CLAWS AND LAWS

The glowing door loomed before them, pulsing faintly like a living thing. The robed figure had vanished, but the eerie stillness remained. Ajoke placed her palm against the stone, expecting resistance, but the door exhaled.

A rush of warm air brushed her skin, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something else—something metallic.

"Blood."

Owuye and Akintola exchanged uneasy glances. The labyrinth was testing them at every step, but they could not turn back now.

The door shuddered and slowly swung open.

The Chamber of Names

They stepped inside.

The room was massive, stretching beyond the limits of their sight, its walls covered in names.

Hundreds. Thousands.

Each carved into the stone with precise, ancient strokes. Some glowed softly; others flickered like dying embers.

But at the very center of the room, one name burned the brightest.

Eyinju Iwe.

Ajoke swallowed hard. "She's here."

Akintola traced the glowing name with his fingers. The moment he touched it, the chamber shifted.

The walls began to move. The names rearranged themselves like puzzle pieces, forming a spiral pattern.

And then, from the darkness, they came.

Figures with hollow eyes, their bodies wrapped in the tattered remains of scholar robes. Some held books with pages that turned on their own. Others clutched quills dripping with black ink.

Their voices overlapped, whispering in forgotten tongues.

One stepped forward, taller than the rest. Its face was covered by an old mask, cracked and worn.

"You seek the daughter of knowledge," it rasped. "But knowledge is not given. It is earned."

Akintola exhaled. "Another test."

The figure nodded. "A name is more than sound. It is a history, a destiny. If you do not understand her name, you are not worthy to find her."

Ajoke straightened. "We're listening."

The Name That Shouldn't Exist

The masked figure raised a bony hand.

A vision exploded in their minds.

—A grand library, older than any civilization, hidden beneath Abeokuta's roots. Scholars in flowing robes walked its endless halls, transcribing knowledge passed down from before the first kingdom.

—A child, born under an eclipse, cradled in the arms of the Last Keeper. She was not meant to exist, but she did. The child of forbidden knowledge.

—Her name was whispered only once. And when it was spoken, the walls of the library wept ink.

Eyinju Iwe.

The librarian's only daughter.

The last to inherit the knowledge of the First Book.

The vision shattered.

Ajoke gasped, gripping the edge of a stone pillar. The whispers grew louder, wrapping around them like a suffocating fog.

"Her name is a key. But to find her, you must open the right door."

The chamber changed again. Three doors now stood before them, each carved with symbols.

One led to truth.

One led to death.

One led to oblivion.

And they had only one chance.

The Door of the Eclipse

Owuye wiped sweat from his brow. "We need to think carefully. No second chances."

Akintola stared at the doors. "The vision. The eclipse."

Ajoke's breath hitched. "Her birth was tied to an eclipse. Maybe that's the clue."

They searched the doors for a sign. The first was marked with the Yoruba symbol for wisdom. The second had the symbol of ashes. The third—

Ajoke's eyes widened. The third bore the mark of the eclipse.

"This one."

Owuye exhaled. "If you're wrong—"

"I'm not."

They pushed.

The door groaned open, revealing a narrow passage lined with floating books. Pages turned in an unseen breeze, their letters shifting like liquid.

And at the very end of the passage, sitting at a stone table, was a woman.

Her skin was the color of deep mahogany, her hair woven with silver threads. Her eyes—glowing with an unnatural light—lifted to meet theirs.

She was young and ageless at the same time.

She was Eyinju Iwe.

And she was waiting for them.

 The Keeper Awakes

The corridor trembled. The floating books suddenly snapped shut and flew back to the walls. The candles flickered wildly, their flames stretching unnaturally.

Then—the passage ahead of them changed.

The stone walls twisted and cracked, revealing a massive stone door at the end of the hallway. Unlike the others, this one was covered in ancient carvings, depicting scholars bowing before a veiled figure—a woman with glowing eyes.

The door rumbled.

And then, slowly, it opened.

At the very center of the chamber beyond, sitting at a stone table, was a woman.

She was young and ageless at the same time, her skin deep mahogany, her braided hair woven with silver threads. She wore a robe of flowing white silk, embroidered with shifting symbols that moved as if alive.

But her eyes—

They were like the pages of an unwritten book, glowing with an unnatural light.

She lifted her gaze, studying them in silence. Then, her lips curved into the faintest smile.

"You found me," she said. Her voice was smooth, like ink flowing across parchment.

Ajoke took a cautious step forward. "Are you—"

"Eyinju Iwe," the woman confirmed.

Akintola exhaled in disbelief. "The librarian's daughter."

She inclined her head. "The last of the Keepers of the First Book."

Owuye frowned. "We've searched everywhere for you. The city is falling apart. There are forces moving against us. We need answers."

