By the time the sun broke over the treetops on Day Two, I was already tired of the sight of Voro blood.
We had struggled just to clear three shrines. Not for lack of effort—but because of what we were up against. If Major Obika wasn't in our group, the outcome would've been tragic. That wasn't an exaggeration. His presence alone was the difference between survival and loss.
It was during that battle that I finally witnessed Hema's Esemora style in full motion. She didn't just use the wind—she commanded it. Every movement of hers was deliberate, like the forest bent to her rhythm.
And then, there was Major Obika's black bow.
At first glance, the weapon looked incomplete—no arrows, just the curve of the bow and its taut string. But where most bows needed an arrow, his didn't. The center of the string had a circular, padded handgrip, and once he drew it back and released, the real magic happened. The core of the bow had an outlet port, and when the handgrip clapped back against it, the effect he willed would be triggered—no arrows needed, just his will.
I saw it for myself.
We had been ambushed—six Voros, and two Uro Voros leading them. It was chaos. The Uro Voros were the heavy hitters, the kind that could break through most formations. Without hesitation, Major Obika fired a single shot at them from a distance. The instant the string hit the outlet, webbing burst forth mid-air, wrapping both Uro Voros in thick, tangled strands that pinned them together.
Two Voros lunged at him.
Before they got close, he backflipped with an almost unnatural spring, launching into the air and landing on the branch of a tree above us, towering high above the battlefield.
He didn't hesitate. He drew back again and fired. This time, when the charged shot struck the webbed Uro Voros, their bodies convulsed violently as electricity surged through them, frying them on the spot. The stench of their charred flesh burned into my memory. It was a smell that didn't leave easily.
Meanwhile, Hema had moved in on the two Voros that had tried to attack Major Obika. She moved fast—wind building around her fists and legs with each chant and motion. Her strikes landed in sharp, fluid bursts, slicing through the air with enough force to send shockwaves through the leaves.
Then came the finish—she twirled mid-air, her fist landing squarely on one Voro's skull while her heel cracked through the neck of the other. Both monsters collapsed in perfect sync, their bodies hitting the ground with a wet, sickening thud.
And then there was me.
Still locked in a desperate dance with a single Voro.
My Mercy Blade was already half-dulled, and its divine energy reserves were running thin. I had to dodge more than strike, waiting for the right moment. I couldn't afford to be reckless. My blade was leaking light. My arms were aching. But eventually, I found an angle, pushed forward, and slashed across the Voro's neck. The last of my blade's divine charge surged through, enough to make the cut count.
The creature collapsed, spasming once before it went still.
Major Obika didn't even need help for the final three.
With three quick draws of his bow—one after the other—he released a set of invisible shots. Each one found its mark, and each Voro's head exploded mid-charge, falling lifeless before they ever reached us. It was clean and exact.
But it took a toll on him. As the battle ended, I saw the way his shoulders sagged. The divine energy usage had clearly worn him down.
We'd been at this for two days straight. My Divine Craft had been completely drained, and with Major Deji nowhere nearby to recharge it, the next confrontation would likely break me.
But no one else knew that.
Major Obika called for a rest, instructing us to find a safe spot to refill our divine energy, let our bodies recover, and refill our crafts with new divine enrgy. I swallowed hard at that—refilling wasn't even an option for me anymore. Not without an external source.
Still, I said nothing.
I followed along with the group as we found a clearing, far enough from the battlefield to avoid the stench of scorched flesh and scattered Voro parts. The trees formed a loose circle overhead, the wind slow and constant, and the ground flat enough for us to settle without discomfort.
We sat in silence, each one falling into meditation, beginning the process of drawing energy inward—from breath, from the forest, from rest.
I did the same.
Or at least, I pretended to.
I sat with my eyes closed, still, focused—but inside, I was burning. My body was trying to mask the drain, to hold on to what little stamina I had left. There was no Craft pulsing. No light dancing at my fingertips. Just silence. If anyone had looked close enough, they would've noticed.
But no one did.
And so, we stayed there for a couple of hours. Resting. Recovering. Preparing for whatever came next.
***
The sun was coming down hard by the time we resumed our journey.
We had rested long enough—at least the others had. For me, the break had only given just enough energy to feel human again. I ate a few snacks I had kept tucked away and drank some water, just enough to make sure I didn't faint. But all of that wouldn't make a difference once we encountered the next pack of Voros. And with the way things were going, another confrontation was inevitable.
