The air in the dungeon hung like a damp cloth over a wound—thick, stifling, reeking of mold and rust. Every breath felt like inhaling the grave itself.

Gethii’s wrist was bound high above his head, the iron biting through bruised skin that had long since stopped bleeding. The chains were heavy—each link forged to break will before bone. His head hung low, sweat and blood dripping into the grime-caked floor beneath him.

He had been down here long enough to forget what sunlight felt like. The memory of warmth had become a cruel joke his mind played when the silence stretched too long.

Still, the spark inside him refused to die.

He was battered, starving, delirious perhaps—but not broken.

The others had said Gethii’s spirit was like a mountain. They weren’t wrong. Even now, chained and forgotten in the belly of a castle he once swore to defend, that mountain held.

He had given them nothing. Not a name. Not a word. Not a crack.

The only thing louder than his heartbeat was the drip… drip… drip from the ceiling, like a clock counting down to something he didn’t want to know.

He could have died content, had he been sure Chinakah was safe.

The groan of the heavy cell door shattered that fragile silence.

It wasn’t the sound of rescue. It was the sound of someone who walked like they owned the dark.

Gethii’s head snapped up. The torchlight spilling through the doorway was swallowed by the dungeon’s gloom, but the figure that stepped into view needed no introduction.

Njiru.

Njiru moved with the calm assurance of a man who had nothing to fear. The click of his cane echoed with measured patience.

“Still alive,” he murmured, almost to himself. “I had wondered if the rats would finish you first.”

His voice was soft, almost kind, but every word was dipped in venom.

Gethii spat blood at his feet. “If you came to gloat, make it quick. I’m not in the mood for sermons.”

Njiru smiled thinly. “Sermons? No. I leave preaching to the priests. I prefer… conversations.”

He stepped closer, close enough that the torchlight painted his gaunt features in cruel relief. His eyes gleamed like oil.

“It’s a shame,” he said. “A brave warrior like you, chained like an animal. You could have been so much more, Gethii. But loyalty… loyalty makes fools of us all.”

Gethii let out a hoarse laugh. “You’d know all about loyalty, huh? Must’ve hurt trading it for a shiny seat next to the biggest liar in the kingdom.”

“Usurper?” Njiru’s lips twitched. “No. Visionary. The old King clung to dying traditions. The new King sees the truth. Strength is destiny. Power is survival.”

“Power, huh? Funny how that word always comes up right before people lose their humanity.”

Njiru circled him slowly, the way a man might appraise an animal before slaughter. “Perhaps. But in a world already ruled by monsters, who’s to say that isn’t evolution?”

He stopped behind Gethii, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You were one of his best. The last loyal dog to the old crown. But dogs die, and empires move on.”

Gethii’s laugh was low, ragged. “You can chain me all you want, Njiru. But my oath? That’s bone-deep. I’d rather rot than bow to the vultures picking at my King’s corpse.”

Njiru sighed as if pitying a child. “Defiance. Always the same. But defiance doesn’t survive long down here.”

He reached into his robe and pulled out a small glass container. Inside, a faint purple glow pulsed like a heartbeat. A mushroom, small but alive, its veins shimmering faintly through the glass.

Gethii’s brow furrowed. “What in the Orisha’s name is that?”

Njiru smiled faintly. “Progress.”

The word slithered between them like a curse.

“I’ve seen your soldiers,” Gethii said. “The undead in the mines. Mindless, broken husks. That’s your ‘progress’? A mockery of life?”

“You misunderstand,” Njiru said softly, turning the glass between his fingers. “Those were crude beginnings. This”—he tapped the jar—“is refinement. Nature’s generosity. I didn’t create the blight. I merely learned to speak its language.”

Gethii’s stomach turned. “You’re spreading it.”

“I’m cultivating it.”

“You’ve lost it, old man. Whatever you’re cooking up, it smells like madness.” Gethii spat. “You think you can control the blight, but it’s already controlling you. You’re feeding something that can’t be chained.”

Njiru leaned in close, his breath cold as a grave. “All power hungers, Gethii. Some hunger simply louder than others.”

Gethii’s chains rattled as he tried to pull back. “If you’re waiting for me to tell you anything, might as well grab a chair. You’ll be waiting a long time.”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to tell me.” Njiru smiled again, too calm. “Not yet.”

He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “You know, I’ve always admired your kind. The way you cling to hope even when it’s hopeless. It’s… almost poetic.”

He looked back over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Tell me, Gethii,” he said softly. “When the one you’ve been waiting for arrives, what will you tell him?”

The words landed like a knife.

Gethii froze. “What?”

Njiru tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You think your loyalty has gone unnoticed? He’s on his way, isn’t he? The one who you trained.”

Gethii’s pulse thundered. He knew exactly who Njiru meant.

But he couldn’t let it show.

He forced a smirk. “You always talk this much nonsense, or maybe the mold down here’s rotted your mind.”

Njiru’s grin widened, thin as a blade. “Oh, perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve simply seen farther than you can imagine. When he comes—and he will—you’ll understand what kind of game you’ve been playing.”

He stepped closer, his voice barely a whisper. “He's probaly already close to the capital on his way to save you, Gethii. I’d start thinking about what you’ll say when he gets here.”

"I have no idea who you think is coming for me."

Njiru's face remained impassive. "Perhaps not," he said, a casual cruelty in his tone. "But what about your friend? Your trusted companion... Chinakah. Perhaps she would be more... forthcoming."

Gethii’s eyes went wide. His heart hammered in his chest. "You leave her out of this!" he roared, straining against his chains. "She has nothing to do with this!"

Njiru smiled a thin, humorless smile. "We'll see."

Njiru straightened, satisfied. “Until next time, Kingsguard.”

He turned and, with a final, chilling glance at Gethii, glided out of the cell, the heavy door groaning shut behind him. Gethii was left alone in the darkness, his body trembling not from the cold, but from a red hot anger. They had Chinakah.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

For a moment, the dungeon seemed smaller—like the walls were closing in around him.

He turned and glided out, the door slamming shut behind him with a metallic groan that echoed long after he was gone.

Gethii stood in the dark, breathing hard. His heart hammered against his ribs, every word Njiru had spoken gnawing at his mind.

He knew who Njiru meant.

Leonotis.

The fool. The stubborn, reckless boy who had already risked too much.

If Njiru knew Leonotis was coming, it meant he was walking into a trap.

Gethii clenched his fists, chains creaking under the strain. “Don’t do it,” he muttered under his breath. “Stay away, Leonotis…”

But deep down, he knew the plea was useless.

Leonotis had never once stayed away from danger.

The silence pressed in again, thicker this time. Somewhere above, the faint sound of footsteps echoed—too light for a guard, too steady for a rat.

A whisper drifted through the cracks of the stone, like a breath caught between worlds.

And for a moment, Gethii could almost swear he felt something stirring in the air—a faint vibration, like the hum of àṣẹ flowing through unseen veins of the world.

He exhaled slowly.

Maybe Njiru was right.
Maybe someone really was coming.

But whether it would save him… or damn them both…

That was something only the Orisha knew.