CLAWS AND LAWS

Echoes of the Past

The heavy scent of old parchment and dust still clung to Ajoke's fingers as she clutched the ancient keys given to her by the dying librarian. They had left his body behind, covered respectfully, but his last words haunted them:

"Find my daughter... Find Eyinju Iwe… but beware… the labyrinth does not forget."

Ajoke, Akintola, and Owuye stood before the entrance to the underground archive, hidden beneath an abandoned church at the heart of Abeokuta. The doors were ancient iron, rusted yet firm, and as Owuye pushed them open, a chilling draft crawled over their skin.

The entrance yawned before them, stairs spiraling downward into darkness. At their feet, a faded inscription in old Yoruba warned:

"Ọ̀nà tí kò ṣe é padà bò, kódà ní inú àlà" — The path from which there is no return, not even in dreams.

They exchanged uneasy glances. The librarian had spoken of his daughter, but nothing about this labyrinth. What secrets lay within?

With a single nod, Ajoke stepped forward. "No turning back now."

The First Gate: The Watchers

The deeper they descended, the colder it became. The air was thick, as if time itself had settled in layers of forgotten whispers. The corridor opened into a grand hall lined with massive stone statues, each figure draped in carved robes, their hollow eyes staring into nothingness.

Owuye, ever the cautious one, ran his fingers over the nearest statue. "I've seen similar figures in old cases," he muttered. "Guardians of knowledge... or executioners of the unworthy."

Akintola's eyes sharpened. "What if they're not just statues?"

As if summoned by his words, the statues shifted. The air filled with the sound of grinding stone, and slowly, the first figure turned its head toward them. The others followed.

A voice, deep as the earth itself, boomed through the chamber. "Only the seeker of truth may pass. The deceivers shall be buried in silence."

Ajoke's pulse pounded. "What does that mean?"

Before they could answer, the statues lunged.

The Trial of Silence

The room became a battlefield. The stone figures moved with unnatural speed, their hands reaching, their hollow eyes glowing with an eerie light. Akintola ducked as one swung at him, barely avoiding a blow that shattered the stone floor where he had stood.

Owuye fired his pistol. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly. "Useless!" he spat.

Ajoke suddenly understood. "The deceivers shall be buried in silence…" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They react to sound!"

The three exchanged quick glances. They had to move—without making a single noise.

Breath held, they began weaving through the maze of statues. Every step was calculated, every movement precise. A bead of sweat slid down Akintola's temple as he carefully avoided a loose stone that could echo through the hall.

A single misstep could mean death.

The Second Gate: The River of Lost Names

They finally reached a towering door at the far end, marked with symbols that pulsed faintly. As Ajoke placed the librarian's key into the lock, the statues froze once more. The door groaned open, revealing something unexpected.

A river.

Dark, endless, and eerily still. A narrow wooden bridge stretched across it, swaying slightly in the unseen current. The walls were lined with ancient masks, their empty faces turned toward the water.

Owuye narrowed his eyes. "This is no ordinary river."

Akintola knelt, touching the surface. The moment his fingers brushed the water, a ghostly voice whispered his name.

Ajoke gasped as she saw a face rising beneath the water's surface—Agbaje.

The river was made of memories.

The masks on the walls began to tremble, and suddenly, voices filled the air. Regrets. Broken promises. Forgotten souls.

"You abandoned me!"

"I was left to die!"

"Your choices brought ruin!"

The river wasn't just made of memories—it was a test. If they listened too long, they would be pulled under, lost forever.

Ajoke clenched her jaw. "Move. Don't listen. Don't stop."

The three began crossing, ignoring the accusing voices of the past. But then, as they reached the center, the bridge shuddered. Something was rising from the river.

Something ancient.

The Keeper of the Book

A figure emerged from the water—tall, robed, and faceless. It moved as if woven from mist and shadow, its presence freezing the air.

Ajoke's grip tightened on the librarian's key. "Are you the Keeper?"

A low, distorted voice echoed. "Who seeks the book of the first covenant?"

Akintola stepped forward. "We do. We seek the truth."

The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, it raised its hand, and the entire chamber seemed to breathe.

"Then answer."

