Naomi was on Nze in seconds, pulling him off the floor like he was made of glass and the world was a room full of hammers. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice tight, her hands darting everywhere—his shoulder, his cheek, the cut on his lip he didn't even notice until now. 

"Yeah," he said, though it sounded unconvincing, even to himself. His mind was a mess, a broken record stuck on what the hell just happened?

"What's going on? Who was that... witch? And why did she call you Solomon's holy witch?" His words spilled out faster than his brain could keep up, leaving his heart pounding like it was late for something important. 

Naomi glanced at Eli, who was descending the stairs with the weight of a man who carried the world on his back but refused to show it. Her hand moved instinctively to the rosary around her neck, clutching it like it was the only thing holding her together. 

"Well?" Nze pressed. 

Eli didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over, bent down, and picked up the couch—the entire couch—like it weighed nothing more than a stack of books, setting it upright with a soft grunt. He motioned for Nze to sit. 

"Sit," Eli said, his voice calm but heavy, like a quiet storm gathering strength. 

Nze sat slowly, his body obeying even though his mind screamed at him to run.

Naomi moved around the house, her actions deliberate—bolting the doors, murmuring words Nze couldn't quite hear, splashing water from a bottle onto the windowsills. A strange, bitter tang filled the air, sharp as the realization creeping into his gut that whatever Eli was about to say wasn't going to be ordinary.

Eli leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and began.

"Your great-grandfather, Theodore Nduka, was many things. Brave, foolish, ambitious—take your pick. But most of all, he was desperate."

Nze blinked. "Desperate for what?"

"To matter," Eli said, his voice edged with something ancient, like he wasn't just telling the story but living it. "You see, in the early 1900s, St. Leo wasn't the sleepy, quiet town you know today. It was a hotspot for colonial exploitation—rich in minerals, gemstones, and other things better left unmined. The Germans, well, they came in with their steel-toed boots, their rifles, and their hunger for everything beneath the earth. And they didn't come alone."

Naomi appeared briefly, a glass of water in her hand, and set it on the coffee table in front of Nze. Her gaze lingered on Eli for a moment, unreadable, before she disappeared back into the kitchen.

Eli continued, "They brought the locals into their mining operations—paid them in pennies for their sweat and blood. Your great-grandfather was one of them. A foreman. A smart man with a quick tongue. He spoke enough of their language to stand out, enough to keep himself employed while others were cast aside. But that kind of alignment comes with consequences."

Nze frowned. "Consequences?"

"The locals," Eli said, leaning back against the sofa, "weren't exactly fans of men like Theodore. To them, he wasn't just working with the Germans—he was betraying St. Leo. You see, this town wasn't just rich in minerals. It was alive, in ways the Germans could never understand. The forests here... the caves... they're not just scenery, Nze. They're breathing things, old and unforgiving. And they didn't take kindly to outsiders digging into their veins."

The words hung in the air, and Nze felt a chill run down his spine. The house creaked, the wind outside howling faintly. Naomi returned, this time with a small bottle of what he now recognized as holy water. She moved to the windows, tracing invisible lines with it.

Eli didn't seem to notice. "The Germans lost men—too many. Some disappeared, some were found shredded, unrecognizable. They didn't know what they'd angered, but they knew enough to leave. And when they left, they left men like Theodore behind."

Nze swallowed, the glass of water untouched in front of him. "What happened to him?"

"He became an outcast," Eli said simply. "To the locals, he was a traitor. To the spirits, he was... tainted. He couldn't find work, couldn't farm, couldn't trade. And when your great-grandmother got pregnant with our grandfather, Solomon, well... things only got worse."

Nze's throat tightened. "What do you mean?"

"Theodore was desperate, Arinze," Eli said, his voice quiet now. "He had a pregnant wife, no way to provide for her, and a town that would rather see him starve than help. So he did what desperate men do."

Nze leaned forward, his stomach twisting. "What did he do?"

Eli's eyes darkened, and for a moment, he looked far older than his years. "He went into the forest. Deep, where the air gets cold and heavy, where the trees whisper things you're better off not hearing. And he called out for something. Someone."

The room seemed to hold its breath. Naomi stopped her movements, her back turned to them, but Nze could tell she was listening.

"He called out for Okurumadike, the Ancient One." Eli said, his voice dropping into a whisper, as if saying the name too loudly might summon it. "The One Who Knows All Trades. A spirit of wealth, of power. But a cruel one."

Nze shivered. "What happened?"

