The valley was no longer the peaceful cradle of sunlight and songbirds it once had been. The air now carried tension—an invisible current that pressed against the skin, humming with both power and dread. Ikenna stood at the center of his farm, feeling the pulse of the Heart of the Soil deep beneath his feet. It beat slower now, heavier, as though it too sensed the coming storm.
Elder Nnadozie watched him from a short distance, staff planted firmly in the ground. "You've done well strengthening your bond, Ikenna. But cultivation of the spirit is only one half of the Guardian's path. The other half lies in endurance—in learning to bear the weight of the land itself."
Ikenna frowned slightly. "Endurance? You mean… pain?"
The old man gave a faint chuckle. "Pain is part of it, yes. But not all pain destroys. The soil breaks itself to birth a seed, does it not?"
That morning, the training began.
Nnadozie drew a circle around Ikenna using powdered spirit stones. "This ring binds you to the valley's energy. You will open your roots—feel every life within the radius of ten miles. Every breath, every heartbeat, every dying leaf. You must not look away."
Ikenna nodded and knelt within the glowing circle. The elder began chanting softly, his voice ancient and rhythmic. Slowly, the world around Ikenna blurred. He felt the soil hum beneath him, the pulse of worms burrowing through the dirt, the faint tremble of roots stretching toward hidden water veins.
Then the sensation deepened. He could feel the people too—Adaeze teaching the children to plant seedlings, Uche lifting water jars, old women praying beside their small altars. The valley was alive within him.
But as he reached further, he touched something else.
Cold. Empty. Moving.
He flinched, gasping. A chill crept through his veins, sharp as knives. Somewhere at the edge of his awareness, the corruption stirred—an oily wave of darkness pressing against his mind.
"Ikenna!" Nnadozie's voice cut through the fog. "Do not recoil! Face it!"
Teeth gritted, Ikenna forced himself to breathe through the pain. His consciousness expanded further, and the darkness came into view—a wall of shadow devouring everything in its path. Within it, he could see fragments of bone and faces twisted in silent screams.
The red eyes appeared again, cold and ancient.
"You dare touch what is mine again?"
The voice rumbled through his skull. The soil beneath him cracked, energy bursting from the circle in violent waves. Ikenna screamed, clutching his head as pain lanced through his soul.
Nnadozie slammed his staff down. "Hold fast! The land chose you—not him!"
Golden light surged up from beneath Ikenna's feet, meeting the tendrils of shadow that snaked toward him. The two forces clashed, soil erupting in blinding radiance.
For a heartbeat, everything went white.
When the light faded, Ikenna collapsed, panting hard, his body drenched in sweat. The ground around him smoked slightly, glowing with faint amber veins.
Nnadozie crouched beside him. "You saw him again, didn't you?"
Ikenna nodded weakly. "He's closer. Stronger than before. I felt… his hunger. He wants the Heart not to heal the land—but to consume it."
The elder's eyes darkened. "Then time is shorter than I feared."
By evening, Ikenna's strength had returned enough for him to stand. He looked over his farmland, now illuminated by countless spirit lamps. The crops glowed faintly under the moonlight—proof that life still thrived despite the looming threat.
Adaeze approached quietly, carrying a bowl of herbal broth. "You shouldn't push yourself this hard," she said, voice soft. "You're still human, no matter how much power you hold."
He smiled faintly, accepting the bowl. "A farmer doesn't rest when his crops are sick."
She sighed. "Then promise me you'll at least stay alive to harvest them."
He met her gaze, warmth flickering in his chest despite the exhaustion. "I'll do my best."
As they stood together, the wind shifted—carrying the faintest trace of rot. Ikenna's senses sharpened instantly. He turned toward the northern ridge. The air shimmered strangely there, as if the world itself was bending.
Nnadozie's voice came from behind. "They're here."
"Who?" Ikenna asked.
"The scouts of the corruption," the elder said grimly. "They come first—creatures twisted by its hunger. If they find the Heart's location, their master will follow."
Without hesitation, Ikenna set down the bowl and summoned his staff—a long, wooden pole carved from the roots of the sacred tree that now grew at the farm's center. Energy pulsed through it like living blood.
Adaeze's hand went to her dagger. "Then we fight."
Nnadozie raised his staff, eyes gleaming. "Tonight, we protect the soil."
From the shadows at the ridge came the sound of crawling—wet and slow. Dozens of shapes slithered into the moonlight, their bodies half-human, half-root, skin blackened and cracked. Their mouths gaped open, releasing low, rattling moans.
Ikenna felt the Heart stir within him, responding to his rising fury. His feet dug into the soil, and golden vines burst upward, coiling around his legs like armor.
He raised his staff high. "For every seed that's ever struggled to grow," he whispered, "for every hand that's ever turned the earth—"
He slammed the staff down. "—this land will never bow to darkness!"
The ground split open, unleashing a surge of light that tore through the first wave of creatures. The valley roared with energy, wind whipping through the fields like a living storm.
Adaeze leapt forward, her blade flashing, while Nnadozie's chants filled the air with protective sigils.
As the corrupted beings shrieked and burned, Ikenna could feel the Heart of the Soil pulsing through him, stronger now, wilder. For a brief, glorious moment, he wasn't just the land's protector—he was the land.
But deep in the darkness beyond the ridge, the red eyes opened once more.
And this time, they were smiling.