.”
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On the seventh day, the moon was redder than ever.
The ground cracked in the fig grove.
The gate was fully open.
Spirits surged into Umuaka.
Not as ghosts—but as people.
Eyes glazed over. Voices changed. Mothers were calling children by the names of long-dead ancestors.
Screams echoed from the shrine.
Awele stood at the gate.
Ezeora was beside her.
Her mother stood in front of her.
And in her hand—a blade made from spirit bone.
> “Choose,” Ezeora said.
> “Me… or her,” her mother whispered.
Toba stood behind her.
Awele lifted the blade.
Her Spiral burned white-hot.
And then—
She struck.
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- Writer
