The palace walls, once pristine white, now seemed to bleed rust. Cracks zigzagged across columns. Statues wept muddy tears. Servants whispered prayers under their breath as King Obadare walked past—because they swore, in their dreams, he now walked without a shadow.
Obadare had not slept since the gourd arrived. It now sat sealed in an iron chest beneath his throne, humming softly, like a heartbeat that did not belong to him. He told no one, not even Queen Morenike. But his eyes… they grew hollow. Haunted.
**
Adamma and the daughters reached the outskirts of the palace hidden in cloaks woven by Nneka—each threaded with ash from the ancestors' bones. They moved like ghosts, silent through the garden paths, toward the sacred chamber where the king's forefathers kept their relics.
But they weren't alone.
"Adamma," a voice called softly.
From the shadows emerged Oluchi—her brother. The royal son. The one who disappeared five years ago after refusing to marry for power.
She raised her blade, unsure.
"I'm not your enemy," he whispered. "He killed them. Our aunts. The village girls. For power."
Adamma lowered her hand slowly. "You saw?"
"I helped bury them."
A gasp rippled through the daughters.
Oluchi's voice cracked. "He made us drink from the gourd. Swore it would keep our name eternal. I ran. But I still feel it… inside."
Ijeoma stepped forward. "Then help us finish this."
Oluchi nodded. "There's a hidden room beneath the throne. That's where the contract lies."
**
Inside the palace, the daughters moved with purpose. Adamma and Oluchi took the lead, slipping into the throne room just as the king entered. His eyes locked onto his son.
"You," Obadare hissed. "You betrayed your blood."
"No," Adamma said behind him, her voice sharp. "You betrayed us first."
With a cry, the king lunged, but the ground shook violently. The iron chest burst open. The gourd rolled out—cracking—releasing a black smoke that coiled like a serpent.
The First rose again. But she wasn't alone.
She was many.
Every voice silenced. Every body buried. Every daughter forgotten.
"You fed on our bones," they spoke as one.
Obadare screamed, clawing at his face, his crown falling.
The First turned to Adamma. "Finish it."
Adamma raised the ancestral dagger.
And drove it through the seal.
The palace trembled. A wind howled through the windows. The throne cracked in half. The walls collapsed.
And King Obadare… crumbled to dust.
**
When the dust settled, Adamma stood among ruins. Oluchi at her side. The daughters behind her.
They were free.
But not finished.
Because history, even when avenged, must be remembered.
—