No matter how hard he tried, Esu's voice wouldn’t leave Sango’s head.

“He sees you as a ticking time bomb.”

The words gnawed at him, a persistent echo in the back of his mind. How long had it been, and yet the bitter taste of Ogun’s disapproval still hadn’t dulled. Sango rarely cared what others thought of him—except for Ogun. That exception grated on him, stinging his pride. His jaw tightened, the muscles in his neck tense, until a thunderclap rumbled through the sky, snapping him out of his brooding.

His temper flared quicker these days, and that worried him more than he liked to admit. He’d always been able to control it, but now, it felt like his powers responded to every minor shift in mood. Like a storm on the horizon, brewing long before it hit. A small shift of wind, and the tempest could break loose.

He gritted his teeth.

Another sharp rumble of thunder crashed outside, shaking the walls of his palace. As he clenched his fists, something else cut through the sound—a persistent cawing that wasn’t part of the storm. He narrowed his eyes, noticing the dark shape flying toward him.

An owl, dark as midnight, flew straight into his throne room and landed in front of him with a final shriek. Its sharp, intelligent eyes met his before dropping three kola nuts into his hand. Sango frowned. The message was unmistakable.

It was Orunmila’s owl.

Sango watched the owl disappear back into the storm, then crouched to place the kola nuts on the stone floor. The nuts crumbled into ash, rearranging themselves into words: Tomorrow. Midday.

Orunmila was calling a council—the first in centuries.

A low rumble rose in Sango’s chest as he stood, pacing in slow circles. His mind drifted toward the odd occurrences he had noticed recently, and he wondered. Strange winds carried strange tidings. Orunmila would not call such a council lightly. The bitter taste in Sango's mouth deepened.

________________________________________

Far from Sango’s palace, the storm felt distant to Oya as she remained cloistered in her sanctum, though the air inside was still thick with tension. The weight of what she had done—the village reduced to ruins, pressed down on her shoulders, heavier than any storm could be.

Physically she had not recovered, and mentally, the scenes of that day were still etched painfully in her mind. She could still feel the rawness of it all, the way her power—her ase—had consumed her and slipped out of her control. Unlike her brother, she couldn’t wield her storm without paying a price, and she had paid dearly.

She exhaled slowly, her eyes tracing the dimly lit patterns of her sanctum’s floor, replaying the scene over and over in her mind. Why had it happened? How had she let herself lose control? Each time she searched for an answer, the memory looped endlessly, never giving her the clarity she sought. She had to fix it somehow. She had to make things right.

That’s when the thought struck her, a sudden impulse so powerful she couldn’t push it aside. Her resolve hardened as she rose to her feet, her decision made. She did the most impulsive thing she had ever done before.

With the last of her ase coiled around her like a cloak, Oya slipped through the palace halls, her steps as silent as shadows. The attendants barely noticed her, their eyes drawn elsewhere, as though something unseen guided them away from her path. Even the attendants seemed oblivious as she passed, as though the air itself conspired to help her leave unnoticed.

Outside, the storm loomed on the horizon, thick and oppressive. The energy in the air crackled against her skin as she approached the invisible boundary separating the world of the gods from the mortal realm. She paused for only a moment, her breath steady, then stepped through the Outside, the storm loomed on the horizon, thick and oppressive. The air crackled with energy, a warning she could feel crawling under her skin. She hesitated only for a heartbeat, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the invisible boundary separating the world of the gods from the mortal realm. She knew what crossing that line would cost her, but the weight of her guilt was heavier than her fear.

Oya inhaled sharply, the last threads of her ase coiling around her like a shield, and stepped through.

The instant her foot crossed the threshold, the world wrenched violently. Her power drained from her body in a sudden rush, pulled away like a tide retreating from the shore. The sensation was excruciating—a searing cold that made her gasp. Her strength, her ase, everything that defined her as a goddess.

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Gravity seized her, relentless and brutal.

She plunged.

The sky blurred, clouds whipping past her as the wind tore at her clothes, her hair snapping violently around her face. Her stomach lurched with the force of her fall, her breath ripped from her lungs as she spiraled downward. The air, once an element she commanded, now sliced at her skin, unforgiving and hostile. There was no more flight, no control—only the terrible pull of the earth dragging her down.

