The retreat from the Immortal Queen was not a voyage.
It was a punishment.
The Spear of Aziza carved eastward through waters that no longer obeyed the moon, no longer listened to the wind. Every mile was a negotiation with death. Every day was a defiance of a cosmic force. They were moving across an unimaginable distance—so vast it felt as though they were fleeing from one end of the world to the other.
And still, it did not feel far enough.
The Great Chase
For four weeks, the ocean had stalked them like a living predator.
Nkema did not sail after them.
She thought after them—her mind reaching through miles of sea, bending the tides to her wrath. Every wave that rose was intentional. Every swell that crashed against the bronze hull carried her voice, faint and cold.
Nkemesit felt her constantly—like a whisper scratching the back of her skull.
Odion, heir to Aziza, lived on the deck.
His armor remained permanently slick with salt and sweat, but he neither complained nor rested. His war was no longer fought with swords. It was fought against fear itself. Every time Nkemesit cried out from another psychic attack, Odion's grip on his spear tightened.
But guilt gnawed at him.
Every league they traveled was a league away from Aziza… and from his dying father.
His kingdom.
His people.
His throne.
All left behind.
A Brother's Burden
On the fourth night, lightning split the horizon, but the thunder never followed—it was muffled beneath layers of unnatural, seething magic.
Odion found Nnamdi near the railing, map scrolls soaked and fluttering.
"The wind is forcing us toward exile," Odion growled, voice rough. "Our father is dying, and I am running like a coward."
"You are not running," Nnamdi said gently.
"You are carrying the last hope of our kingdom."
Odion's jaw flexed.
He didn't answer.
Because hope felt unbearably heavy.
The Secret Fleet
When the storm eased for a handful of heartbeats, Odion seized the moment. He climbed the signal mast and aligned the ancient reflective mirror toward the distant shimmer of sails behind them—his secret fleet.
Hundreds of warships he had sent to follow quietly.
His hidden strength.
His backup if diplomacy failed.
Now they were nothing but targets.
"Captain Ugo," his voice echoed through the signal lines, "return home. Guard Aziza. Guard the throne. Defend the King."
"My prince!" the captain protested. "We swore to defend you!"
"You defend Aziza by obeying me," Odion snapped.
He had never sounded more like a king.
One by one, his armada turned away.
Their silhouettes faded.
Their banners dimmed.
And Odion stood alone on the mast like a man who had just severed his final lifeline.
Inside the Cabin
Nkemesit had not slept in days.
Her skin was pale, her breathing shallow, and every hour the unborn heir kicked in distress.
A stabbing pain surged behind her eyes. She collapsed. Adanna caught her.
"It's like needles digging into my skull," Nkemesit gasped.
"She's searching for me."
Adanna's magic flared weakly—beautiful, soft light trembling like a candle in a storm.
"She wants the child," Adanna whispered.
"She wants the last threat to her power dead."
Nkemesit clutched her stomach.
Only the living heir of Oloran could challenge Nkema.
Only her son.
But the knowledge did nothing to comfort her.
Holding the Spear Together
The ship survived through the combined, straining strength of its protectors:
Chief Priest Mazi
His last wards may have broken, but their ghostly patterns lingered—hidden paths and signs only a priest could interpret. Without them, Nnamdi would not have found safe routes through the magical dead zones.
Princess Adanna
Her shielding aura was a constant, painful burn. She fainted twice. Each time, she rose again.
Prince Nnamdi
Soft-spoken, poetic, and endlessly intelligent, he guided them through storms with the calm of a man who refused to break.
Prince Odion
Their shield.
Their warrior.
Their anchor.
He fought the ocean itself.
Every rogue wave that tried to swallow the Spear was met with Odion's roar of defiance.
The Coast of Makeni
The moment they crossed the invisible threshold into Makeni waters, the sea dropped into unnatural calm.
Instant, perfect stillness.
The tranquil blue surface was so clean and mirror-like that it felt threatening.
Nkemesit shivered.
Nkema's presence had vanished abruptly.
They had finally reached refuge.
Or so they thought.
The docks glittered like a white jewel city built from coral—gorgeous, elegant, ancient.
But the reception was wrong.
People stared, not with admiration… but with fear.
Hours passed before Makeni's aging king finally appeared.
King Adekunle approached with trembling hands.
His voice shook.
"I cannot allow you into my city."
Odion's face hardened instantly.
"Your Majesty—"
"Nkema is annihilating entire kingdoms," the king whispered.
"Those who sheltered her enemies were destroyed. Turned to dust. My people cannot suffer the same fate."
"We carry the last heir to Oloran," Nnamdi argued. "If he dies, Nkema will rule unchallenged!"
The King's eyes glistened with sorrow.
"I am sorry."
It was the closest thing Makeni gave them to mercy.
A Ship Disguised
They sailed away at dusk, humiliated, exhausted, and terrified.
A kingdom had rejected them.
Land itself had refused them.
On a nearby jungle island, Odion ordered the transformation.
The beautiful Spear of Aziza—once a royal marvel—became a weather-beaten, rust-colored fishing boat. Bronze plates were coated in mud and resin. Silk sails were replaced with torn canvas. Crates of dried sea-kelp were stacked to hide magical artifacts.
The ship died that night.
And something desperate was born in its place.
A Terrible Realization
After days hiding near Makeni, the sea began churning again.
The calm had been a lie.
Nkema's magic had found them.
The wind screamed. Waves slammed the hull. The storm twisted unnaturally toward a single direction—
Nkemesit.
She staggered, clutching the mast.
Her breath shook.
"It's me," she whispered.
"The sea wants me."
Adanna grabbed her arm. "We stay together. We protect the heir—"
"No."
Nkemesit blinked tears away.
"If I stay on this ship, he dies. All of you die."
Odion froze.
For a long moment, he just stared at her—like a man hearing his own execution sentence.
"What are you saying?"
His voice cracked.
"I must go ashore," she whispered.
"Alone."
Odion nearly lunged forward.
"Absolutely not."
But Nkemesit raised a trembling hand to stop him.
"There is something… a technique my mother taught me. A way to blur my presence. To confuse the sea's awareness. I don't know if it will work. I don't know if I will survive."
"But you have a plan," Nnamdi realized softly.
"A hope," Nkemesit said.
"Not a plan."
Another wave hammered the ship.
Wood groaned. Metal screamed.
Time was running out.
Odion's chest heaved.
His voice lowered to something raw.
"You expect me to leave you?"
"I expect you to protect my son," she whispered.
His face broke—just for a heartbeat—before he forced the warrior mask back on.
"Nkemesit…"
He stepped closer, voice barely audible.
"If I leave you, and you die… know that—"
She touched his hand.
A soft, trembling touch that startled him.
"Don't say it," she whispered.
"If you say it, I won't be able to go."
He swallowed hard.
Behind them, the sky cracked with thunder that had no sound—only pressure.
The sea was coming for her.
She stepped backward toward the shadowed shore.
"Nkemesit!" Odion's voice tore out of him.
He grabbed her wrist—not forcefully, but desperately.
"Live. Somehow—live. And if you fall…"
He inhaled deeply.
Her breath caught.
She nodded once, tears spilling.
And then she turned away.
Odion watched her disappear into mist, his heart ripping between duty and something far more dangerous.
Only when she was gone did he whisper, broken:
"I am not afraid of Nkema.
I am afraid of losing you."
And the sea answered with a roar.