When Fire Forgets to Burn
## **CHAPTER FOUR**##
The rain returned before morning.
Not the Lagos drizzle that stained walls and soaked slippers. This was something heavier — charged with magic, humming through the wind like a warning. The clouds cracked open with the weight of something unspoken.
Anike felt it in her bones.
This wasn't weather.
This was prophecy.
She stood by her window, watching the storm smear the city skyline. Cars blurred into silver streaks. Voices were muffled beneath the rolling thunder. Everything was quieter than it should've been.
"I used to command the storms," she whispered.
Obiora sat cross-legged on the floor behind her, watching her silhouette.
"You still can," he said gently.
She didn't turn. "No. Not yet. Right now I can only feel them — the energy, the pain, the memory of control. It's like knowing how to dance but forgetting your feet."
Obiora rose, stepping behind her. His presence calmed the room instantly.
"Then we'll remind your feet," he said, slipping his arms around her waist. "One step at a time."
For a moment, it was just the two of them — no wars, no curses, no ancient enemies reborn in Lagos.
Just two souls holding each other through the storm.
---
Later that afternoon, they returned to the Archive beneath Ọ̀rọ̀ Books.
Anike moved differently now — like she belonged to the room, like her steps were answering old calls. The Archive responded to her. Books floated toward her like butterflies to a flame. Lamps lit themselves at her touch.
But Obiora noticed something else too.
Her aura was brighter.
And darker.
Power, unchecked, didn't always know its shape. It could build cities… or bury them.
He watched her from the stairwell, arms folded, lips pressed in quiet thought.
"Say it," she called to him without looking. "You're worried."
He stepped down, closer. "Not worried. Just… aware."
She turned, arms full of scrolls and books. "Of what?"
"That you've remembered everything except the one thing that matters most."
Anike frowned. "What's that?"
"Who you truly are when the world isn't burning."
---
There had always been tension between them — even in past lives. Even when she sat on a throne and he knelt at her side, sworn to protect her. Their love had never been simple. It was forged in war, tested by betrayal, and reborn in silence.
They didn't fall in love.
They returned to it — each time.
But this lifetime felt different. The bond wasn't just ancient — it was *urgent.*
"I know I'm dangerous," Anike said softly. "But I'm also ready."
Obiora stepped close. "No one doubts that."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a thick leather-bound book with no title.
"What's that?"
"The Codex of Returning. It was sealed in the Southern Vaults for centuries. Only the true heir of the Celestial Line could open it."
"And you did?"
"No." He handed it to her. "You will."
---
The book didn't open with a key. It responded to blood.
Anike pressed her thumb against the seal and whispered:
**"Ìbẹrẹ."** *(Beginning.)*
The book groaned. Then it bloomed open like a flower under moonlight.
Pages flipped on their own until they stopped at a glowing inscription — inked in starlight, pulsing like a heartbeat:
> *"Ọkàn inú ọ̀run, ọmọ àìníyẹ̀; ẹ̀mí tí kò ní fi ayé sílẹ̀.
> Ìpinnu rẹ ni yóo dá àtọ̀runwá padà.
> Nígbà tí ifẹ̀ bá tún ṣẹlẹ̀, ayé yóó mọ̀ àlàáfíà."*
Anike read it aloud, slowly.
> *"Heart of the heavens, child of infinity; a soul unwilling to leave the earth.
> Your decision will remake the divine.
> When love returns, the world will know peace."*
She looked up, shaken.
"It's not just about me remembering. I have to choose. Again."
Obiora nodded. "You always do. You chose Lagos in this lifetime. You chose to live quietly, to love books, to ignore the stars. But now… the stars are calling again."
---
Meanwhile, in the shadows of Victoria Island, Orunzo moved like smoke.
He wore the face of a man — elegant, dignified, unbothered — but his eyes held centuries of ruin. His return had been silent, cloaked in glamour and whispers. He had slipped past the Veil between worlds by offering part of his own soul in sacrifice.
Now, he wanted her.
Not just Anike. Not just the crown.
He wanted the part of her that still remembered *him.*
Because before the war, before the betrayal, before the endless curse — there had been *love.*
Yes, *he* had loved her too.
Twisted, possessive, unyielding.
But love nonetheless.
"She remembers," his follower said, kneeling before him. "And she's grown strong."
Orunzo's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Then we must remind her of the price of remembering."
---
Back at the Archive, Anike stared at a constellation map hovering above the central table.
The stars rearranged themselves into a sigil — a symbol only she could read.
"Obiora," she said slowly, "do you remember the War of the Ninth Gate?"
His jaw tensed. "I never forgot."
She traced the sigil in the air. "The Ninth Gate was hidden in the Plains of Silence. We closed it together — but not fully. What if that's how Orunzo keeps returning?"
Obiora looked at her. "You think the gate is still open?"
"I think it was never sealed right. And I think he plans to open it completely — and let the old gods through."
He ran a hand through his hair. "That would mean the end of Lagos."
"No," she said firmly. "It would mean the end of this world."
---
That evening, they stood on the rooftop of Ọ̀rọ̀ Books again, watching the sunset melt over the rooftops like fire in syrup.
Anike wore a long black coat, her braids pulled back, her eyes distant.
Obiora leaned on the railing beside her. "We're running out of time."
"I know."
"We need allies."
She turned to him. "Then we go to the Temple of Ireti. Tonight."
His eyes widened. "That place hasn't been touched in hundreds of years."
"Because no one remembered how to reach it," she said, her voice low. "But I do now."
Obiora hesitated. "If we go there, the Watchers will wake. We'll be seen."
"We're already being watched," she said. "But we've hidden long enough."
---
Night swallowed Lagos whole.
And beneath the cover of stars, Anike and Obiora walked hand in hand into the forgotten parts of the city — alleyways that whispered, street corners that shimmered, walls that opened only to the right bloodline.
And when they reached the temple ruins hidden beneath a burned-down cinema in Mushin, Anike raised her hands and whispered a word the wind hadn't heard in centuries:
**"Ṣílẹ̀."** *(Open.)*
The ground trembled.
The sky blinked.
And the gate groaned open beneath their feet — revealing a staircase carved from moonstone.
Obiora held her hand tighter.
"I've followed you through hell," he said.
She looked at him, her voice thick. "Then follow me home."
Together, they stepped into the Temple of Ireti.
---