The golden savannas of Orun-Saa stretched endless, grass rippling like liquid bronze under the midday sun. Heat shimmered above stone pathways where apprentice priests wound their way toward the Temple of Ascending Winds, their white robes stark against the landscape.
Adégún Olufemi watched them from the temple's highest balcony, fingers tracing the intricate sigils etched into the marble railing. Below him, novice Ase-born practiced their divine channeling—some calling gentle breezes, others struggling to lift even a handful of dust.
"Another batch of disappointments," he muttered.
A younger priest approached, bowing slightly. "Most Honored Councilor?"
Adégún's lips curled into a thin smile. "Tell me, Jelani. What do you see when you look at these children?"
Jelani hesitated. "Potential, sir. The future of our divine order."
"Potential?" Adégún's laugh was sharp as broken glass. "I see weakness. Fragile vessels barely capable of holding the Orisha's smallest breath."
The wind around them stirred, carrying the scent of approaching storm—a subtle manifestation of Adégún's barely contained power.
"The Divine Pact demands more than wishful thinking," he continued. "Each generation grows softer. Less connected."
Jelani shifted uncomfortably. "The gods provide—"
"The gods expect," Adégún interrupted. "And right now, they are growing impatient."
A distant rumble of thunder punctuated his words. Not from any natural storm, but a direct manifestation of divine displeasure.
The younger priest swallowed hard. "What would you have us do?"
Adégún's eyes, the color of burnished copper, fixed on the training grounds below. "We will find those with true potential. Those who can be... reshaped."
His fingers traced a complex symbol in the air—part prayer, part threat. The sigil flickered briefly, casting momentary shadows that didn't quite match the sunlight.
Jelani trembled slightly, as the half formed sigils faded before they could fully form. He knew what those sigils could do and he didn't want to be anywhere near when they were used.
"Yes, Your Most Honoured Councilor. I have a few people in mind who would be willing to serve" Jelani bowed quicly as he moved to leave.
Adégún sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, turrning around he began to head towards his chambers hoping to be able to get something done. He needed to increase the strength of the new trainees one way or another and he knew a way; just that it would take some time and effort. But he would get it done. He had to.
…....…..
Ume-Ojinmo breathed like a slumbering beast.
The ruined metropolis stretched endlessly before Omo, its jagged towers clawing at the darkened sky, their metal bones corroded by centuries of abandonment. The streets were an uneven graveyard of shattered stone and rusted gears, the air thick with the scent of Iron dust and old death.
She moved in silence, her steps calculated, careful not to disturb the piles of wreckage that could awaken the sentries.
Somewhere beneath her, deep within the city's shattered core, something hummed—the faint, pulsing heartbeat of long-forgotten technology. That was her goal. She just had to survive the journey.
Omo crouched beneath a half-collapsed war machine, its once-majestic frame now rusted into a corpse of jagged steel. She traced her fingers over its plating, feeling for any active energy signatures.
Nothing. Dead metal.
She exhaled slowly and pressed forward, winding her way through the narrow alleyways where shadows swallowed the city's remains. Her heat-sensor lenses flickered, scanning for movement. The ruins were never truly empty—rival scavengers, desperate and reckless, lurked in the deeper sections. Some were just men. Others were worse.
Then she saw it—a glimmer of unnatural light, pulsing faintly through the cracks of a half-buried vault door.
Her heart pounded. This was it.
She approached carefully, kneeling by the entrance. The sigils etched into the vault's surface still burned with faded energy. Whatever was inside, it wasn't just another rusted relic.
This was Iron King tech.
Omo reached into her belt pouch, pulling out a data spike —a salvaged tool of her own making, built from the wreckage of previous scavenging runs. She jammed it into a crevice on the door, letting it interface with the old mechanisms.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a sudden surge of static energy burst from the vault, sending sparks cascading through the air. The symbols along the door flared, ancient machinery groaning as locks disengaged one by one.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
The door creaked open just enough for her to slip inside.
She took a slow breath and stepped into the darkness.
The chamber reeked of old metal and ozone. The walls were lined with dormant war constructs, statuesque machines with hollow eyes that once burned with divine-slaying power. In the center of the room, resting atop a cracked pedestal, was a core of burning ember-light—still active, still humming with raw potential.
The Ember Drive.
Omo's fingers twitched. This wasn't just another scavenged relic—this was something alive.
