What an eventful contract this had been.
After arriving at the center, I checked in on Hema. She was the only one left, still healing—slowly, carefully. Her wounds would close, eventually, but the look on her face said more than any injury.
She couldn't meet my eye. I already understood.
She wasn't just ashamed of how things had gone, she was ashamed of what she'd said, what she'd decided back then when she thought I was better off abandoned. To her, I had seemed like dead weight. Not a Divine. Not a competent one, at least. And in that moment, she did what she believed was efficient.
But I held no grudge. Guilt would punish her far longer than I ever could.
She tried to apologize.
I stopped her.
I didn't need to hear it. I didn't want to.
All I asked for was the whereabouts of the others. She told me what she knew, and after making sure she was warm and safe, I left her alone.
Then I climbed the old watchtower. And waited.
It wasn't long before I saw movement at the tree line, a lone figure running toward the center.
Ajani.
He was covered in dirt, blood trailing behind him, but his pace never faltered. I signaled for him to come up, and he spotted me, nodded, then first made a stop by Hema to check in on her.
After a few words with her, he climbed up to where I stood. Or rather, collapsed there.
He didn't even try to catch his breath before groaning out, "My goodness…"
He laid flat on the wooden boards, staring at the sky like it might blink back.
"This contract felt like a dream," he muttered. "A nightmare. I still don't think it's real."
I understood the feeling.
I'd been hunted, stabbed, beaten, lectured and still standing. Somehow. I didn't say anything, but I think the silence said enough.
Ajani sat up slightly, shaking his head. "Creating that distraction? That was no joke. I thought I had it figured out, but there was a moment, I swear… I thought that was it for me. I really thought I was done."
He exhaled through a breathless laugh, eyes still wide with disbelief. "Ajani, gone. Just like that. Wouldn't be sitting here talking to you now."
I looked at him for a moment and gave a small nod. Still, I didn't say much. Just listened.
That's when he tilted his head, like something had just clicked.
"Wait," he said. "Major Deji told me he gave you a separate task. Said not to worry about you… that you were handling something important. What was it? Did you finish it?"
I hadn't expected that.
But I kept my answer short. "Yeah. I did."
He raised a brow. "Already?"
"Yes," I said. "I was tasked with contacting the southern Majors, to deliver Major Deji's plan." I still had Major Obika's Izu band, so the story held. By the time I saved him and Idris from the Voros, they were both unconscious, there wasn't much to question.
Ajani blinked. "That… was a good move."
Ajani sat back again, his shoulders slackening into a more reflective state. But I could see it in his eyes, he wasn't just tired. Something was behind the silence. His usual calm had turned agitated, his reflective mood heavier than usual.
Ajani wasn't someone who spoke a lot. He was the observant type. But now, it felt like he had too much to say and didn't know how to say it. So instead, he clung to vague commentary about life and challenges, trying to disguise whatever was truly weighing on him.
I turned to him. "Did something happen, Ajani? You seem...different."
He let out a low breath. "That obvious, huh?"
I nodded.
He rubbed at his brow, then his pupil—like he was searching for the words behind the weight.
"I don't even know how to say it," he muttered. "But… the Husafis. I think they're behind this. Or part of it."
I straightened a little. "What do you mean?"
And then he told me.
He recounted what happened between him and Idris—the clash, the moment he almost died. If not for Major Deji, he said, he wouldn't be alive to tell the story. Then he admitted something else. Something quieter. He hadn't told anyone that he remembered. He'd pretended the memory was gone, just to keep Idris calm… and to keep Deji unaware. So that after the contract was over, he could confront Idris. Properly. And maybe, just maybe, take revenge for trying to kill him.
I didn't know how to explain the feeling that came over me as he spoke. But I felt it. Disgust. Rage. Not at Ajani, for once, it wasn't aimed at myself either. It was at Idris. For trying to kill my friend. And nearly succeeding.
"You should tell your Major," I said after a beat. "This isn't something you should handle on your own,"
Ajani nodded, slowly. "I've been thinking the same. I'll speak to Major Adeshola or Major Deji once this contract is officially over. I can't afford to make this personal, not anymore. This isn't just about revenge… it's bigger than that."
He was right. If what he said was true, then the Husafis had a role in the chaos, maybe not the only role, but a significant one.
Of course, I couldn't tell him my side of things. So I gave him what I could. Support.
"Do it," I said. "Tell the others. We need to get ahead of whatever's coming."
