△△△’s chair creaked a protest as he pushed away from his desk, muscles stiff from hours of stillness. Coaxing life back into his limbs, he stretched, then made his way to the sideboard where a porcelain teapot exhaled wisps of steam into the quiet room.
But the tea never touched his lips.
A chill raced down his spine, sharp and electric.
The room tilted on an unseen axis. The teacup slipped from his grasp, amber liquid spilling unheeded onto the carpet.
—Then came the pain.
It arrived in waves, each crest higher than the last. Invisible blades sliced his skin. Phantom bullets tore through muscle and sinew. His flesh felt as though it was being burned and torn apart. All without leaving a single mark on him. It took every ounce of his willpower to stifle the scream clawing its way up his throat.
Through vision blurred by pain, △△△’s gaze locked onto the fireplace mantle, where four colorful animal figurines stood in a row. The fish, hand-carved from lapis lazuli—began to crack. Hairline fissures spread like spider webs across its surface, and △△△ knew. The hourglass of fate had been upended. Udo’s time—the moment everyone, except Nnenne’s warrior himself, had all dreaded and prayed against—had come.
“W-wait,” he gasped, lurching toward the figurine as if his touch alone could mend the cracks.
His body betrayed him mid-motion, his left leg suddenly leaden and unresponsive. The paralysis spread like wildfire through his veins, stealing sensation from his limbs inch by agonizing inch. Yet the creeping numbness offered no reprieve from the agony that tore through him.
These were not his wounds. This torment was not truly his.
And that is why he did not try to block it out like he would have usually done. He would bear this. This was his penance, the barest fraction of what he owed to those who had given everything in service to their cause. Their faith, their sacrifice—he would honor it in the only way left to him.
A sound like splintering ice pierced the air.
The fractures deepened, spread.
△△△’s breath came in ragged gasps, his vision narrowing to a pinpoint. The figurine trembled on its perch, then, with a sound like a thunderclap, shattered.
His heart exploded in his chest, a maelstrom that obliterated all thought, all sensation. As the shards of blue rained down, darkness rose up to claim him. He crumpled to the floor, a marionette with cut strings, and knew no more.
The night sky erupted in bursts of light, each flare a fleeting star born and dying in the span of a breath. Streaks of gold and red split the darkness, cascading in shimmering arcs before fading into stardust as green flowered against the dark backdrop. The air thrummed with each boom, a deep vibration that Udo felt in his chest. Across the park, the thunderous heartbeats pulsed, eliciting the gasps and cheers of the crowd below.
In his hand, a half-eaten funnel cake left a dusting of powdered sugar on his fingertips as he stood transfixed. He had sampled nearly everything the festival had to offer and none of them suited his taste. The churros had been cloyingly sweet, the turkey legs overly salted, and the corn dogs... well, he still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of those. But he’d tried them all the same. Each new experience was a story to be collected and preserved; a fragment of this world to carry with him when the time came.
When Nnenne finally welcomed him home.
Eyes closed, Udo imagined himself by a fire on that distant beach. Long-lost family gathered close, eager to hear what he had seen and done in his long years of service. He would tell them of strange foods and stranger customs, of the lands he had walked, of lives saved and battles fought in Nnenne’s name. His tales would span centuries, recounting the wonders and horrors he had witnessed.
He had seen the rise and fall of empires, watched the Great Flood—a cataclysm that reshaped the Eastern Islands—transform from history into myth. “Home,” and hundreds of the surrounding islands, once vibrant and real, faded from the world’s memory like seafoam. But Udo remembered. He would always remember.
The scent of his wives’ cooking wafting through their modest hut. The laughter of children playing in the crystal-clear waters. His blood-father’s fishing spear, worn smooth. Stories shared by firelight. Everyone’s voices raised in song.
These small, everyday moments were as much a part of him as the crushing guilt. He’d survived only by chance, away at sea in prayer when the flood came. Returning to… nothing. No island, no village, no family.
Why?
Had he angered Nnenne somehow? Failed in his devotion? Was this divine punishment for some unknown transgression? These questions haunted Udo as he moved through life like a ghost, untethered and hollow. Days bled into years, years into decades, decades into centuries. The world moved on, but Udo remained trapped in an endless cycle of grief and longing. Until…
“Do you want to die?” Mercy came as a
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ with
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ as
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ and
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ to match appeared before Udo while he was drowning his sorrows in cheap rum. A
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ extended, a pact offered:
“I promise to be the death of you.” Their hands met, and everything changed.
Traveling with
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎, Udo’s world expanded. Color slowly seeped back into his grayscale existence. Joy found him—rare at first, then often—in life’s small wonders and great marvels.
