Night had teeth.
By the time the boys slipped out of Madam Sugar's mansion, the wind had grown cold, slicing through the quiet streets. Their hearts were heavy with the secret they were carrying — the bag of money hidden in Ayo's room, the unanswered questions about Madam Sugar's death, and the strange white-robed figures trailing the edges of their lives.
They walked fast. Too fast.
And yet… it felt like something was walking faster behind them.
Ayo kept looking over his shoulder.
Emmanuel's fists were clenched.
Banji had gone quiet.
Adeoluwa whispered prayers under his breath.
"Guys…" Emmanuel finally murmured. "We're being followed."
They didn't turn. They didn't need to.
Because the air suddenly tasted… sweet.
Sweet in a way that felt wrong — too heavy, too thick, like sugar melting on fire.
And then—
FOOM!
A burst of white smoke exploded ahead of them, swirling into the shape of a tall figure.
A white mask.
A white robe.
A cold silence that felt louder than thunder.
Another stepped out from the alley.
Then another.
And another.
Four White Mask members silently sealed the street.
Ayo's voice shook. "What do they want from us?"
Banji swallowed hard. "The money… or something else."
One of the masked figures lifted a staff carved with the Sweet Spiral, glowing faintly red, dripping with thick, syrup-like liquid.
The figure raised their hand.
And the chanting began.
---
The Incantation of Summoning — Calling Sweet Blood
Their voices echoed like a broken choir:
"Adun gba ẹjẹ wa…
Didùn soke…
Jẹ ki ẹjẹ rẹ dun ju musu lọ…
Fun wa ni agbara, fun wa ni ẹ̀mí…"
("Adun, receive our blood…
Sweetness rise…
Let your blood be sweeter than flesh…
Give us power, give us breath…")
The ground trembled lightly.
The air thickened.
Shadows twisted into shapes.
"Back!" Ayo yelled.
But the boys had nowhere to run.
The White Masks stepped closer, their staffs glowing, their bodies vibrating with the rhythm of the chant.
The leader pointed directly at Ayo.
"Omo didùn…"
("Child of sweetness…")
The boys froze.
Why Ayo?
Why him?
Why now?
The masked figure snapped their staff downward.
A whip of white fire lashed across the ground, cracking open the pavement.
The boys jumped back just in time.
"MOVE!" Emmanuel shouted.
They scattered — diving behind parked cars, climbing over a fence, rushing down the street. The White Masks followed with supernatural calmness, like they didn't need to run to catch them.
Ayo tripped, hitting the ground hard.
One of the White Masks stood over him.
He lifted his staff—
"ADUN SI MI!"
("Adun, open through me!")
Ayo covered his face—
But Emmanuel tackled the cultist from the side, slamming him into a wall.
Another cultist hurled a wave of sweet-smelling smoke at them. Banji dragged Ayo away, coughing.
Adeoluwa swung a broken plank he found on the ground, hitting a cultist's mask and cracking it.
The cultist staggered — shocked.
They were not used to being hit back.
The boys didn't wait. They ran.
Harder than ever.
Past the dark streets, past the fences, past the whispers of chanting behind them.
The sweet smell faded.
The night finally grew quiet.
They didn't stop until they reached Ayo's house.
They collapsed on the floor, shaking, gasping, sweating.
Banji finally whispered:
"Ayo… why did they call you Omo didùn?"
Ayo had no answer.
But in his pocket…
he found something he didn't put there.
A small white sugar cube, carved with the spiral of Adun.
Still warm.
Still glowing faintly.
Emmanuel stepped back.
Adeoluwa covered his mouth.
Banji's eyes widened.
"Ayo…"
Emmanuel whispered.
"…they marked you."
And outside the window, far in the distance, a single White Mask figure stood under a street lamp, staring at the house…
motionless.