The Choice

She felt Kwame's presence beside her before she saw him. "Amina," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the dying wind. "Do you feel that?"

She nodded. "They're not just warriors."

"They're something else," Kwame confirmed. His jaw was tight, his muscles tensed like a coiled spring.

The villagers had begun to gather, drawn by the sudden stillness, the unnatural gloom settling over their home. Murmurs of fear spread through them. Parents pulled their children close. Some of the elders gripped their ceremonial staffs, their knuckles turning white.

Amina took a steadying breath. She had to be strong.

She stepped forward, putting herself between the villagers and the approaching figures. "Who are you?" she called out, her voice steadier than she felt. "Why have you come?"

The lead figure stopped just at the edge of the village boundary. Up close, Amina could see him clearly. Unlike the others, he was solid, real—a man wrapped in dark robes, his face shadowed beneath the hood of his cloak. The air around him shimmered with power.

"Amina of the Amani," he said, his voice smooth, laced with something almost hypnotic. "You have done what no one before you has dared."

Amina clenched her jaw. "And what would that be?"

The man tilted his head slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "You destroyed the artifact."

The words settled over the village like a death sentence.

Amina squared her shoulders. "It had to be done."

The man's smirk deepened. "Did it?" His gaze swept over the village, his eyes sharp, assessing. "You have undone centuries of careful balance. You have disturbed forces far older than you can comprehend."

Amina's stomach twisted. She knew the artifact had been powerful. She had felt its weight, its hunger. But she had believed destroying it would bring peace, not invite something worse.

Kwame took a step forward. "Who are you?"

The man turned his gaze on him, studying him as though he were an insect under glass. "I am Malazu," he said. "Keeper of the Forgotten."

A shiver crawled down Amina's spine. She had never heard that name before, but something about it felt familiar, as if it had been buried deep in the bones of the earth itself.

Malazu continued, his voice unhurried. "The artifact you so carelessly destroyed was never merely an object. It was a seal. A key. And now that it is gone, the door it held shut… is opening."

Amina's breath hitched. "No," she whispered.

"Yes." Malazu's eyes gleamed. "You have done more than rid the world of an ancient relic. You have invited them back."

The shadows behind him began to shift, twisting and elongating. The other figures—his followers? His army?—remained still, watching, waiting.

"What do you want?" Amina demanded.

Malazu regarded her for a moment, as if deciding how much to tell her. Then, he took a single step closer. The villagers behind Amina stirred uneasily, their whispers growing more frantic.

"I want what was lost," Malazu said. "I want to restore the order that was broken. And I want you, Amina."

The world lurched. "Me?"

Malazu's smile was slow, deliberate. "You are not just any warrior. You touched the artifact. You commanded it. Whether you intended to or not, you became something more. And now, you will take your place among us."

Amina's pulse roared in her ears. "I'll never join you."

Malazu sighed, almost as if he were disappointed. "I expected resistance." He lifted a hand, palm open. "But you will see the truth soon enough."

The shadows behind him moved. They swirled like living smoke, stretching toward the village. The darkness seeped into the ground, tendrils of inky blackness curling along the dirt paths, slithering toward the villagers' feet.

Amina reacted.

She stepped forward, planting herself firmly between the advancing darkness and her people. A heat bloomed in her chest—not fear, but fury. The remnants of the artifact's power still lingered within her, buried beneath her skin, and for the first time since the battle, she reached for it.

The ground trembled beneath her touch.

A pulse of energy radiated from her body, pushing the shadows back.

Malazu's eyes gleamed with intrigue. "Good," he murmured. "You are already awakening."

Amina ignored him, turning to Kwame. "Get the villagers back."

Kwame hesitated. "Amina—"

"Now.

He gave a short nod, then turned, ushering the villagers away from the encroaching darkness.

Amina turned back to Malazu. "You made a mistake coming here."

Malazu chuckled. "Did I?"

He raised both hands this time, and the shadows responded instantly, surging forward like a living tide.

Amina didn't think. She moved.

She slammed her palms together, summoning every ounce of energy she had left. A burst of golden light erupted from her, colliding with the darkness midair. The impact sent a shockwave through the village, knocking over market stalls, sending dust and debris flying.

Malazu staggered back a step, eyes narrowing. "Interesting."

Amina clenched her fists. She was not losing this battle.

The ground beneath her cracked, pulsing with ancient energy. She could feel the land responding to her, answering her call.

"You may have come for me," she said, her voice steady, "but you will leave with nothing."

Malazu exhaled slowly. "We shall see."

And then—he was gone.

The shadows collapsed in on themselves, vanishing like mist in the morning sun. The figures who had followed him faded with him, leaving nothing but silence in their wake.

Amina stood there, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hands still tingling with power.

Kwame returned to her side. "Are they gone?"

"For now."

But she knew it wasn't over.

Malazu had come with a warning—a promise.

The door had been opened. And whatever lay beyond it… was coming.

Amina clenched her jaw.

If the Forgotten wanted a fight, she would give them one.