Avenger araised back to consciousness through layers of soft, cottony silence. The first thing he felt was a hand—strong, weathered, and warm—enclosing his. The second was the residual, phantom-tingle of the ritual inscriptions across his skin.
He opened his eyes. Sitting vigil at his bedside was Nne Nne Aloguja, her posture straight as a spear. She was gazing out the window, but her grip on his hand never wavered. She wore the crisp, dark-green Colonel's uniform of the African Territorial Guard, her military coat hung neatly nearby. Her rolled-up sleeves revealed arms corded with both battle-earned muscle and scars, but also adorned with Ancestral Crests—intricate, radiant tattoos that pulsed with a Red soft, warm light. These were no mere decoration; they were living sigils, specific to each bearer, replacing all primitive identification. They were proof of personhood, power, and total commitment.
Sensing eyes on herself , she readies her body,her attention snapped from the window to the one looking at her. Her gaze shifted with the sudden, lethal vigilance of a front-line soldier, a pressure that made Avenger's breath catch. Then, recognizing him, the aura evaporated, replaced by her familiar, formidable warmth.
"Ooh, it's just the troublemaker of the day," she said, a mocking tone in her voice. " so now.How does it feel, being Officially an adult, with the markings to prove it."
Avenger pushed himself up, every muscle protesting, his mind still drained from the ceremony's metaphysical tax. "That's no way to speak to someone as adorable as me after the ordeal I've just survived," he shot back, forcing a weak, teasing grin.
Nne Nne Aloguja rolled her eyes. "If you're well enough to joke, you're well enough for your status briefing."
Before she could continue, Avenger raised a finger to gently shush her. "Come on now. Don't be like that. I'm about to fight for our people. Shouldn't you, as a senior adult, praise your champion? Hmm?" He nudged her with an eyebrow, chest puffed out in mock expectation. "Positive reinforcement does wonders, you know."
He leaned back, awaiting his "rightful" due.
She looked at him with a face of perfect, unimpressed stone. Without a word, she tapped the comms unit on her wrist. "Nursing station, this is Colonel Aloguja. Patient in recovery bay 23* is displaying signs of acute delirium. Possible post-ritual psychosis. Please advise."
Avenger's jaw dropped in theatrical outrage. "Hey! I am not a 'mentally ill patient'! I am a SEXY, mentally ill patient! Get your facts straight! The gods are watching your slander!"
Seeing he was, unfortunately, his usual self, Nne nne got up. In a move too fast for his aching body to follow, she flicked her index finger hard against his forehead.
Thwock.
Avenger's world went black for two full seconds. He snapped back with a groan. "The hell was that for? Ugh… my head."
"Confirmation," she stated flatly, her eyes now serious, scanning him. "Your resonance is dense. Thicker than it should be. You're on the precipice of awakening, aren't you? And you told no one. Not me. Not Isaac."
All the bravado drained from Avenger's body. He froze, caught.
Nne Nne's expression softened, but her tone remained firm. "I'm not furious. I'm worried. Awakening is a seismic event for the soul. It can be… brutal. I understand why you hid it—the money, the pressure, the need to see this through. That's why I'm not beating you senseless right now. But what you did was dangerous and reckless. That ends now. You are an adult, officially. I expect more. Understood?"
He nodded, chastened. The near-awakening wasn't the crime; the concealment was.
"I thought I could control it," he admitted, voice low. "I've been in worse spots and kept calm. I thought… if I just focused on the fight, on the goal, I could keep the lid on until it was over."
Nne Nne Aloguja studied him, this brilliant, stubborn boy,will see a mountain in the way and first thing on his mind think of the gaol and how to get there and what to do it active it only of the path to victory matters, forgets of the cliff edges. His logic wasn't flawed, just dangerously incomplete. His sheer, bull-headed will to carve a path to his goal was both his greatest strength and his most glaring vulnerability.
They talked as the medical drones ran final diagnostics over his glowing sigils. She spoke of adult responsibility, of the weight of the Crest he now bore, of thinking of the community not just as a beneficiary, but as a leader who must preserve himself for it.
"All physiological and resonant tests are green," a synthetic voice finally announced. "Ceremonial integration is complete. No anomalies."
Nne Nne took a formal breath. "Now, as protocol demands a close elder of the opposite gender, I will explain the burden and gift you now carry."
Avenger nodded, the playfulness gone, replaced by solemn attention.
"These marks," she began, tracing a finger over the radiant script on her own arm, "are the Ancestral Crest. Forged by our finest Resonants, technologists, and spiritual guides. They are your identity, your history, and your tool."
She listed their functions, her voice taking on the cadence of both a technician and a priestess:
"Utility: They are your key and cipher. They grant access to our secure networks, restricted archives, and sovereign territories. They are a permanent locator for all of us to be find and to find others . In time, they will allow telepathic communion with other Crest-bearers. They will generate a unique AI companion, born from your own soul-pattern, that lives within them. This symbiont can interface with any system—analyzing, securing, or, if necessary, subverting it."
She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "Combat Functions: This is where the Old World meets the new.
1. Energy Dynamics: You can redirect and absorbed enegry including and not limited to kinetic force, bleed off thermal overload, or store ambient radiation.
2. Intelligent Regeneration: Your symbiont will learn your biology. It can target healing, suppress pain, analyze pathogens in real-time, and guide your immune system to craft specific countermeasures.
3. Resonant Battery: The Crest stores latent WIL energy—yours, donated by others, or harnessed from compatible tech—for when you need a surge.
4. Advanced Sensorium: It enhances your perception. You will feel the texture of energies, the echo of lies, the tremors of threat.
5. The Chorus: When near other Crest-bearers, your powers resonate. Strength is amplified, senses are shared, healing is accelerated. You become a single note in a harmonious shield. It is a spiritual connection, as much as a tactical one."
She stood, and he followed. They faced each other in the sterile room, now feeling like a shrine.
"Now," she said, her voice becoming a chant. "Remember the oath. The binding vow that every bearer speaks."
Together, their voices intertwined, filling the space with a power that vibrated in the marrow:
"Loyalty to AFRICA alone.
We must live for Africa, to carve the path to dignity.
With Dignity forms unity.
Unity will create new strength.
Strength we forge our prosperity.
All is meant for the prosperity of AFRICA.
You are AFRICA.
I am AFRICA.
We are AFRICA."
As the final syllable left their lips, Nne Nne's Crests blazed with a deep, sun-gold light, a wave of palpable, nurturing power filling the room.
Simultaneously, the tattoos on Avenger's body—the justice on his arm, the vengeance on the other, the love on his chest, the community on his leg, the pathfinder on his calf, and the vast, glowing map of Africa on his back—erupted in a silent, rainbow conflagration. Light streamed from every line, every symbol, pouring into him and out from him, connecting to the oath, to her, to every soul that bore this mark across the territory.
The light settled into a steady, powerful hum beneath his skin, a constant, comforting pressure. The medical drones flickered, their readings spiking before normalizing.
The transformation was complete. The ceremony had inscribed the covenant. The oath had ignited the power.
Avenger was no longer just a boy orphan, or a talented fighter, or even a champion.
He had become a True Child of Africa. A living instrument of its will, its shield, and its future.