Have you ever wanted something so badly, you started to wonder—what would life be like if it actually happened?
Not just in passing. I mean truly wanted it, so deeply that it haunted your every quiet moment.
Since the day of the massacre, I've tried to forget.
My past.
My family.
My siblings' laughter.
My parents' warm voices.
The neighbors who called my name like I mattered.
All of it—buried.
And now? I'd found a new family. An organization that had taken me in. But even with that… I still hadn't found my place. No real identity. No roots. It was like I didn't exist—just a shadow tagging along.
Sometimes I wondered… what if Master Abiodun had been able to purify me of this Fallen Essence?
Maybe that would've been my new beginning. A clean slate.
But I guess… that was never meant for someone like me.
A new beginning.
No. Not after everything I've done.
Not after what I did to my people.
This—this was the only fair end to my story.
To sit here quietly, far from the others, and let it all fade.
At least this way, maybe… I could finally join them.
The wind rustled through the forest. I let my head rest back.
And then I thought of them—Obika… Hema.
Were they okay?
Had they finally reached Major Deji's group?
I wondered what the state of things was.
It had been quiet where I was. Strangely so. Not a single howl. No movement.
Maybe I was actually safe here.
Maybe, since I had no divine essence, the Voros couldn't even sense me.
But my leg…
The wound had swelled badly.
My thigh throbbed with every breath, the branch still embedded inside.
At this rate, it wouldn't be a Voro that killed me.
It would be the rot already spreading through my body.
Fitting, I suppose.
After all, if I was meant to carry this burden, then what better way to die than slowly, painfully, forgotten.
The silence around me had grown heavier—like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Then I heard it.
A voice.
Smooth… sharp… like it had waited centuries just to speak.
"How pathetic. A king… sitting in the dirt. Alone. Bruised. When you should be soaring above the heads of men—marking your presence. Let them tremble at the sight of true power."
My fingers tightened around my blade.
I looked up, alert.
"Who's there?" I called out, forcing my voice to sound firmer than I felt. My body wasn't in the mood for surprises, especially not in a place like this. I winced as I tried to stand, pain flaring from my leg.
There was no answer. Just the sound of something approaching—soft, deliberate steps brushing against the undergrowth.
I raised the blade, pointing it toward the sound. Slowly turning, I scanned the trees, the shadows, the fog between the branches.
Then… he appeared.
Walking slowly. No rush in his movements. A hunched figure leaned on a curved wooden cane, his posture almost pitiful—until you saw his face.
He wasn't human.
I could tell before he even stepped into full light.
His skin was the color of pale ash—cream dusted in moonlight. Not lifeless, but not living either. Wisps of wiry white hair stuck out like old threads from his scalp, and his features were all angles and hollows—sharp cheekbones, deep eye sockets, the faint stretch of skin that barely covered his bones.
But his eyes…His eyes froze me in place.
Two pupils. One on top of the other. Not side by side like any creature I'd ever seen. They didn't blink—they spun. Slowly rotating in place as he walked, like some cursed clock winding down.
A silver beard framed his mouth—short and perfectly trimmed. Too neat to be accidental. Like a priest. Or a scholar.
He wore long western-style robes, layered and draped like someone who had no intention of rushing anywhere ever again. His sandals tapped softly as he walked, and his long, thin fingers twitched constantly—like they were sensing something I couldn't feel.
I didn't lower the blade. But I didn't speak either.
He's Fallen, I thought.
That much was clear.
But… why could I understand him?
Only one other had spoken to me like this and called me a king.
Chuba.
Was this one like him too?
I frowned. "Can… can you understand me?"
The figure stopped. Tsked. Then gave a slow shake of the head.
"Understand you?" he repeated, sucking his teeth like I had said something childish. "My King… I see through you. Past your words. Beyond your thoughts. I see the threads that hold your being together—even the ones you've tried to cut."
He tilted his head. His top pupil rotated again.
"Can I understand you? Ah, my king… you're funny."
I tensed. "You're just like Chuba."
At the mention of that name, something flickered across his face.
"Ah! Yes, yes." His voice grew oddly joyful. "What an unfortunate turn of events for him. These humans... they can be so cruel when it comes to things they do not understand."
He took another step forward.
I flinched and barked, "Don't come any closer!"
To my shock… he stopped.
Just like that.
I blinked. My eyes narrowed.
Did he just obey me?
There was no resistance. No internal pressure. Nothing trying to push back.
He simply stopped.
As if… he had to.
He smiled softly, then said, "I know what you're wondering."
"Why did I stop?""Why obey your voice?"
He tapped his cane lightly.
"It's because I am your aide."
I stared. "…what?"
"My aide? For what?"
He sighed. Not in frustration—almost fondly.
"Sometimes I forget how ignorant you still are. It's understandable, of course. This is our first meeting."
He leaned forward with a slow, deliberate breath. Then he smiled again.
"Good. This will be my first proper introduction."
With practiced ease, he lowered himself into a sitting position in front of me, crossing his legs. He rested his cane on his lap, hands calmly placed.
"I am Tela Osupa."
The first thing that came to my mind was—what kind of name is that?
Tela Osupa.
It sounded foreign. Old. Like something from a forgotten myth whispered by mad priests.
And yet… somehow, it suited him.
"I am a Fallen of the Eighth Order," he continued calmly, his voice smooth but unsettling. "The ranking system you humans developed to understand us. A crude system, if I'm being honest. But at least it gives you something to measure with."