Her heart slammed in her chest as the ground rushed up to meet her.

Impact.

Her body hit the earth like a thunderclap. The shockwave rattled through her bones, knocking the breath from her lungs in a painful gasp. The sharp crack of ribs breaking echoed in her ears, followed by a deep, searing ache. The impact left her sprawled in the dirt, motionless, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. She tasted blood in her mouth.

For a moment, the world was just noise—the roar of wind, the distant rumble of thunder, the ringing in her ears. The pain was all-consuming, radiating from her core, making her muscles seize and lock. She tried to move, but her body refused, each attempt sending sharp stabs of agony through her limbs.

Oya gritted her teeth, her breaths shallow and ragged. She reached inside herself, grasping for any spark of power, any shred of ase—but there was nothing. The emptiness she found was more terrifying than the fall itself. Her strength, her essence, was gone.

She was powerless.

Oya gritted her teeth and cursed the weakness in her bones.

She felt very foolish already.

________________________________________

Esu, however, was not bound by the same weakness. As the god of mischief, he thrived in the spaces between things—where reality bent and twisted, where rules dissolved like smoke. And in his pocket of space, Esu was both present and hidden, seated cross-legged at the center of his swirling chaos.

This was his creation, a realm that existed just out of reach of the others—a place of perpetual movement, where colors bled into one another, shifting between deep red and black, forming patterns that never settled. It was a refuge, but more than that, it was a vantage point. From here, he could spy on others while beind shrouded himself.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face as he felt the currents of change moving. Orunmila had called a council, and predictably, Esu had not been invited. The omission didn’t sting. In fact, it delighted him. The god of prophecy was catching on, suspecting him of tampering with the Loom, but Esu was always one step ahead. The idea of watching Orunmila struggle amused him.

Esu shifted, his body moving with the swirling patterns around him, his thoughts mirroring the chaotic space. It was in these moments of quiet reflection that his mind was sharpest, plotting, turning every possibility over. The chaos around him fed his creativity, nurtured his plans. He reveled in it, like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of disorder.

A ripple moved through the space—a shadowed form emerging from the vortex. Esu blinked, watching as a phantom-like figure hovered before him. The figure said nothing, merely dropped a lifeless eagle at his feet before vanishing.

Esu tilted his head, intrigued. The owl’s neck was twisted in a grotesque manner. Clutched in its talons were three kola nuts. He stroked the bird’s feathers gently, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers. Then, with a whisper of power, he let the darkness flow from him and into the bird.

“Wake up, little one,” he murmured with a wicked smile.

The bird twitched, then let out a shrill caw as it jerked back to life, its eyes glowing with unnatural energy. Esu watched with satisfaction as the eagle stretched its wings and flew out of his pocket of space, back into the mortal realm. He chuckled, rising to his feet.

“Well, I suppose it’s time to get prepared. I’ve got a council to crash.”

________________________________________

Back in his own sanctum, Orunmila couldn’t find the peace he sought. He cast his beads again and again, hoping to see some sign, some glimpse of the future that would reassure him. But each throw of the beads revealed only uncertainty, a tangle of paths that left his mind in turmoil.

He gathered the beads into his palm, sighing deeply. The weight of the amulet around his neck felt heavy, like a chain dragging him down. For the first time in a long time, Orunmila felt something he hadn’t expected: fear.

It clawed at him, unrelenting. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw it again—that endless sea of chaos, trying to tear him apart, to drown him before he had saved him. His brother. The one who had sacrificed himself to save the world. The memory was as raw now as it had been centuries ago. And now, everything was unraveling once more. The Loom had been tampered with, and it was his fault for not noticing sooner.

Orunmila pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the tremor in his fingers. He couldn’t allow himself to falter, not now. His brother’s sacrifice had to mean something. He would not let the world fall apart again.

Taking a deep breath, Orunmila straightened his back. He had to act. There was no room for self-pity, no time for hesitation. The only way forward was to make things right, no matter what it cost him.

With one last glance at the beads, he made his decision, even though the chance was slim he had to try it, it was time to visit the blacksmith.