"Ade! Wait up!"
Baba Ikuomola yelled after him, but Ade just kept charging ahead. Branches whipped at his arms and legs, but he barely felt them. His heart hammered in his chest—loud, frantic, unstoppable.
That scream still echoed in his head, slicing through the silence. Sharp, desperate, definitely human.
He knew that voice. He was sure.
"Ade, slow down!" The old hunter finally caught up and grabbed his shoulder.
"You can't just run in like this. That's what they want," Baba Ikuomola warned, his breath ragged.
Ade shook him off. "Didn't you hear that? They're hurting her!"
The hunter's face looked even grimmer than before. "I heard it. But that scream—it came from beyond the river."
Ade squinted. "What river?"
Baba Ikuomola nodded toward the trees, and there it was—quiet and dark, gliding across their path like it wanted to stop them.
The River of Shadows.
Ade crept closer. The air turned icy, but not the kind you feel in your bones after a cold rain. This was different—colder, heavier, like fear crawling up your spine.
This river didn't just look black. It was emptier than blackness—nothing above it reflected back. Not the tangled trees, not their own faces. Just nothing.
"What kind of river is this?" Ade whispered, not really expecting an answer.
The hunter's voice dropped to almost nothing. "This is where the living stop and the rest begins."
Ade's throat was dry. He swallowed, trying not to look afraid.
"They say it has no bottom," the hunter said. "That spirits wait below."
Something shifted in the water—first a ripple, then another. That was enough. Ade took a step back.
"We have to cross," he said, voice trembling.
Baba Ikuomola didn't even hesitate. "No. No one crosses this river and stays the same."
Ade pulled out the charm Iya Aje had pressed into his hand back home. "She said this would protect me."
The hunter stared at it for a moment. "That charm's not meant for the river," he murmured. "It's for what's waiting on the other side."
For a moment, the forest held its breath. Then the scream came again—closer, haunting.
"ADE!"
This time, there was no mistake. His mother.
Tears burned at Ade's eyes, but something hard and stubborn took over. He stepped forward.
"I'm going," he said, final.
Baba Ikuomola tried to grab him, but he was already in the water.
The river moved fast, curling up his legs like it wanted to pull him under. Ade gasped, panic kicking in.
"Baba—!"
"Don't fight it!" the hunter yelled. "Move slow!"
But the river didn't care. Shadows under the surface twisted and reached for him.
Ade fought to keep his head above water. He remembered the charm and squeezed it hard.
"Please… protect me…" he whispered.
Warm gold light flared, brighter than he'd ever seen—a shield against the dark. The river loosened a little, enough for him to move.
He forced himself to keep going, step by shaky step, until he finally felt solid ground again. The hunter stumbled out just behind him, soaked and shaking.
Ade dropped to his knees, gasping for air, but he still clutched the charm. It glowed softly, not as bright as before, but it was enough.
Baba Ikuomola slumped down next to him. "You're either very brave," he said, catching his breath, "or very stupid."
Ade let out a shaky laugh. "Maybe both."
Then the drumming started somewhere up ahead—slow, heavy, relentless.
Boom… boom… boom…
Ade stopped smiling.
"That's not just drumming," Baba whispered, voice barely above the wind.
Ade stood, face set. "That's a ritual."
They moved toward the noise. The forest was stranger here, the trees knotted together like old bones, their trunks carved with odd symbols. Bones hung from the branches; some animal, some… not.
The drumming grew louder, almost alive, and then they saw fire—a ring of blue torches burning unnaturally bright.
In the middle, hooded figures circled. At their center, someone was bound to a wooden post, head down, body limp.
Ade's heart dropped. He saw her at once.
"Mama…"
Baba Ikuomola grabbed his arm. "Wait—we need a plan—"
But Ade was already moving. He stepped on a branch—it snapped.
The drumming stopped. Every hooded head turned his way.
Silence crashed down. One of them stepped forward, taller than the others, eyes burning red beneath its hood.
"Adegboyega…" it rumbled, voice wrong. "We knew you would come."
Ade's fists clenched. "Let my mother go."
The tall figure barked a laugh that sounded like stones grinding together. "Your mother? She's not yours anymore."
Ade's heart raced so hard it hurt.
"What did you do to her?!"
The figure slowly raised a hand. The woman on the post lifted her head.
Ade's whole body turned cold.
Her eyes were glowing—empty, dark, nothing left of her.
"Mama?" His voice cracked.
She smiled, but the expression was all wrong—twisted, empty. Then she spoke, but her voice was strange.
Ade you came too late.