chapter 10

Chapter 10:

The Flame That Remains

Paris had quieted since the Gate collapsed, but in Xoxo's heart, silence did not equal peace.

Ziora and Zikora had been inseparable since their reunion. They slept in the same bed, often holding hands in sleep. The amulet once split between them now pulsed with a golden light — soft, warm, and alive.

But something had changed.

Ziora began speaking in ancient verses in her sleep. At first, only single words. Then full sentences. And then… names. Names no one recognized.

Zikora grew quieter. Her eyes held the kind of focus that didn't belong in a child. She no longer flinched from fire. In fact, sometimes… the fire listened to her.

Xoxo sat at the edge of the bed one morning, watching them. A single question haunted her.

Had the Gate really closed? Or had it simply moved inside them?

The answer came in the form of a letter. Delivered by hand, no return address. Folded neatly with a wax seal that resembled a coiled serpent.

I know the truth behind Aso Ndi Mmuo.

I know where it began — and what it still guards.

Come to Marseille. Come alone. The answers live in the ashes.

— A Brother in the Flame

Xoxo clenched the letter. She didn't trust anonymous messages. But her instincts — sharpened by years of pain and magic — told her this wasn't a threat.

It was an invitation.

Later that day, while Xoxo arranged their trip, the girls went for a walk in the embassy garden. There, they met someone unexpected.

A boy.

Thirteen, maybe. Pale skin, silvery eyes. Around his neck hung a cracked stone pendant.

He stood by the fountain, calm and still, as if he'd been waiting.

"You're the twins," he said.

Ziora tilted her head. "Who are you?"

"My name is Eben," he replied. "I was… like you. Before the Gate broke me."

Zikora frowned. "The Gate doesn't break people."

"It does," he said quietly. "If you're not chosen. If you're forced."

He held up his hand.

Blue-black fire sparked between his fingers.

Ziora gasped. "That's… not normal fire."

"It's what's left of me," he said. "I survived. But I don't think I was supposed to."

Zikora stepped forward. "Why are you here?"

"Because you're going to need someone who knows what happens when the world turns against flame."

Xoxo wasn't pleased to see Eben. But when she looked in his eyes, she saw no deception. Just sorrow. And something else.

Loneliness.

She invited him to join their journey to Marseille.

Eben didn't speak much during the train ride. But the girls trusted him.

That worried Xoxo more than anything.

Marseille was tired — a city of ghosts and salt, where shadows gathered between old walls.

The letter led them to 14 Rue des Cendres — the Street of Ashes.

It was a crumbling townhouse with boarded windows and red fabric hanging from the balcony. The symbol of Aso Ndi Mmuo was faintly embroidered into the cloth: a coiled serpent devouring its own tail.

Inside, the house was quiet.

Until the candles lit themselves.

And an old man stepped forward from the darkness.

"You've brought the flame," he said. "And the mirror. I've waited a long time."

"Who are you?" Xoxo demanded.

"A witness," he replied. "One your grandmother trusted. One she left behind when she hid the truth."

His name was Baba Njoku. He had one clouded eye and arms covered in burn marks.

He led them to a chamber beneath the floor. There, a mural stretched across the stone wall — painted in blood and ash.

It showed two girls — one with fire for hair, the other with mirrors for eyes — standing on either side of a glowing Gate.

Below them coiled a massive serpent.

"That," Baba Njoku whispered, "is your inheritance."

He pointed to the Gate.

"It doesn't just open for power. It opens for judgment. You two… are the judgment."

Ziora stepped closer.

"But the Gate closed. We sealed it."

Baba Njoku shook his head.

"You sealed a gate. But there are always more. One opens in the sky. Another in the earth. And one… in the heart."

He pointed to Zikora.

"You carry the last one."

That night, Zikora had a dream.

She stood alone in a desert of fire. The air burned. The sky was dark.

In the distance, a serpent slithered across the stars. Its eyes were black diamonds. Its tongue whispered her name.

Zikora. Chosen flame. Come to me.

She tried to run — toward it or away, she didn't know.

But her feet were rooted to the ground.

The serpent coiled around her. Not to crush her. To wear her. Like a crown.

You are not your mother's. Not your sister's. You are mine.

Zikora screamed.

She woke with fire on her fingers.

The sheets were smoking.

Ziora rushed in, smothering the flames with a cloth.

Xoxo burst in seconds later. "Zikora! Are you okay?!"

"I saw it again," Zikora whispered. "The serpent. It wants me. It's inside me."

Xoxo hugged her tightly.

But in her heart, terror bloomed.

Because deep down, she feared the serpent had been inside her child since birth.

The next morning, Baba Njoku showed Xoxo a sealed box. Inside was a shrine relic her grandmother had hidden.

"The Seal of Ndụ," he said reverently. "The seal of life. She buried it here to protect your daughters. But now, it's waking up."

"What does it do?" Xoxo asked.

"It gives the bearer the right to choose life or death — for a Gate."

Ziora flinched.

Zikora said nothing.

Xoxo swallowed hard. "If we take it… what happens?"

"That depends," Baba Njoku said. "On which daughter you give it to."

That night, Zikora stood alone before the mural.

The serpent in the painting had grown larger.

Its tongue flicked toward her.

And its shadow fell over her own.

She reached out.

And the wall burned where her hand touched.

A whisper filled the air.

You don't need them. You only need me.