The road to Mapatano stretched before them, winding like a serpent through dense thickets and forgotten countryside. Lex drove in silence, eyes focused ahead, the tension in the car so thick it seemed to hum with the energy of things left unsaid.
Naya sat next to him, clutching the latest entries she'd jotted in her journal, while Sasha, Sienna, and Alani sat in the back—each lost in thought. Adrian brought up the rear in his own car, having insisted on driving separately, citing "space." But everyone knew why.
Since Tasha's call, everything had changed.
Even the jar refused to be ignored now.
That morning, they'd attempted to carry it along,curious to see if its reaction changed with proximity to Mapatano. But it wouldn't budge. It sat on Naya's table like a mountain, unmoving despite all their strength combined.
Now, with only memories and mystery to guide them, they were chasing shadows.
Mapatano greeted them with silence.
The once-thriving colonial settlement was now nothing more than a ghost town nestled in thick forest. The trees leaned inward like guardians or witnesses, and the only sound was the crunch of tires on gravel.
"Welcome to nowhere," Lex muttered, parking near a rusted gate, half-swallowed by ivy.
Kanisa la Mabibi.wa usiku loomed beyond—its stone walls crumbling, roof half-caved, and stained-glass windows shattered like broken promises. The chapel's cross had fallen long ago, and the air reeked of damp soil and old secrets.
Sasha shivered.
Naya stepped out, heart thudding. "I've seen this place before," she whispered.
Sienna looked at her. "In your dreams?"
Naya nodded. "Exactly."
They pushed the creaking doors open.
Inside, the chapel was drenched in shadows. Moss grew across pews. Candle holders sat rusted and twisted. The altar was cracked in two. Yet something in the air felt alive—charged, ancient.
"Over here," Alani called out.
She stood near the left wall, brushing aside vines to reveal faded carvings: spirals, moons, and the exact same symbols that had appeared in Tasha's home.
"Same as in her mirror," Naya whispered.
They spread out, examining the ruins. Behind the altar, Lex found what looked like a stone slab buried under collapsed rubble. He called them over. Together, they unearthed it, revealing faint Swahili and Latin inscriptions. Beneath it was a sealed scroll, wrapped in weathered leather.
Resting beside it… a cracked pendant with a crescent moon sigil.
"The Ladies of the night," Naya breathed. "It's real."
Then, without warning, a gust of wind tore through the chapel—howling like a scream. At Naya's house miles away, the jar flared violently, its glass pulsing with light.
Back at the chapel, the ground trembled lightly, and a low chant echoed, as though the walls themselves remembered.
Sasha stepped closer to the scroll, drawn like a moth to flame.
"Don't—" Adrian warned, entering just as she reached out.
But it was too late.
The moment her fingers brushed the leather, she gasped—and dropped to her knees.
Her body locked, and her eyes rolled back.
In her vision, the world was ablaze with candlelight.
Sasha stood in a clearing beneath the full moon. Five women circled an altar, blood trickling from their joined hands into the ground.
One of them turned.
She was Sasha—but not.
The woman's features were eerily similar, but older… hardened. Her voice echoed in Sasha's head: "Blood remembers."
The women chanted in a language unfamiliar, their voices trembling with power. Then the circle broke—screams, fire, betrayal. One woman ran with the jar. Another followed, dagger in hand.
Sasha turned—only to find the burning chapel before her, collapsing in on itself.
Then she awoke.
"Sasha!" Alank was holding her.
Sasha's skin was pale, damp with sweat.
She blinked, breathing hard. "I… I saw them. The original five. One looked like me."
Sienna frowned. "You're saying we're descendants?"
Sasha nodded slowly. "I think we've always been part of this. This jar,it's not random. It's calling us home."
Silence followed her words.
They stood in the broken chapel, a secret they never asked for blooming beneath their feet.
As they made their way back to the cars, the air heavier than before, Adrian's phone buzzed.
He glanced at the message.
A photo.
Sasha.
Kian.
Kissing.
Taken the night outside her door.
He scrolled down to the caption, heart sinking.
"Witches burn. Mistresses fall."
His breath caught in his throat.
He didn't say a word.
He just turned to look at Sasha ,who was already watching him.
And behind them, in the far-off shadows of the chapel, something moved.
Adrian knows. The coven's history is unfolding. But who's watching… and who sent the photo?