Eyinju Iwe closed the book in front of her with a soft thud. "You do not seek answers. You seek truth. And truth is far more dangerous than you realize."

Ajoke clenched her fists. "Then tell us what we need to know."

The woman leaned forward, her glowing eyes locking onto Ajoke's.

"Very well," she said softly. "But the truth has a price. Are you willing to pay it?"

Ajoke hesitated, exchanging glances with Akintola and Owuye.

Then she squared her shoulders. "Yes."

Eyinju Iwe smiled again, this time with something deeper behind it—something ancient.

"Then sit," she said. "And let me tell you the story of the first war between men and wolves."

The door sealed itself shut behind them.

And the truth began.

The Story of the First War

The walls of the chamber seemed to breathe, shifting slightly as if alive. The floating candles dimmed, their flames flickering uncertainly, casting long shadows that stretched unnaturally. Ajoke, Akintola, and Owuye took hesitant seats before Eyinju Iwe, whose glowing eyes reflected something both ancient and dangerous.

She opened the book before her, its pages whispering against one another. The letters twisted like living ink, forming and reforming into a story older than time itself.

"The war between men and wolves," she began, "did not start with a bite, nor with a claw drawn in battle. It started with a secret, hidden away in the mountains, buried beneath the blood of those who tried to protect it."

The air in the chamber grew heavy, charged with unseen energy. Ajoke leaned forward, listening intently.

"The first Keepers of the Moonlight," Eyinju Iwe continued, "were not wolves. They were scholars, protectors of an ancient truth, one that the red wolves sought to destroy… or reclaim."

Owuye frowned. "What truth?"

Eyinju Iwe's smile didn't reach her eyes. "The Forsaken Mountain."

At that moment, the flames flared violently—then died. Darkness swallowed the room.

And the deception began.

The Unnatural Event

A shiver ran down Ajoke's spine. The temperature had dropped suddenly, the air thick with something unseen but oppressive.

Then—a voice.

Soft, almost a whisper, but it came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"They are watching."

Akintola stiffened. "Who is watching?"

Silence.

Then the candles relit on their own, but something was wrong. The chamber looked the same—almost.

Eyinju Iwe sat motionless, the book still open in front of her. But her shadow was missing.

Ajoke's breath hitched. She grabbed Owuye's arm. "Did you see that?"

Owuye frowned. "See what?"

Eyinju Iwe had no shadow.

The revelation sent ice through Ajoke's veins. The books, the flames, even the walls—all cast shadows. But not her.

Then, as if sensing their realization, Eyinju Iwe finally looked up.

And her smile widened—too wide.

"Ah," she said, voice lower now, edged with something old and hungry. "You are clever."

Ajoke's fingers curled into fists. "You're not Eyinju Iwe."

The woman before them chuckled softly, her teeth just a little too sharp now. "A shame," she murmured. "I was enjoying this little game."

Then—her form began to unravel.

The white robes darkened, turning a deep crimson. The silver-threaded braids unwound into wild tendrils of hair. Her glowing eyes dimmed, replaced by something darker, older—a void that swallowed the light.

And when she spoke again, the walls trembled.

"I am Iyaláyà."

The Revelation: The Forsaken Mountain

Ajoke's pulse thundered in her ears. Iyaláyà had possessed Eyinju Iwe.

Akintola grabbed his knife, Owuye raised his gun, but Iyaláyà simply laughed.

"Do you think weapons will help you here?" she whispered. "You stand in a library that remembers all things—except mercy."

Ajoke forced herself to think. Iyaláyà had been pretending to be Eyinju Iwe. But why?

And then it clicked.

She had been trying to lead them astray—to misdirect them from the true location of Agbaje's children.

Ajoke turned sharply to Akintola. "She's hiding them somewhere… somewhere she didn't want us to know."

Akintola's eyes flickered with understanding. "The story she started—the Forsaken Mountain. That's where they are."

Owuye's grip tightened on his gun. "We need to get out of here—now."

Iyaláyà snarled, her form twisting, lengthening, shadows wrapping around her like living snakes. "You will not leave," she hissed. "You will not find them."

Ajoke met her gaze, unshaken.

"We already did."

The chamber exploded into chaos.

The Escape

Iyaláyà lunged, her form shifting, stretching unnaturally as the chamber tore itself apart. The walls cracked, the floor buckled, and the floating books erupted into flames.

Ajoke threw herself sideways, barely avoiding Iyaláyà's claw-like fingers as they slashed through the air where she had just been. Akintola and Owuye scrambled backward, their weapons drawn, but the library itself was working against them—the ground tilted like a living thing, trying to swallow them whole.

"We need to move!" Akintola shouted.

"The door—" Owuye started, but it had vanished.

