That evening, Adaora went home early. The house was quiet; her mother was gone for the week, attending a “family ritual” in their ancestral village. Only Adaora and her grandmother, Mama Ngozi, remained.
In the kitchen, Mama Ngozi stirred a pot of herbs, muttering prayers. She looked up as Adaora entered.
“You didn’t eat at school again,” the old woman said.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Mama Ngozi studied her granddaughter’s face. “The dreams are getting stronger, aren’t they?”
Adaora hesitated. “Yes, Mama. Last night I saw… them again.”
The old woman’s expression hardened. “The spirits are restless. You are nearing your seventeenth birthday. That is when the serpent inside awakens fully.”
“I don’t want it!” Adaora snapped. “I hate it! Why can’t I just live like everyone else?”
“Because you are not everyone else,” her grandmother said firmly. “You are Eke Ada, daughter of the line of the Serpent Queen. The gift runs through your blood. It can heal—or destroy.”
“I didn’t ask for any gift!” Adaora’s voice broke. “I just want to be free.”
Mama Ngozi touched her cheek gently. “Freedom without truth is a curse. One day, the boy you push away will see your truth. And then your choice will matter.”
Adaora frowned. “What boy?”
The old woman smiled sadly. “The one whose eyes soften when he looks at you. The one who will either save you—or be destroyed by you.”
Adaora stepped back, startled. “Emeka…”
The pot on the stove hissed suddenly, spilling green steam. The smell filled the air—sharp, earthy, ancient. The old woman turned to it.
“Drink this tonight,” she said. “It will calm the serpent. But remember—suppressing it too long will only make it stronger.”
Adaora nodded, though her hands trembled as she took the cup.
IV. The Storm
The following week brought heavy rain. Thunder rolled over the rooftops, and lightning split the sky like veins of fire.
Students huddled under shelters, laughing and complaining about the weather.
But Adaora was missing again.
Emeka couldn’t sit still. Something deep inside told him she was in danger. When the final bell rang, he grabbed his umbrella and ran into the storm.
Her house stood near the edge of town, surrounded by banana trees and silence. He reached the gate, water dripping from his clothes.
“Hello?” he called. No answer. The front door was ajar.
Inside, candles flickered weakly. The air was thick with the scent of herbs and smoke. Then he heard it—a low, rhythmic hissing. Not from any human mouth.
“Hello?” he whispered again, stepping inside.
He followed the sound to Adaora’s room—and froze.
V. The Transformation
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