"Okurumadike appeared," Eli said, his tone steady but grim. "It wasn't a shape Theodore could describe—more like a shadow that moved in ways shadows shouldn't, with whispers that dug into his mind like claws. It made him an offer: wealth and respect that would restore his life. But there was a price—"

Nze's breath caught. "What?"

"His last-born son."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. Nze stared at Eli, his mind racing. "But... Pa Solomon—"

"Wasn't supposed to be the last," Eli interrupted. "Theodore loved his son. He didn't go into that forest thinking he'd have to sacrifice him. He thought he had time. Thought he could have more children, that he'd offer one of them instead. But life, as you know, doesn't care much for plans."

Nze's heart pounded in his chest. "What happened?"

"The deal was made," Eli said, his voice quiet but firm. "Theodore got his wealth. His respect. But your great-grandmother died in childbirth. And Solomon... Solomon was the last-born son."

The room fell silent. Naomi turned, her expression softer now, but still guarded. Nze looked between them, his mind a whirlwind of questions, fear, and disbelief.

"Theodore tried," Eli said, his voice heavy. "He tried everything. Married other women, tried to have more children, but none survived. The forest had claimed Solomon. And when the time came..."

Eli didn't finish. He didn't have to. The weight of the story settled over Nze like a stone. His hands trembled as he reached for the glass of water, taking a shaky sip. His voice was barely above a whisper when he asked, "What does this have to do with me?"

Eli and Naomi exchanged a look. Then Eli leaned forward, his gaze locking onto Nze's with a gravity that made his stomach churn.

"Because, Nze," Eli said, "Okurumadike doesn't forget. When Theodore couldn't sacrifice another child because your grandfather was his last, he turned to the Blood Witch of the North Wing. Together, they betrayed Okurumadike, binding him to the underworld."

Nze blinked. "So... that's good, right? They stopped him?"

Eli gave a hollow laugh. "Good? Okurumadike cursed Theodore's bloodline. Your grandfather became a bloodhunter—what you'd call a vampire. He hunted until he couldn't live with himself anymore. He ended it."

"And Aunt Naomi?" Nze asked, his voice cracking.

"She's a witch," Eli said simply. "Turned her craft holy and fled to the church. She's been fighting the dark ever since."

"And you?" 

Eli hesitated. "I'm—I am a cougar."

"A what?" Nze blinked. "Wait, like...a sugar mommy? MILF vibes?"

Eli's glare could have melted steel. "Cougar, you absolute idiot! As in, a giant, clawed beast! Every night, I turn into it—no control, no memory. Just flashes. Blood, screams, things I'd pay good money to forget. That's why I lock myself in a shed. To keep people safe."

Nze stared, cold creeping into his chest. "This can't be real."

Eli gave him a grim look. "It is. And now it's your truth too."

The room felt like it was shrinking around Nze. The faint, bitter tang of holy water clung to the air, but it did nothing to mask the cold weight of Eli's words. Nze stared at his uncle, unable to fully grasp what he'd just heard. 

"You're joking," Nze said, his voice breaking. "You're messing with me, right?" 

Eli's expression didn't waver. If anything, his face grew even grimmer. 

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he said quietly. 

Nze blinked rapidly, trying to process it all. "A bloodcraver? Vampires? Witches? Cougars? What even—" He turned to Naomi, who had stopped pacing, her hand resting protectively over the rosary around her neck. "Aunt Naomi, tell me this is a prank. This is insane." 

Naomi met his gaze but said nothing. Her silence was louder than any words could have been. 

"I don't—what about my mom?" Nze stammered, his voice rising in panic. "She wasn't—she was just—normal! She left St. Leo to get away from all of this!" 

Eli took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair as though the weight of the conversation was physically exhausting him. "Your mom was a changeling witch," he said finally, his tone measured. "Born with the power to shift between realms, to connect the mortal and the supernatural. But she didn't want it. She rejected it. Never practiced. Thought that leaving St. Leo and taking you with her would be enough to keep you safe. And for a while... it worked." 

Nze's chest tightened, his breath coming faster as he shook his head. "No. She died of cancer," he said, each word trembling. "That's what the doctors said. I—" His voice broke as the memories flooded back: the sterile hospital smell, her sunken eyes, the helplessness that gripped him. "I watched her waste away for months. You can't tell me that wasn't real."

Eli's eyes softened, but there was a sorrowful weight to them. "That's what they told you," he said. "It wasn't cancer, Nze. Your mother was murdered."

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