Chapter 12: Veins of Ash and Gold

The corruption began at dawn.

Adewunmi woke to the sound of her own breath—ragged, metallic, as if her lungs were lined with iron shavings. She stared at her hands, now veined with black and gold, the skin cracked like dried riverbeds. The amulet's darkness slithered beneath her flesh, a living thing whispering promises in a language older than Yoruba.

"Let me in," it murmured. "Together, we will break the gods."

Her mother found her retching into a clay basin, bile mingling with flecks of gold. Iyaoluwa's gasp was a blade to Adewunmi's chest. "Child, what's happening to you?"

"The price," Adewunmi croaked. "For defying Oya."

Iyaoluwa knelt, her calloused hands trembling as she unwound the soiled bandages on Adewunmi's arms. The corruption had spread overnight, tendrils of shadow and light mapping her veins like a celestial cartography. "We need help. The elders—"

"The elders want me dead," Adewunmi snapped, then softened. "There's another way. Ayodele's scroll… the blood moon door. If it's a gateway, maybe it leads to a cure. Or a weapon."

Her mother hesitated, then reached into the folds of her iro. "There's something I must show you."

The Mark of Adéọlá

In the ruins of their hearth, Iyaoluwa pried up a loose stone. Beneath lay a clay urn, its surface etched with the same symbols as the catacomb walls. Inside rested a kola nut, a rusted dagger, and a strip of aged parchment.

"Your father found this when we first built this hut," Iyaoluwa said, unrolling the parchment. It depicted a woman—Adéọlá—standing before a blood moon, her hands raised to a swirling vortex. At her feet lay a corpse, its face eerily familiar.

Adewunmi traced the lines. "That's… me?"

"No. Your great-grandmother. Adéọlá's descendant." Iyaoluwa's voice dropped. "The curse skips generations. The blood moon chooses its vessel. It chose you."

The revelation hung between them, thick as the storm clouds gathering beyond the hut. Adewunmi's corruption pulsed, as if laughing.

Erinlẹ's Forge

They found Erinlẹ at the edge of the Iron Wastes, a wasteland of scorched earth and skeletal trees. The Orisha of war stood at an anvil, hammering a molten blade. His forge burned with blue flame, the air reeking of sulfur and blood.

"Begging already, little storm?" Erinlẹ didn't look up.

"I need your help," Adewunmi said.

His hammer stilled. "You dare?"

"The amulet's corruption is killing me. Sango plans to use it to overthrow the Orishas. If he succeeds—"

"If he succeeds, I will carve out his heart and feed it to my hounds." Erinlẹ finally turned, his molten eyes narrowing. "Why should I care if a mortal dies?"

Adewunmi stepped forward, her corrupted hand outstretched. "Because I'm the only one who can retrieve the amulet. And you want it."

Erinlẹ's laughter shook the wastes. "Clever. But what stops me from taking it from your corpse?"

"Sango's thunder." Adewunmi held his gaze. "He's bound the amulet to his essence. Only I can sever that bond—with your blade."

The Orisha studied her, then tossed the glowing sword at her feet. "A trade, then. My blade for your mother's soul."

Iyaoluwa paled. Adewunmi's corruption flared. "No."

"Then perish."

As Erinlẹ turned, Adewunmi snatched the blade. It seared her flesh, but she didn't flinch. "Bind it to my blood. Let me wield it until the blood moon rises. If I fail, my soul is yours."

Erinlẹ's grin was a predator's. "Done."

The Gate of Whispers

The scroll led them to a cliffside temple half-swallowed by jungle. Vines choked its pillars, and the air hummed with the drone of invisible bees. At its center stood a stone archway, its surface carved with phases of the moon. The blood moon sigil glowed faintly.

"This is it," Adewunmi breathed. "The door."

As she approached, the ground trembled. Sango's voice boomed from above: "Did you truly think I wouldn't foresee this?"

The Orisha descended on a bolt of lightning, the cracked amulet fused to his chest. His eyes bled gold, and in his grip, he held a unconscious figure—Baba Ifa.

"A trade," Sango said. "The gate's key for the elder's life."

Adewunmi raised Erinlẹ's blade. "What key?"

Sango smirked. "Your mother's blood. Adéọlá's line holds the only key."

Iyaoluwa stepped forward, resolve hardening her features. "Take me."

"No!" Adewunmi lunged, but Sango struck her with a thunderclap. She crashed into the temple wall, bones cracking.

"The gate opens at moonrise," Sango said, dragging Iyaoluwa toward the arch. "And a new age begins."