The trek toward the Black Pyramid was a journey through a broken kaleidoscope. The "glass" dunes of the shore gave way to a forest of frozen lightning—jagged, translucent trees that hummed with a low, dangerous frequency.
Tunde walked with a strange, heavy grace. His obsidian armor pulsed in time with his heartbeat, but his movements were jerky, like a man trying to drive a car with a sensitive engine he didn't understand.
"Slow down," Amina said, catching his arm. As her skin touched the obsidian, a spark of blue and silver jumped between them, throwing her back a step. "Tunde, your energy is leaking. You're leaving a trail of starlight that even a blind Seeker could follow."
Tunde looked at his hands, which were vibrating so fast they appeared blurred. "I can't stop it, Amina. It's like there's a dam breaking inside my chest. I feel... I feel like I could pull that pyramid down with my bare hands, but I can't even figure out how to close my fist."
Amina stepped into his space, ignoring the static that made her hair stand on end. "That's because you're fighting it. You're still Tunde the technician, trying to 'fix' a machine. You're not a mechanic here. You're the fuel."
"Then teach me," he pleaded, his golden eyes flickering. "Before I burn us both to ash."
Amina closed her eyes, reaching into the well of "High Alchemist" memories that were settling into her brain like heavy silt. "Alchemy isn't about strength. It's about Friction. In Mowe, we survived because we rubbed against each other—our stress, our love, our arguments. That friction created the heat that kept us going."
She took both his hands. "Don't try to hold the power. Let it rub against mine. Use me as the ground."
They stood in the forest of lightning, two souls from a Lagos suburb trying to perform a celestial grounding. Amina pulled his silver light into her blue shadow.
The air around them began to swirl. The jagged trees hummed louder, their frequencies aligning. For the first time, the chaotic pulsing of Tunde's armor smoothed out into a steady, rhythmic glow.
"I see it," Tunde whispered, his eyes widening. "I see the lines... the connections between the worlds. Amina, the Pyramid isn't just a building. It's a straw. It's sucking the life out of Lagos right now. Every time someone in Nigeria feels a sudden wave of 'unexplained' tiredness or depression... that's the Void-Engine taking a bite."
"Then we don't just fight for us," Amina said, her voice turning cold and hard. "We fight for everyone stuck in traffic on the Lagos-Ibadan expressway. We fight for the women in the market."
A sharp, metallic clink echoed through the forest.
From behind the lightning trees, four Void-Seekers emerged. They weren't the "Shadows" from the house. These were armored—covered in plates of "Void-Steel" that drank the light. They held long, jagged spears that dripped with black ichor.
"The Star-Core is stabilized," the lead Seeker rasped, its voice sounding like a chorus of dying screams. "The King will be pleased. It is much easier to harvest a calm soul than a panicked one."
Tunde didn't look at Amina this time. He didn't ask what to do.
He stepped forward, and as he did, a blade of pure, solidified starlight extended from his forearm. "I've spent ten years fixing generators for people who didn't pay me," Tunde said, his voice echoing like thunder. "Dealing with you lot will be a pleasure."