We talked a bit more after that, about the contract, the chaos, the others. Whether they were safe. Whether their zones had fared any better.
There weren't many answers yet. Just silence, guesses, and half-formed hopes.But for the first time in days, we could breathe.
***
After hours of relentless battle, the central Confluence had returned to a strange kind of calm.
Now that the Voros had been handled and the shrines destroyed, the region was free again—at least on paper. Soon, traders and travelers would begin to return, hoping to resume their usual flow of life. But that wouldn't happen overnight.
First, the Confluence would have to be restructured. Repaired. Cleansed of the chaos it had barely survived.
Group 3A, 3B, 4A, and 4B stumbled in one by one—bloodied, limping, carrying their injured and barely conscious. No triumph. No relief. Just bodies too tired to fall.
Near the medic's station, Hema Tari lay on a padded mat, her breathing shallow but steady. She was being treated by an Udoka Hand who had arrived just before the last push.
On a raised watchtower, silhouetted against a grey sky, Akenzua and Ajani stood side by side. Silent. Watching.
Below, more tents were being erected for the wounded. Field medics moved between the units. Murmured prayers and groans of pain filled the air like ghosts refusing to leave.
Group 2A and 2B were already there, scattered across the west side. Idris sat beside Major Obika, his face bandaged, his left arm in a sling. They, too, had barely made it out—pushed to their limits in the south. But luck had favored them; the Voros in their zone had thinned, majority of their shrines had been destroyed.
Still, the cost had not spared them.
And soon, the final burden arrived.
A ripple went through the center when they saw the returning party—Master Kamdili Udoka, Master Tobechi, and a team of elite Hands. Their presence alone parted the crowd like a knife through silk.
Behind them, carried by three Udoka Hands, was Major Deji.
Unmoving. His body slumped in a sling stretcher. Pale. Ash-covered. His right hand was still partially wrapped in the remnants of his Pointholder, blackened and burned into his skin. His chest barely rose with breath.
Akenzua saw him first.
The moment he spotted the stretcher descending from the Udoka transport unit, he froze.
Then he ran.
Down the watchtower. Across the clearing. Past the medics calling out orders.
Major Adeshola followed close behind—her steps fast, precise, but not frantic. She didn't sprint. She didn't cry. But her composure cracked just enough for anyone looking too closely to notice.
Simi came next, stumbling slightly as she moved, her chest tight with every breath. Behind her, Tor limped after them—his side still bleeding, a medic's hand trying to pull him back.
"I'm fine," he snapped, eyes locked on the stretcher. "Let me see him."
They all reached the same point together—just as the medics laid Major Deji down in the center field, surrounded by makeshift tents and supplies.
Akenzua stopped cold, his chest heaving.
Adeshola dropped to her knees beside Deji, reaching for his wrist, checking the pulse even though the medics already had.
"He's alive," one of them said quickly. "His divine essence is depleted. If he'd used that thing on his arm any longer, he wouldn't be here."
His skin was pale. Lips dry. Divine essence drained to a flicker.
Adeshola looked up. "How long will it take to recover?"
"A few months at best," the medic said. "Maybe a full year before his essence grows back to its original state. Until then, he won't be able to take contracts. He's… out of commission."
No one responded immediately.
The words sank like stones in the silence. Not just the weight of what had been lost—but the cost Deji had paid to keep them all alive.
Adeshola just knelt beside him and took his hand.
***
The sky was turning orange now. The sun low. And with the last sweep under way, the battle was nearly done.
The Udoka Majors, alongside a few Madarikans, cleared the final remnants of the Voros in the southern ridge. Shrines were crushed. Voros scattered. Some tried to flee, but none escaped the net.
By the time they returned, the Central Confluence Contract was officially closed.
At the edge of the encampment, Major Obika stood beside Master Kamdili Udoka. They faced the horizon together, overlooking the scarred terrain. Behind them, the central camp buzzed with quiet activity.
In the eastern quarter of the center zone, the Ashtaris were being tethered and fed. Their handlers moved with practiced calm, checking saddles, tightening ropes, and securing crates of salvaged gear and supplies.
Each Family Unit had been granted a space to rest.
The plan was clear: tonight, they would sleep—if only a little. At first light, they would break camp and begin the long journey back to their respective Houses.
Payment for the contract had already been processed. Their superiors had been briefed. Each Madarikan, each Hand, each Major would receive their dues in full—compensation for survival, for service, for the blood spilled.