C16 The Shattered Ballroom

Darkness fell across the gala like a giant had blown out every candle at once. The music died mid-note. The chandeliers swung as if caught by invisible hands. Screams cracked through the hall like lightning.

Adaeze didn’t think. She moved.

She grabbed Kachi’s jacket and yanked him down as a bolt of red energy sang past his head and exploded against the far wall. Glass sprayed across the floor.

“Kachi, shields!” she shouted.

He slammed his palm on the marble. Flame burst around them in a dome, a shimmering orange egg glowing in the pitch-black room.

Shapes moved beyond the firelight.

Human? Maybe.

Friendly? Definitely not.

Zarah’s voice cut through the confusion. “Adaeze, they’re surrounding us!”

Chisom hissed, flipping a dial on his wrist. His gauntlet lit up with blue lightning. “I told you this felt like a setup! Rich people don’t throw parties out of kindness—they throw nets!”

The darkness shifted.

Then a cold voice slithered through the entire ballroom.

Omalicha.

“Capture the Oracle. Kill the rest.”

The fire dome flickered.

Adaeze steadied herself. “Chisom, drop the dome. On my mark.”

“You better have a plan,” he muttered.

“I don’t,” she whispered. “But I have instincts. And instincts kept me alive through one lifetime already.”

She raised her hand high.

“NOW!”

The dome vanished.

Silence exploded into movement.

A dozen masked enforcers lunged at them with blades glowing purple.

Adaeze spun, letting instinct guide her. Her fingers traced a pattern in the air—an old one, older than her memories but familiar in her bones.

Golden light flared from her palms.

A wave of energy blasted outward, throwing the closest attackers across the room like rag dolls.

Kachi leapt into the gap. Fire trailed from his fists. Every punch shook the floor. Zarah moved beside him like a dancer carved from storm clouds, blades whistling and feet barely touching the ground.

Chisom wasn’t a fighter by nature, but he was stubborn and clever. He fired arcs of lightning at the chandelier wires. One by one they snapped, each massive chandelier crashing down like falling meteors, cutting off enemy paths.

A thin beam of blue light streaked over Adaeze’s shoulder.

Someone else was fighting.

Her breath caught.

Karynda.

He moved through the chaos with the ease of someone born in war. His strikes landed before she could see the wind-up. Every slice left a trail of fading blue script in the air—ancient Oracle combat glyphs.

She recognized them.

Her own hands itched with the memory of using them beside him, centuries ago.

He caught her staring.

His voice reached her in the middle of the storm:

“We don’t have long. Omalicha is here for your Tear.”

Adaeze’s grip tightened around her hidden satchel. “How do you know about—”

“Not now.”

Another explosion tore through the hall.

The smoke cleared. A figure stepped through.

Omalicha.

Her silver dress had turned into armor of spiraling metal threads. Her pupils glowed red. Power rolled off her in waves.

She smiled at Adaeze.

“It’s time to come home, Oracle.”

Adaeze held her ground. “I’m not yours.”

“We rebuilt the world after your death,” Omalicha replied. “We kept your knowledge alive. And now? You will finish what you started.”

Karynda spoke sharply. “Adaeze, don’t let her touch you. She’s—”

But Omalicha raised a hand.

Karynda slammed into a marble pillar hard enough to crack it.

Adaeze felt her heart plunge. “Karynda!”

“Don’t… worry about me,” he groaned.

Omalicha’s eyes slid back to Adaeze.

“Child. Give me the Tear.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I will rip it from your soul.”

Omalicha’s fingers curled.

A cold force seized Adaeze’s chest. She gasped, stumbling, clutching her ribs as something inside her—something old and bright—started to burn.

Zarah screamed, “Adaeze! Break free!”

Adaeze tried. But Omalicha’s power wrapped around her like a fist closing around a candle flame.

The Tear pulsed in her bag, reacting.

Then the ballroom floor cracked open under Adaeze’s feet.

And everything fell.