She reached out, feeling the heat radiating from the device, her mind already racing with possibilities. With this, she could power larger and better weapons, enhance her suit, push herself beyond her limits.
But before she could take it, something moved behind her.
A hiss of metal. The grinding of rusted gears.
One of the war constructs shuddered, its ancient systems rebooting.
The vault was waking up.
And Omo was trapped inside.
A deep, metallic groan echoed through the chamber as the war construct's rusted frame lurched forward, its hollow eye sockets flickering to life with a dull, golden glow. The centuries of disuse had slowed its movements, but its sheer size and power still made it deadly.
Omo snatched the Ember Drive from its pedestal, feeling the burning core pulse violently against her fingers. The vault shuddered, gears grinding, as if the entire room itself was responding to her theft.
Move. Now.
She pivoted, boots slamming against the cold metal floor as she dashed toward the vault's entrance. The construct lunged, its rusted arm scything through the air, but Omo twisted at the last second, narrowly avoiding the strike. The force of its movement sent a shockwave through the vault, shaking loose debris from the ceiling.
Omo didn't have time to fight. She needed to escape.
She slid her fingers along her belt, pressing a small switch. A pulse charge—her last one. She tossed it at the war construct's feet.
Boom.
The concussive blast sent dust and shattered metal screaming through the chamber. The construct staggered back, and Omo took her chance—she sprinted through the vault door, diving into the ruins outside just as the ceiling began to collapse behind her.
She rolled, gripping the Ember Drive tight as she came to a halt against a broken pillar.
Then she froze.
A half-circle of figures stood in the ruins ahead, waiting.
Scavengers.
Not just any scavengers—armed ones.
Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a thick scar cutting across his jaw, leaned lazily against the wreckage of an old war machine, spinning a rusted machete in one hand. His armor was a patchwork of scavenged Iron King tech and traditional leather, the kind only experienced raiders wore.
"Damn," he whistled, eyeing the Ember Drive still clutched in Omo's hand. "Took you long enough."
Omo's fingers twitched toward the hilt of her shock dagger. "You were waiting for me?"
The man grinned, showing off gold-capped teeth. "Had a feeling you'd make it inside that vault. Figured we'd let you do the hard work."
Omo cursed under her breath. They'd used her as bait—watching, waiting, letting her trigger whatever traps were inside while they remained safe outside. Smart. Ruthless.
The scavengers started closing in, blades drawn, eyes gleaming with hunger.
Scar-Jaw tilted his head. "Hand over the core, girl. No need to make this messy."
Omo exhaled, sizing them up. Six of them. Well-armed. Well-fed. They'd probably been hunting relics in Ume-Ojinmo for a long time. That meant they were used to winning.
She tightened her grip around the Ember Drive.
They weren't winning today.
"Yeah?" she smirked, slowly pressing a switch on her wrist. "I like messy."
A sharp whine filled the air.
Then her suit came alive.
The boosters on Omo's boots ignited, launching her forward in a flash of blue light. The nearest scavenger barely had time to react before she slammed her knee into his ribs, sending him crashing into a pile of rubble.
The others moved fast—but Omo was faster.
Scar-Jaw swung his machete, aiming for her head. She ducked low, activating her shock dagger and slicing across his forearm. Electricity surged through his body, making him spasm violently before she kicked him backward.
One of the scavengers fired a makeshift energy bolt—a scavenged weapon built from Iron King scraps. Omo twisted mid-air, the shot barely grazing past her as she retaliated with a pulse round from her wrist cannon.
The bolt exploded on impact, sending two of them sprawling.
Three left.
Another came at her from the side, swinging a heavy iron chain. Omo caught it mid-air, using her enhanced grip to yank him forward and drive her dagger into his side.
He collapsed.
The last two backed away, rethinking their choices.
Smart.
Omo took a breath, adjusting her stance. Her helmet visor flickered, scanning their movements.
Scar-Jaw groaned, struggling to stand, his face contorted in fury. "You—"
Boom.
A sudden explosion from deeper in the ruins cut him off. The vault was still collapsing. The war construct might still be alive.
Omo didn't wait to find out.
She activated her boosters again, blasting up onto a nearby rooftop. From up high, she saw more figures moving in the distance. Other scavengers. They must have heard the commotion.
Time to go.
She turned and ran, leaping across broken rooftops, vanishing into the ruins before Scar-Jaw and his men could recover.
The Ember Drive was hers.
Now she just had to survive long enough to use it.