We were searching for what could be a fourth shrine when Major Obika turned to me.
"You good?" he asked.
I nodded quickly. Too quickly, maybe.
Beside me, Hema exhaled sharply and shook her head. I didn't even need divine senses to know something was bothering her—she was holding it in, waiting for the right moment.
"What is it?" Major Obika asked, catching her shift in mood.
She paused. "Oh… nothing."
We both knew it wasn't.
He gave her a look, and she sighed again, this time deeper, heavier.
"It's just…" she began, then turned to me directly. "I'm not confident in his abilities."
Major Obika tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
Hema didn't hold back.
"He's been struggling the entire time. Barely managed to take down a single Voro. And most of the time, either you or I have had to step in to stop him from being overrun. If he gets surrounded, he can't escape. He doesn't even move like a Divine—can't leap, can't sprint, nothing. He's moving worse than a Madarikan." She looked me up and down with a mixture of concern and irritation. "It's like he's just… human."
The words hit harder than I expected. Not because she was wrong. But because I had no idea how to respond.
She was right. Completely. I couldn't deny it because I had no explanation I could offer without unraveling everything. The lie Major Deji had told them was simple—I had very little divine essence, and barely any formal training. But even that didn't explain the core issue:
I couldn't move like them because I wasn't like them.
But how was I supposed to say that?
Before the silence grew too thick, Major Obika stepped in.
"I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed it too," he admitted. "Not everyone aligns properly with divine essence. Maybe that's what's holding him back."
But Hema wasn't buying it.
"There are Madarikans out there risking everything just for a chance to become Divines," she snapped. "People train their whole lives for it—some even go as far as to bribe their way into a family. So how does someone like him, someone who can't even align properly with divine essence, get chosen as a Hand? Is that the Adesina way now?"
Her voice dropped, cold and sharp.
"If it is, it's going to cost them. Keep making choices like this, and they'll weaken their entire family line. Honestly… he should've been stripped of whatever little divine essence he has and handed over to someone more competent."
I looked away. My chest was tight, but I didn't say anything.
Not because I was angry. Not because I disagreed.
But because the truth wasn't hers to know. At least not yet.
She was right about my weakness—but wrong to question the Adesinas. If she knew everything—the full truth of how I ended up here—maybe she would've understood. Maybe her judgment would've been different.But she didn't.So she judged from the outside, the way anyone else would.
And so I stayed quiet, waiting for it all to pass. Hoping it would.
But it didn't.
Major Obika nodded slowly. "She has a point," he said. "There's something off, and it's not just about training. But until we know the full story, there's no point in guessing."
He looked at me then. His gaze wasn't cold—but it wasn't blind either.
"What matters now is that you can still fight," he continued. "As long as your Divine Craft is active and you can feed it with your essence, you're still an asset. Even if only in a supporting role. That's enough for now. But we proceed with caution."
That was it.
My heart sank.
The idea that I could refill my Divine Craft was a lie—just like the claim that I even had divine essence to begin with. It was the only thing keeping the truth hidden. But now, even that mask… wouldn't hold for much longer.
I had hoped—naively—that the third shrine would be our last.
But the sounds ahead told a different story.
The howling began softly at first, then built in intensity as we moved deeper into the trees.
Major Obika raised a hand, signaling us to slow down.
"They're close," he said. "Get ready."
Both he and Hema activated their Divine Vision, their irises glowing faintly as they scanned the dense woodland ahead.
I mimicked them. Not with vision—just my eyes. Plain, human vision.
I shifted my posture, narrowed my gaze, scanned the shadows… hoping it looked convincing. It didn't matter how ridiculous it felt—anything to protect the secret.
I wasn't ashamed to fake it. I was just trying to survive here.
Major Obika suddenly tensed, drawing in a sharp breath.
Hema's voice followed quickly. "You saw it too?"
He nodded once, then gestured for us to move.
"They're ahead. Grouped around something. Could be the shrine."
He turned to us, voice low and firm. "We ready our Crafts. Move slow. We flank them before they know we're here."
And just like that, the hunt resumed.
By the time we got close enough to see clearly, we stumbled upon the worst thing I could have imagined:
A Portal of Birth.
Up until now, none of the shrines we encountered had been active enough to open one. The presence of Divines patrolling the zones had likely kept whoever was behind the summoning efforts at bay. If they were ever caught near one of the shrines, the consequences would be severe—and they knew it. The plan had been simple: destroy the shrines, sever their source of power, and wipe out the Voros guarding them. That way, whoever was responsible would lose the ability to open more portals and terrorize the Confluence.
