The marsh stretched before them like a dark sea, vast and unbroken.
In daylight, it might have been beautiful — a sea of endless, rippling reeds, the soft hiss of wind in the tall grass, and sunlight glittering on still waters like scattered jewels. But under the thin and failing moon, it looked like a graveyard that had learned to breathe.
The air was thick, saturated with the scent of decay — damp earth, decaying reeds, the faint metallic tang of something older. Ola could taste it at the back of his throat, the same bitter taste that clung to his mouth every time the name-thief whispered in his mind.
It stirred again now, just beneath the surface of his thoughts, faint but insistent — like claws scratching against the inside of a coffin.
"Where exactly is it?" Echo asked, her eyes scanning the horizon. Her voice was tight with the same tension that coiled in Ola's chest.
Iyagbẹ́kọ planted her staff into the wet earth with a slow, deliberate motion. The sharp crack of wood against the ground seemed too loud, but it was the only sound between them.
"It lies where the water is blackest. Where the reeds bow without wind. That is the mouth."
"The mouth to what?" Ola asked, his voice rough with something he couldn't quite name.
"The mouth to memory drowned alive."
Her words settled heavily over them. There was no comfort in them, only weight.
They pushed forward, trudging through the marsh, their feet sinking into the cold, thick mud. The water rose to their knees within minutes, the cold biting into their skin, seeping into their bones. Each step was slow, deliberate, as though the marsh itself were trying to hold them back. The reeds swayed unnaturally — bowing without wind, as if they were aware of the trespassers who dared approach.
Out in the dark, something splashed, a soft, rhythmic sound that was almost comforting in its normalcy. Then, silence. Complete, heavy silence.
The thief stirred again inside his skull.
Almost home, it whispered.
Ola clenched his jaw, but the words reverberated deep in his chest. Every step felt heavier now, each breath more difficult. But he couldn't stop. Not now. Not when he was so close.
The moon had vanished behind clouds, and only the faint glow of Iyagbẹ́kọ's lantern pierced the surrounding darkness. The flame trembled, salt-fed and stubborn, clinging to life as if it knew the dangers that awaited.
They trudged deeper still.
Then, suddenly, Iyagbẹ́kọ stopped.
"This is it."
The words were as simple as that, yet they hung in the air like a challenge. Before them, the reeds bent in a perfect circle, pressing low as though an invisible hand had pressed down upon them. Inside that circle, the water lay unnaturally still. It was darker than tar, a deep, impenetrable blackness that swallowed the light of the lantern whole.
Ola stared into the water, trying to find something — anything — but there was nothing. No reflection of the reeds, no ripple of the lantern's light. The world felt off-balance here. Wrong. The darkness seemed to have no bottom, and his heart pounded in his chest.
Iyagbẹ́kọ's voice was barely above a whisper, though the words still carried the weight of inevitability. "Once you step in, there is no ground until you find the city. The water will carry you. Or it will keep you."
Echo turned to Ola, her eyes filled with concern and something deeper. "We go together."
But Iyagbẹ́kọ shook her head. Her gaze was unwavering. "No. The city will not open for all of us. It will open for the one whose name it holds. And him alone."
Ola swallowed hard. His mouth was dry, his chest tight. "And what happens if I don't come back?"
"You will," Iyagbẹ́kọ said, but her eyes refused to meet his, and her voice betrayed something unspoken.
He felt the weight of those words — felt the finality of them. He had no choice. The thief had followed him this far, but it had not yet claimed what it wanted. He could not let it win.
Without another word, Ola stepped forward, his feet sinking deeper into the cold water.
It was colder than anything he had ever felt. The shock of it drove the breath from his lungs. The bite of it pressed in on him from all sides. His body wanted to panic, to turn back, but he forced himself to keep moving. He stepped deeper. His legs trembled beneath the weight of the cold, but he willed them to stay steady.
When the water reached his chest, the ground beneath him gave way. His feet slipped from the bottom, and he was dragged under, sinking into the blackness.
The water swallowed him whole.
There was no up, no down. No sense of direction at all. Just cold. Just the sound of his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears. His hands reached out in the darkness, but there was nothing. Only cold. Only the water pressing against him, pulling at him.
Then, faintly, a second beat joined his own. Not in sync. Not his own.