Iyaláyà laughed, her voice echoing in the collapsing space. "You cannot leave. This place has no exits for the unworthy."

Ajoke gritted her teeth, her mind racing. No exits for the unworthy. The library was alive, ancient, and bound by rules.

She had to break them.

She turned sharply to Akintola. "The books! Find something—anything—that can disrupt her hold on this place!"

Akintola grabbed a floating book, its pages fluttering wildly in his hands. The text rearranged itself, as if sensing his intent. His eyes scanned the glowing words.

Then—his breath caught.

"This library doesn't just remember," he whispered. "It obeys commands."

Ajoke's eyes widened.

"Then tell it to let us go!" Owuye yelled.

Akintola pressed his hand against the ancient script, voice steady despite the chaos.

"Restore the path."

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then—the ground shuddered violently. The air rippled. And suddenly, behind them, a doorway materialized, glowing with golden light.

Ajoke didn't hesitate. "Run!"

They sprinted for the exit as Iyaláyà's scream of fury tore through the chamber. The walls collapsed inward, tendrils of darkness whipping toward them, but just as they reached the door—

The library erased itself.

 The Forsaken Mountain

They landed hard, tumbling onto rough, cold stone. The air was thin, the scent of ancient earth heavy around them.

Owuye groaned, pushing himself up. "Where—where are we?"

Ajoke stood slowly, turning to look up.

Her breath caught.

Towering before them was a mountain unlike any other—its peak lost in the swirling mists, its surface etched with symbols older than language itself. The very air around it hummed with unseen power.

Akintola exhaled. "The Forsaken Mountain."

Owuye turned to Ajoke. "This is it, isn't it? This is where Agbaje's children are trapped."

Ajoke nodded. "And now, we find them."

The mountain growled, the ground beneath them trembling.

Somewhere deep inside, something stirred.

And it was waiting for them.

The Curse of the Forsaken Mountain

The earth trembled beneath their feet as the eerie hum of the mountain grew louder. The ancient symbols carved into the rock began to glow, their light pulsing like a slow, powerful heartbeat.

Ajoke, Akintola, and Owuye instinctively stepped back, sensing the shift in the air. The wind howled through the pass, whispering in a language they did not understand—yet somehow, it understood them.

Then, a deep, guttural voice spoke.

"To seek the forsaken, you must bear the weight of truth."

A sudden force slammed into them, pressing against their chests. Their limbs locked in place. They could not move.

The mountain was judging them.

A sharp, invisible heat burned through their minds, forcing memories, thoughts, and emotions to the surface.

And then—

The confessions began.

The Truth Unveiled

Ajoke was the first to feel it. A burning in her throat, as if the mountain itself was forcing words from her soul.

She clenched her fists, fighting it—but the spell was stronger.

"I—" Her voice cracked. Her heart pounded.

"I wanted my father dead."

The words escaped her lips before she could stop them.

Akintola and Owuye stared at her, shock flashing in their eyes.

Ajoke gasped, her own confession horrifying her. "I—I never meant—"

But the mountain wasn't finished.

"I let Sade manipulate me. I thought I was fighting for justice, but deep down—I wanted revenge. I wanted to see them all suffer for what they did to me."

Her knees buckled, but the force of the spell held her upright.

Then—Akintola gasped as his own body trembled.

"I could have run," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I could have left the city. I could have escaped before they framed me. But I didn't."

Ajoke's breath hitched. "What do you mean?"

Akintola's eyes darkened with guilt.

"Because I loved the chase. I knew I was innocent—but I wanted to prove it in my own way. I wanted to outsmart them. And because of that pride… people died. Agbaje died. I let it happen."

Owuye's fingers curled into fists. "That's a lie."

But the mountain's power had him in its grip now too. His body stiffened, his lips trembling as the truth forced its way out.

"I knew." His voice was barely a whisper. "I knew Agbaje wasn't ordinary. I knew something unnatural was coming for us—but I never said anything."

Ajoke and Akintola stared at him.

Owuye's face was tight with guilt.

"I stayed quiet because I wanted proof. Because I wanted to be right. I let my obsession with the supernatural get in the way of protecting my own people. If I had spoken sooner, Agbaje might have lived. I failed him."

Silence.

The mountain rumbled.

And then—it laughed.

Not a voice. Not a person. But the wind itself, twisting into cruel, echoing laughter.

"Now you know the weight you carry," it whispered. "Let it decide your fate."

The force released them.

They stumbled backward, shaken, unable to look at each other.

The confessions hung between them, raw and unspoken.

Ajoke turned away, eyes burning with shame.

Akintola's hands clenched.

Owuye couldn't meet their gazes.

The mountain had done something far worse than hurt them.

It had planted doubt.

And now, as they stood on the edge of their greatest challenge, it was clear—

They might not leave this place together.