The Red Gate stood before them, pulsing with an eerie glow, almost as if it were alive. Agbaje's children, exhausted but unbroken, exchanged glances. They had conquered the Seven Trials, defied death at every turn, and now—the true test awaited.
The gate swung open, revealing an immense cavern, its walls pulsing with faint crimson light, as though the mountain itself had veins, and something ancient coursed within them. At the center of the cavern stood a towering throne of bone and obsidian, blacker than any night they had ever known.
And upon it sat Iyaláyà.
THE TRUE MOTHER OF THE RED ONES
She was not what they expected.
Her presence filled the space, neither entirely human nor fully beast. Her form shifted—one moment, an old woman with long silver hair, her face lined with the weight of centuries. The next, a towering red wolf, her fur like dark flames, her eyes burning with knowledge older than the world itself.
Her voice, when it came, was like the river—soft, yet carrying the weight of storms.
"You carry his blood."
She did not need to say his name. They knew she meant their father.
One of them, the eldest, stepped forward, bowing slightly, but without fear.
"We have come seeking the truth. About our father. About ourselves."
Iyaláyà's lips curled in something that was neither a smile nor a snarl. She stood, moving with the slow grace of something that had lived beyond time itself.
"Truth?" she repeated, tilting her head. "Truth is a heavy thing. It crushes those who are not ready to bear it."
The cavern darkened. The air grew thick. Suddenly, it was as if the walls came alive, shifting, whispering, breathing.
"You want answers?" Iyaláyà whispered, stepping down from her throne. "Then let us see… if you can handle them."
A red mist filled the cavern, swirling around them, seeping into their skin. And suddenly—they were not in the cavern anymore.
THE VISION—THE TRUTH OF THE RED BLOODLINE
They saw it.
A war from centuries ago. Red wolves running under a bloodied moon, clashing with monstrous pale figures—the first white wolves. Screams. Betrayals. Blood soaking the earth.
Then they saw her.
Iyaláyà. Leading the charge. Not as an old woman, not even as the wolf on the throne—but as something far greater. A being of fire and shadows, of teeth and fury, tearing through her enemies with the rage of a thousand storms.
But then—the betrayal.
A sacrifice. A curse.
The red wolves, once rulers of the wild, were almost wiped from existence. And the survivors? Scattered. Hunted.
Their father—Agbaje—had been one of them. A descendant of the last red wolves. A bloodline Iyaláyà had hidden, waiting for the right moment.
And now, that moment had come.
THE CHOICE
The vision faded. They were back in the cavern. The mist was gone. But the weight of what they had seen remained.
Iyaláyà studied them, her eyes knowing.
"You are the last," she said. "The final hope of the red ones. You have survived the trials. You have seen the truth. Now, I ask you—will you embrace what you are? Or will you run from it?"
Silence.
They had come searching for answers. But they had found something much greater.
A destiny.
A war that was not yet over.
And a choice.
The eldest sibling took a deep breath. He turned to his brothers and sisters, seeing the same understanding in their eyes. Then he turned back to Iyaláyà.
And he spoke.
"We will not run."
Iyaláyà's expression did not change. But something in the cavern shifted—a deep rumbling, like the mountain itself had acknowledged them.
"Then it is time."
She raised a clawed hand.
And the Red Gate closed behind them.
The past had ended.
The future had begun
DISCOVERIES (THE BETRAYAL OF. IYALÁYÀ)
The Red Gate slammed shut behind them.
Agbaje's children stood in the vast cavern, still reeling from the truth they had seen—the war of the past, the bloodline they carried, the fate that had been hidden from them for generations.
But something was wrong.
Iyaláyà's expression had shifted. The knowing, almost patient gaze she had carried before was now something else entirely.
Something hungry.
She stepped forward, her massive form shifting between wolf and shadow, her presence growing heavier, more suffocating. The cavern pulsed, the veins of red light in the walls growing darker, thicker, like wounds bleeding fresh.
Then she spoke.
"You should not have come here."
The words were a whisper, but they carried the weight of death.
THE AMBUSH
Before they could react, the ground split open.
Howls erupted from the shadows.
The cavern came alive—from the walls, from the ground, from the very air around them, figures emerged. Red wolves. Twisted, monstrous, eyes burning like embers in a dying fire.
They had been waiting.
Iyaláyà had lured them in.
One of them, the youngest sibling, staggered back, disbelief on his face. "You... you called us here."
Iyaláyà smiled. It was a terrible, cruel thing.
"I called you to end you."
THE WAR OF BLOODLINES
She raised her hand, and the cavern erupted into chaos.
The red wolves lunged.
Agbaje's children fought—claws met claws, fangs clashed, blood sprayed across the stone—but it was clear they were outmatched. The red wolves fought like something ancient, something driven by hatred older than time itself.
Every strike they landed, every wound they inflicted, healed instantly.
They were not just fighting wolves. They were fighting ghosts of the past, revenants of a war that had never truly ended.
And worst of all—they could not escape.
THE MOUNTAIN BECOMES A TOMB
The walls shifted, twisting and closing in. The mountain itself was alive, bending to Iyaláyà's will.
One of them almost made it to the gate—but the moment his hand touched it, it burned like fire, sealing shut.
Iyaláyà watched, unmoved, unfeeling.
"You carry the blood of a traitor," she said, stepping forward, towering over them. "Agbaje's children should not exist. The white wolves should not exist."
The eldest brother, bleeding, barely standing, raised his head defiantly. "Then why let us survive the trials?"
Iyaláyà's eyes flashed. "Because I wanted to see if you were strong enough to be useful."
She raised her clawed hand—and the walls collapsed inward, sealing them in.
A TRAP FOR ETERNITY
The last thing they saw before the darkness swallowed them was Iyaláyà's face—calm, indifferent.
Then, nothing.
The mountain had devoured them.
And outside, the world remained unaware that the last of Agbaje's bloodline was now buried in a tomb from which no one had ever returned.
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