Memories flickered through his mind. Peter’s crooked grin as they faced down a band of thieves, back-to-back despite their constant bickering. Karleen, radiant on the ballroom floor, finally herself in a gown that fit her masculine frame. And Wayra, whose chaotic magic turned a simple walk through the forest into a desperate escape from an army of enchanted flowers. Together, they had traversed sun-scorched deserts and scaled frost-capped mountains. They had fought monsters—human and inhuman—, solved mysteries, and saved each other more times than Udo could count. Each adventure, and countless moments in between, became treasured memories for him—the happiest times he’d known since losing Home.
Another firework’s crack drew Udo back to the present. The park bustled around him, a riot of sights and sounds. His gaze drifted to the gathering on the hill, where the Varian Princess had laid out an impressive array of picnic blankets and pillows. There, playing with a child, was... was…
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎. Udo’s brow furrowed. Though he could describe every other person in perfect detail, everything about
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ remained frustratingly indistinct.
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ features blurred and shifted, refusing to solidify in Udo’s mind, and
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ name came out as a string of blanks.
The curse was working as intended. Udo should’ve felt relieved. Instead, a bittersweet ache settled in his chest. For it was
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ he wanted to tell his family about the most, the
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ who had saved him from an eternity of emptiness.
As fireworks lit the night, Udo made his decision. When he reunited with his family, he would tell them of these man-made stars, how they blazed against the darkness, leaving their mark despite their brief existence—just like
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎.
Though name and appearance eluded him, perhaps in describing fireworks, Udo could capture
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎’s essence: brilliant, powerful, and beautiful. They rekindled Udo’s dormant spirit, infusing his life with a vibrance he thought long lost. In his darkest moments,
⬜︎⬜︎ had been a guiding light, offering hope in the vast sea of endless years.
Perhaps that was enough. To carry the feeling, if not the memory.
Yes, he thought, watching a starburst of color ignite the sky.
Fireworks would do nicely.__________________________________________________________________________
Udo danced to the rhythm of the ocean. His body swayed with the strength of the deep. Each step, falling in time with crashing waves, traced bloodied patterns across rain-slick cobblestones. The spear in his hands became an extension of his body, cutting arcs through air and flesh alike. Every movement was a prayer, a warrior’s offering to Nnenne, Grandmother of All.
Her song swelled. Home beckoned across centuries—a siren’s call Udo answered with his entire being. For Nnenne, he danced, yes, but also for those who had made his endless life bearable. Harder. Faster. Though no mortal would live to speak of this performance, he poured himself into it all the same.
Steel bit. Arrows hissed. Bullets tore. Yet Udo felt nothing but the rhythm. Nnenne’s tears fell from the sky, cleansing him and the fallen, purifying the ground and washing away the carnage. One with the dance, one with the sea.
Even as poison from a coated blade seeped into his veins, making his movements sluggish, he refused to falter. Bodies crumpled in his wake until only one foe remained standing.
“Be seeing y’all in hell, motherf***ers,” Peter grinned, cocky and unrepentant.
Karleen shook her head and chided, “Too vulgar.”
“Agreed.” Udo chimed in.
Peter’s lower lip jutted out as he puffed up his chest like the man-child he was. “Yeah? What’d be your final words then, huh?”
Karleen straightened, a spark of challenge in her eyes. “Poetry... or a quote from one of my favorite novels.” She cleared her throat and began to recite:
“In the twilight of life’s grand play,
Where curtains fall and shadows sway,
I'll whisper to the fading light,
A verse to ease the coming night—”
“Karl,” Peter interrupted, “if you’ve got that much energy to deliver a soliloquy, you ain’t dying.”
Udo scoffed, “I’m shocked you know what a soliloquy is.”
“Shut up.”
⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ looked thoughtful, in the way that usually preceded either profound wisdom or utter nonsense. “You know, if we’re operating under the ‘monologues can never be interrupted’ rule, perhaps a lengthy soliloquy wouldn’t be such a bad move. In theory, it would ward off death until the speaker finishes. I could recite the entire ‘The Infinite Chronicle’ while waiting for medical attention.”
“And you think you’d pull it off?” Peter asked.
“Oh no,” came the reply, “there’s an 80% chance my parting words will be something profoundly eloquent like ‘Well, that sucks.’”
Laughter erupted from the group. “What about the other 20%?”
“It depends. If it’s an accident or a friend who kills me, I’d probably say ‘I forgive you.’ But if it’s someone I don’t like—”
“There’s people you don’t like?” Karleen interjected, surprised.
“Oh, absolutely. Anyone who voluntarily eats black licorice is clearly in league with forces beyond mortal comprehension.” ⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎⬜︎ chuckled. “If it’s someone I don’t like, then I’d try to say something ominous, like... ‘The antidote... is in the…’” ⬜︎⬜︎ trailed off with a series of dramatic gasps and wheezes before going limp.