A single word formed in the air. A riddle, old as time itself.

"I am not alive, yet I grow. I do not breathe, yet I flourish. What am I?"

The walls trembled. The river churned. If they answered wrong, the labyrinth would consume them.

Ajoke's mind raced. Not alive. Yet it grows.

Akintola whispered. "A… book?"

Silence. Then—

The robed figure lowered its hand. The water stilled. The masks ceased their whispers.

"You may pass."

A door formed in the stone wall, glowing with ancient symbols.

Ajoke exhaled, gripping Akintola's arm. "We're close."

Beyond that door, the truth awaited.

And somewhere within, Eyinju Iwe was waiting for them.

To be continued...

Chapter 48: The Veil of Forgotten Names

A Door That Breathes

The glowing door loomed before them, pulsing faintly like a living thing. The robed figure had vanished, but the eerie stillness remained. Ajoke placed her palm against the stone, expecting resistance, but the door exhaled.

A rush of warm air brushed her skin, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something else—something metallic.

"Blood."

Owuye and Akintola exchanged uneasy glances. The labyrinth was testing them at every step, but they could not turn back now.

The door shuddered and slowly swung open.

The Chamber of Names

They stepped inside.

The room was massive, stretching beyond the limits of their sight, its walls covered in names.

Hundreds. Thousands.

Each carved into the stone with precise, ancient strokes. Some glowed softly; others flickered like dying embers.

But at the very center of the room, one name burned the brightest.

Eyinju Iwe.

Ajoke swallowed hard. "She's here."

Akintola traced the glowing name with his fingers. The moment he touched it, the chamber shifted.

The walls began to move. The names rearranged themselves like puzzle pieces, forming a spiral pattern.

And then, from the darkness, they came.

Figures with hollow eyes, their bodies wrapped in the tattered remains of scholar robes. Some held books with pages that turned on their own. Others clutched quills dripping with black ink.

Their voices overlapped, whispering in forgotten tongues.

One stepped forward, taller than the rest. Its face was covered by an old mask, cracked and worn.

"You seek the daughter of knowledge," it rasped. "But knowledge is not given. It is earned."

Akintola exhaled. "Another test."

The figure nodded. "A name is more than sound. It is a history, a destiny. If you do not understand her name, you are not worthy to find her."

Ajoke straightened. "We're listening."

The Name That Shouldn't Exist

The masked figure raised a bony hand.

A vision exploded in their minds.

—A grand library, older than any civilization, hidden beneath Abeokuta's roots. Scholars in flowing robes walked its endless halls, transcribing knowledge passed down from before the first kingdom.

—A child, born under an eclipse, cradled in the arms of the Last Keeper. She was not meant to exist, but she did. The child of forbidden knowledge.

—Her name was whispered only once. And when it was spoken, the walls of the library wept ink.

Eyinju Iwe.

The librarian's only daughter.

The last to inherit the knowledge of the First Book.

The vision shattered.

Ajoke gasped, gripping the edge of a stone pillar. The whispers grew louder, wrapping around them like a suffocating fog.

"Her name is a key. But to find her, you must open the right door."

The chamber changed again. Three doors now stood before them, each carved with symbols.

One led to truth.

One led to death.

One led to oblivion.

And they had only one chance.

The Door of the Eclipse

Owuye wiped sweat from his brow. "We need to think carefully. No second chances."

Akintola stared at the doors. "The vision. The eclipse."

Ajoke's breath hitched. "Her birth was tied to an eclipse. Maybe that's the clue."

They searched the doors for a sign. The first was marked with the Yoruba symbol for wisdom. The second had the symbol of ashes. The third—

Ajoke's eyes widened. The third bore the mark of the eclipse.

"This one."

Owuye exhaled. "If you're wrong—"

"I'm not."

They pushed.

The door groaned open, revealing a narrow passage lined with floating books. Pages turned in an unseen breeze, their letters shifting like liquid.

And at the very end of the passage, sitting at a stone table, was a woman.

Her skin was the color of deep mahogany, her hair woven with silver threads. Her eyes—glowing with an unnatural light—lifted to meet theirs.

She was young and ageless at the same time.

She was Eyinju Iwe.

And she was waiting for them.