Three years earlier
Wura
In the small garden, sticks whistled and cracked through the morning air like flashes of wood lightning.
Wura struggled to keep up with the rhythm. Every attack she tried was blocked with cold precision. Alya never let anything through—never. Even in their fifth duel of the morning, her mother ruled the fight like a seasoned war master.
Wura was drenched in sweat, panting, her arms aching.
But this time, she had almost broken through her guard. Almost.
— One more strike and I'd have had it! she protested, frustrated.
A deep rumble cut them off.
Alya froze. Her gaze darkened instantly. She lifted her head, like a wolf catching the scent of a predator.
— Silence, she ordered sharply. Listen.
The rumble came again. Then a crash of glass. Something had shattered—no, exploded.
Alya leapt forward without hesitation, her legs taut like drawn bowstrings.
— Luwa! she cried.
Wura followed in wide strides, her heart pounding wildly.
The living room was a battlefield. Her father lay on the floor, his desk overturned, glass flasks shattered like crystal beneath boots. Five strangers stood there. Draped in black and red, like church shadows. Their dark robes bore a red cross encircled by Vodun signs—vévés, ancient and sacred, that had no place here.
Wura froze. The scene looked torn from a nightmare.
One of the men bent over her father. There was no threat in his movements. There was already violence.
Wura took a step. Then another. But her mother's hand shot out like a steel trap, closing on her shoulder. She pulled her close in one swift move.
— Protect Wura! gasped Luwa. She's the one they came for… Aaah!
— What's he saying? Wura whispered, lost, her stomach in knots.
She looked up at her mother. And what she saw there froze her blood.
Terror. An ancient, familiar fear. As if Alya had been waiting for this moment all her life.
Alya placed her calloused hands on Wura's cheeks. Despite the tension, they were warm. Trembling.
— Wura. Listen to me. You must run. Escape. These men… those with the scarlet cross… they must never reach you. Never.
— Mother, no… I can't… I won't abandon you! she stammered, tears brimming in her eyes.
— The Academy, my love… It will protect you. There, you'll be safe. After the initiation, everything will be revealed to you.
Initiation?
Wura didn't understand. Not at all. She had no intention of fleeing.
She was going to fight.
A movement made them turn. One of the men—the hollow-cheeked one, with a lifeless gaze—pointed at Wura:
— Amber eyes. Just as we were told. It's her. Don't let her escape.
They swooped down on them like raptors.
But Alya, swift as the wind, raised her staff.
A crack, sharp and brutal.
A strangled cry.
A second enemy crumpled under her strike.
Wura tightened her grip on her own staff. Her hand was already slick with sweat. But she didn't hesitate.
She ignored her mother's orders.
She charged.
This was her home. These were her parents. She would not just stand and watch.
She leapt, struck with all her strength.
The wood split the air—but met only emptiness.
Her balance faltered.
And suddenly—
Two hands, rough as bark, seized her wrists. She felt the bones creak under the pressure.
No movement. No strength.
Her staff dangled, useless.
She thrashed. She screamed. She wanted to tear their throats out.
But she was only a child caught in the falcon's claws.
And all around her, the nightmare was only beginning.
Alya gasped when she saw her daughter trapped in the arms of the attackers.
The hollow-cheeked man slowly turned his head toward Wura's parents, a cold smile at the corner of his lips.
— Do not resist. We have the child. You know what Rada decrees about hybrids. You knew what it meant… This is the price of your betrayal.
Hybrids? These beings? Wura didn't understand. The ground seemed to vanish beneath her feet.
— Who are you? her father growled, his throat crushed under a stranger's grip.
— Purifiers, Alya answered in his place, breath short, her back pinned against the wall. My mother, Shéna, warned me… Wura! Look at that red cross on their chest, carve it into your memory. They are your enemies. You must never let them take you, or else—
— Enough! spat the man, straightening. It's too late for warnings. Kill them. I'll take the girl.
The word kill rang in Wura's ears like a blade. Terror burst inside her chest. She thrashed, twisted, clawed, bit, screamed with the raw rage of instinct. And then, with a sharp snap, she slammed her skull into her captor's face. A dull crack. Blood. He released her with a groan, stumbling back.
She didn't wait. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she rushed toward her mother.
Alya, in a blazing move, broke free from the two men's grip. Her staff cut through the air with the violence of despair, striking temples, jaws, noses. The wood split under the blows, but she kept going, fists tight, fury blazing in her eyes.
On the other side, Luwa frantically swept the ground, his fingers closing on a thick flask. He swung. The glass shattered against a skull. A moan. Then a body collapsed. He shoved another attacker aside, pulling Wura back into his arms.
— Luwa, Alya panted, her face streaked with sweat and blood. We must go. Take Wura. These men… they're Hunsis. They can wield Vodun. If I don't hold them here, they'll hunt you to the ends of the earth. You must save her!
— I won't leave you! Luwa roared, tears burning with his anger. Do you hear me? Never!
— You must.
Wura saw her mother straighten, standing tall against the shadows. She had the gaze of a warrior ready to die on her feet.
The Purifiers' leader grimaced, clutching his bleeding nose.
— So be it. You have chosen.
In one movement, the five men stretched out their hands. Their palms lit up with complex symbols, blue as the abyss. A massive sphere of water formed between them, floating, growling.
Wura froze, horror gripping her like iron chains. This was Vodun. Real Vodun.
They released it.
The wall of water crashed down on them. The breath, the force, the impact—like a hurricane made of waves.
Wura screamed soundlessly. Luwa held her tight, shielding her small body. But he, and Alya, were thrown back. The impact against the wall thundered like lightning in a silent world.
Everything was upside down. Furniture, vials, jars—shattered, drowned, scattered.
Blood. Shards. Cries.
Luwa trembled, clutching Wura like a lifeline in the storm. A thin line of blood ran from his chin. He looked her in the eyes. Don't cry, his silence said.
Alya roared.
She charged.
Staff in hand, she tore through the air, striking like a lioness. Wild. Glorious. Unleashed. Wura froze, paralyzed. Her mother was a storm.
— Kill her! bellowed the man with eyes blacker than death.
And suddenly, a beat. Just one.
A colossal presence surged from deep inside Wura. She staggered. A searing migraine pierced her skull. The world seemed to slow.
Something—no, everything—was boiling under her skin. Her power. It growled, slithered, gathered in her belly, rose to her throat, burned through her arms, her fingers, her breath.
Then… it burst.
An explosion. A true one.
The energy hurled her against the wall like a leaf torn from its tree. The world shattered in a roar of pain.
And silence returned.
When she opened her eyes, Wura was alone. Alone in the middle of a pool of blood.
Red.
Scarlet.
Her parents lay there. Motionless. Broken. Their eyes open, staring at nothing.
She did not scream.
She did not cry.
Something inside her had died.
Then, with a soft step, a figure entered. A woman with ebony skin, unfathomable eyes, dressed in black and gray. Beautiful as night, terrible as truth.
She approached. Her smile was barely visible.
Wura collapsed into the shadow of her parents, in the ruins of her world.