The thief's voice stirred again, clearer now, more distinct than before.
Welcome back.
The words slithered into his mind, smooth and silken, like a promise. The sound of it made his skin crawl.
A faint glow bloomed ahead, breaking the darkness. It was soft, almost ethereal, like the light from a distant lantern. Shapes moved within it — long, thin forms that drifted like eels through the water. As Ola moved closer, he realized they were not just shapes. They were faces. Faces of people, drifting like phantoms, eyes open but unseeing, mouths moving soundlessly.
And then, the horror became clear.
They were mouthing names.
Some were his ancestors, faces he'd seen in faded memories. Some were strangers, nameless, unrecognizable. Some were his own name — his own name, over and over, whispered like an incantation.
The glow grew brighter as he swam toward it, illuminating the forms in the water. The shapes of people — some familiar, others alien — twisted in the current, their eyes black and endless, staring at him, through him.
The drowned city began to rise.
It appeared from the black depths, at first as a blur, but then as something solid — a dream made flesh, carved from bone. Its towers leaned at impossible angles, their surfaces coated with pale moss that glowed faintly in the dark. Streets twisted like the gnarled roots of trees, leading nowhere and everywhere. The very air felt thick here, the water pressing harder against him as though it were trying to stop him from moving forward.
And there, standing at the city's heart, was the thief.
It no longer looked like him. It had grown taller, its limbs unnaturally long, fingers tapering into points like bone needles. Its face was still a mockery of his own — but now, it rippled, shifting constantly, twisting through other faces.
The face of an elder who had once whispered stories to him. The face of a child he had buried. The faces of people who had trusted him, who had counted on him to act — and he had failed them all.
The thief smiled, and the air turned cold.
"You came," it said, its voice low, echoing from every corner of the city.
Ola forced his voice to stay steady. "Give me my name."
The thief tilted its head, its smile widening. "Why would I? I carry it better than you ever did."
"It's mine," Ola spat.
The thief's eyes gleamed, black and knowing. "You left it. In the fire. In the silence. I took it because you were too afraid to speak it."
The words struck deeper than he had expected. He could feel the truth of them, even as they wounded him. He remembered the moments of silence, the moments he had turned away — when the reed-field girl had been punished, when the Hollowed child had been abandoned, left to die in the wilds. He had said nothing, done nothing, because he had been too afraid to speak up. Too afraid to take action.
The thief drifted closer, its form rippling like water.
"You want it back?" it hissed. "Then take it. But you know the cost."
Ola's voice cracked as he demanded, "What cost?"
The thief's eyes narrowed. "You take back your name, you take back everything you buried with it. Every shame. Every cowardice. Every moment you turned away. And you carry them forever."
Ola's breath caught, and for a moment, he was paralyzed by the weight of those words. But then, he made his choice. The thief had no power over him anymore.
"Then I carry them," Ola said, his voice low, steady.
The thief's smile grew wider, sharper. "Show me."
They collided.
It was not a battle of flesh and bone. It was a tearing. A rending. The thief's fingers dug into his chest, searching, clawing for his name. But this time, Ola grabbed its wrists and pulled back with everything he had.
Light exploded between them — his name, written in fire, twisting and writhing like a serpent.
The thief screamed — a sound so high, so wrong it splintered the water around them like shattered glass. Faces in the drowned city turned toward the noise, mouths opening in silent howls of agony.
Ola pulled harder.
And then, something broke free.
The fire of his name shot into him, burning down his spine, filling his chest until it felt like it would crack. The thief convulsed, its form melting into a smear of shadow.
"You… will never… be rid of me," it hissed, voice fading like a dying echo.
"Maybe not," Ola said, voice low and fierce. "But you'll never wear me again."
The thief shattered like glass, fragments scattering into the streets of the drowned city.
Ola broke the surface with a gasping breath.
The reeds around him bent away as if in fear. Echo was already there, hauling him toward the shore, her hands firm but gentle on his shoulders. Iyagbẹ́kọ stood waiting, her lantern raised high, her face grim and unreadable.
"You have it?" she asked.
Ola nodded weakly. "I have it."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what else did you bring back?"
He did not answer.
Because even now, far off in the dark, he could still feel the drowned city breathing beneath the reeds.
And it knew his name