Peter snorted beer out his nose. “Diabolical. And surprisingly petty coming from you.”
“If they’ve gone to the trouble of murdering me, I think I’ve earned the right to be a little petty. It’s only polite.”
Peter raised his hands in mock surrender. “No arguments here, Boss.”
Karleen turned to Udo. “What about you?”
“A prayer,” he answered simply. “If I have time left.”
“Oh, come on!” Peter groaned, throwing his hands up. “It’s literally the last thing you’re ever gonna say. Your last hurrah! Make it count! Go out with a bang, not a whimper.”The memory receded, leaving Udo facing his final opponent in the rain-soaked present, chests heaving.
Fine, he thought,
how’s this then?Udo’s gaze locked onto the man before him, past him, beyond him to the one pulling the strings. He leveled his spear, pointed it at the puppeteer.
The enemy raised his gun.
Udo smirked defiantly, his lips curling around his final words. “F**k you, Marek.”
The spear flew.
The gun fired.
As Udo’s spear pierced through the other man, the bullet shattered his heart. The sky blurred above him as he fell.
He was plummeting, down, down…
The street melted into seafoam. He plunged past earth and stone, sank into the endless blue.Bubbles, pearls of air, escape skyward,
A rush of swirling brine.
Udo sinks, weightless,
Into depths beyond time.
Above, a vast shadow looms,
Its gaze piercing the watery veil.
The dark sentience seeks his mind,
Tendrils probe, grasping for memories,
Only to find echoes and absence.
Fury ripples the boundary of worlds.
Nets descend, hooks glint, a final reach
To claim a soul that was not its to possess.
But Nnenne will not be denied her Grandson;
Her currents cradle him,
Pulling towards her heart,
Away from harm.
Wind’s emissaries dive,
Sleek arrows of feather and bone,
Slice through waves with righteous fury.
Beaks and talons flashing silver,
Sever threads of malevolent design.
Movement catches his eye—
A beast, familiar yet unknowable,
Wounded and struggling, sinks beside him.
Its mouth works, forming shapes without sound,
Again and again, a name lost to the depths.
△△△ △△△△△△△ △△△△△△△△
Udo’s heart aches with unspoken apologies,
For this one thing he cannot carry home.
The abyss swallows them both, darkness absolute.
Then—light.
Udo’s eyes flutter open to cloudless skies,
As wavelets lap at outstretched limbs,
Home’s music fills his ears.
His head cradled in grandmother’s lap,
Her weathered hands, etched with time,
Caress his cheeks with boundless love.
“Nno n’ụlọ, nwa nwa m nwoke. Anyị echeworo gị ọtụtụ.”
Welcome home, my dear grandson. We’ve deeply missed you.
“M na-atụ uche unu niile.” Udo breathes, his heart full.
I missed you all.
“Kedu ka njem gị mere?” she asks.
How was your journey?
A lifetime of stories press against his lips:
“Enwere m ọtụtụ ihe m ga-agwa unu.”
I have so much to tell you.
As if in answer, the sky erupts—
A blossom of fire and light,
Dazzling as Udo remembers.
Home at last, with tales to tell,
Of a world changed and changing still,
Of those left behind, and those who wait,
On this shore where all journeys end.
A figure cloaked in feathers stepped carefully over the cooling bodies, intent on reaching the one that mattered. Wayra’s keen senses picked up the coppery scent of blood mixed with the petrichor from the rain and the smell of spent magic hanging heavy in the air. Beneath it all, a familiar scent. They approached what they knew to be the vessel that once housed Udo’s spirit.
Wayra knelt beside the still form and reached out, tracing the contours of Udo’s face. A smile, frozen in death, greeted their touch. Something tight coiled in Wayra’s chest—regret, perhaps, or a flicker of an emotion they thought long buried. They closed the man’s unseeing eyes and, with unnatural ease granted by arcane might, lifted his body.
As they made their way out of the alley, Wayra paused to retrieve Udo's spear still lodged in the corpse it had felled. The weapon came free with a soft squelch. Wayra left the other bodies littering the ground undisturbed; they were not their concern.
Above, native corvids and birds less familiar to these lands descended, drawn by some unspoken call. Soon, the air filled with the wet sounds of tearing flesh, but Wayra paid them no heed.
Carrying Udo’s body and the spear resting easily in their grasp, they moved on. Behind them, the scavengers continued their grim work, and the rain cleansed what remained.
Consciousness returned in fragments as the world came into focus. Ryn lay prone on the carpet floor, his body struggling to move a muscle. Echoes of pain pulsated through him and his skull pounded relentlessly.
He blinked several times before he could make out the figure kneeling in front of him—Peter, with his trademark bright red hair seeming ablaze in the dim light.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Boss,” Peter said.
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