But now… the unimaginable was unfolding before us.
The portal stood tall in the clearing, its edges pulsating like an open wound in the air. From within it, more than a dozen Voros were crawling, leaping, birthing into the world—fresh and violent, with no shrine in sight. If there was one, it had to be nearby, cleverly hidden, and heavily protected. This wasn't just a setback.
This was a nightmare.
Major Obika and Hema had seen it too, and their grim expressions told me everything. There would be no ambush. This situation had shifted beyond standard protocol.
Major Obika lifted his hand. "Hold your positions," he ordered. "Guard me. I'm initiating an Izu."
We nodded. Hema and I flanked him as he sat cross-legged, hands pressed together, eyes closing as the Izu began—his consciousness tethering to the divine link that connected all teams.
We waited.
The howls from the portal carried through the wind. Hema didn't speak. Neither did I. There was no need. We both knew this had changed everything.
When the Izu ended, Major Obika opened his eyes.
"They're appearing in other zones too," he said, his voice tight. "Northwest. Southeast. More portals. Same pattern."
He stood. "We're not the only ones in this forest anymore. The ones responsible are here. Among us."
He looked at both of us, eyes steady.
"If we catch them, we can end this. Return with the full force of the families, destroy the shrines completely, and finish the contract the right way. But not now. Right now, we regroup with Group 1B—Major Deji's team. From there, we reassess and make a new plan."
With that, we turned and began our retreat, avoiding confrontation at all costs. The forest around us grew denser. The trees became taller, darker, their branches like claws scraping against one another. We moved fast—too fast for the terrain, but there was no time to cut paths carefully. We pushed through the brush, forcing our way past the undergrowth with speed.
For the others, it wasn't an issue. For me, it was hell.
I trailed behind, doing my best to keep up. But my stamina was fading. Every root was an obstacle, every step heavier than the last. And then—my legs gave out.
I stumbled.
Pain shot through me as I crashed into the earth, my thigh slamming down hard against a jagged branch. A sickening crunch. I gasped. The wood pierced through the muscle clean, pinning me to the ground like some kind of offering.
I screamed.
The others stopped instantly. Major Obika and Hema rushed back as I writhed in pain, clutching my thigh. Blood already soaked through my trousers.
Hema looked down at me—and for a moment, I saw no sympathy in her eyes.
"I knew it," she hissed. "You're not a Divine… You're human!"
Her words cut deeper than the wood.
"How could they send someone like you on this contract?!" she shouted, backing away in disbelief.
Even Major Obika couldn't deny what he was seeing. This wasn't just an injury—it was an exposure. No Divine, no matter how faint their essence, should have been this vulnerable from a simple fall. Not even a Madarikan would've fallen victim to something like this.
He knelt beside me, examining the wound, lips pressed into a tight line.
Neither of them had healing crafts. They hadn't expected to need them. For a Divine, minor injuries were patched up internally—the body would start the healing process almost immediately with enough rest and divine alignment.
But not mine.No healing started.Just pain. And blood.
Obika reached for the branch, intending to pull it free, but I grabbed his arm.
"Don't," I said quickly, my voice strained. "If it's removed, I'll bleed out."
He frowned. "Removing it will trigger your body's healing. Haven't you been injured before?"I shook my head slowly, refusing to let go.
Hema folded her arms, clearly done with the charade. "Major, don't waste your time. He's not a Divine. No healing will happen. He's a liability now—and with what we just saw from those new portals, we don't have the luxury of dragging dead weight."
Major Obika snapped his head toward her, his voice rising in a way I hadn't heard before."What are you suggesting? That we leave him here?" His eyes burned. "Never. Divine or not, he's under our protection. As long as he's breathing, he's our responsibility. Whatever the truth is—we'll deal with it later. But abandoning him now? That's not how we operate. And frankly, I'm disgusted that you even thought in that direction."
There was a long pause. Even Hema looked slightly taken aback.
Then, without another word, Major Obika knelt beside me, broke the protruding wood cleanly to shorten its length, and gently lifted me into his arms. I winced but didn't protest.
"You're going to carry me?" I asked, almost in disbelief.
"Yes," he said firmly, adjusting my weight across his back. "We go together. No one gets left behind."
Once he secured me, he looked to Hema."Let's move."
And with that, we continued on