I stiffened.
Eighth?
That couldn't be right.
The Morduk had been a Third Order Fallen, and it gave both Major Deji and Tor a fight that nearly broke them.
The Voros and Uro Voros? Second Order.
This creature… this thing sitting directly in front of me without flinching—was from the Eighth?
I didn't move. My fingers remained curled tightly around the hilt of my blade, but I suddenly wasn't sure it would matter.
He must've seen the thought flash across my face.
But Tela simply smiled.
"Just like the Prince you met earlier."
I froze.
The Prince?
"You… you know about him?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Were you watching me?"
He gave a single slow nod. "Of course I was. I am your aide, my King. It is my responsibility to watch over you."
I shook my head slowly. "If you know that, then you must know about the Fallen essence inside me…"
He cut in, gently, as if completing a sentence I hadn't finished. "And the massacre of your people. Yes, yes. I remember it like it was yesterday. My king, in his raw, uncontrolled glory. Such a magnificent sight to behold."
My stomach turned. I looked away.
He didn't sound impressed. He sounded… fascinated. Like a scholar marveling at the destruction caused by a natural disaster.
But he didn't linger.
His tone shifted, like he'd grown bored of the subject—or maybe he knew how deeply it unsettled me.
Instead, his eyes drifted to my leg.
He tilted his head, almost fondly.
"Did you know…" he began, "when a piece of wood pierces the leg, it doesn't always bleed much? It settles quietly beneath the skin, and the body forgets—for a time. That's because wood is porous. Like memory. It holds things."
"But leave it in too long, and the body begins to react. Not to the pain, no… to what lies inside."
"Spores. Tiny sleepers, hidden in the grain. And when they wake, the leg swells… turns dark… becomes something else entirely."
He tapped his cane once, gently. The sound echoed, hollow and soft.
"Most think it's the wound that changes you. But no… it's the quiet parts. The parts you let stay."
I stared at him, dumbfounded.
"…Is that supposed to mean something?"
He said nothing.
I shook my head, exasperated. "Alright. Let me get this straight."
"You show up out of nowhere, saying a bunch of big words. Claim to be my aide. Sit in front of me like some monk from a dream, keep talking in riddles—and now you want to talk about my wound?"
My voice rose slightly.
"You talk and talk but haven't lifted a finger to help. So unless you're here to kill me—or actually help me—I suggest you leave me alone and let me rot in peace."
The words came out in a rush—too fast, too raw. Even I was surprised by the way they tumbled from my mouth.
But Tela…He smiled.
Ah, that same quiet, knowing smile.
He rose slowly, cane supporting his every movement.
"Ahh… yes," he whispered. "There he is."
He shivered slightly, like the moment excited him.
"Tiny bits… just beginning to stir. You can only sulk and be guilt-ridden for so long, King Tuedon Akenzua."
His voice deepened. Not loud—but weighty, like thunder from a distant mountain.
"But as a King, you must reclaim your hidden authority. And be what you truly are."
I let out a long, tired sigh. "There you go again…"
I stared at him, dry-eyed.
"…Speaking in riddles."
He tilted his head, eyes glinting strangely.
"Have you ever wondered," he asked, "why only Major Deji and Tor were able to rise on the night you encountered Prince Lu?"
His words struck something in me.
I hadn't thought of that moment in a while—but now that he mentioned it, yes... it had been strange. Everyone else had remained unconscious, paralyzed by the sheer pressure of the Fallen Prince's presence. Yet Deji and Tor had risen.
I had chalked it up to coincidence. Or perhaps their willpower. But deep down, I'd always wondered.
I sat a little straighter. "Was that... you?"
He nodded, unbothered. "I am your aide, my King. Which means, in all the earth and all the realms, I alone am your true helper."
He stood again, brushing his robe softly with one hand.
"And that wound you keep crying over," he said, pointing at my leg, "is nothing more than a pin cut. It can't kill you."
He started walking toward me.
I instinctively scooted back, heart quickening. I hadn't realized I was already braced to run—or at least try.
But the pain in my leg flared sharply, and I lost my balance. My body hit the forest floor hard. I scrambled backward until my back pressed against the bark of a thick tree, breath ragged. My hand tightened around my blade.
If he truly was an Eighth Order Fallen, I thought, then no command of mine could save me now.
Maybe I had angered him with my words. Maybe he was finally going to kill me.
But he didn't strike.
He simply lowered himself once more, settling into a cross-legged position across from me.
"Now that we're done with the formalities," he said, "I believe it's time to fulfill the purpose of my arrival."
He rested his cane gently across his thighs, then looked me straight in the eye.
"Tell me," he said, "do you know what Fallen Essence truly is?"
I hesitated. "Not really," I admitted. "I know I have it… but I don't understand it. Not fully. And the Divines—they didn't seem to either."
Tela nodded, unsurprised.
"Naturally. You are the first of your kind—a human born of Fallen Essence. But make no mistake, you are not the only human who possesses it."
"The ones orchestrating this entire charade against the Divine Families… they are like you. But unlike you, they weren't born with Fallen Essence. They only share it."
That pulled my attention.
My resistance began to slip.
He was speaking about things I had no one else to ask. He was talking about what I feared most—what had been left unanswered since the massacre.
I leaned forward slightly. "So I'm not the only one…? Then how did it happen? And how do I get rid of it?"
He blinked once—then let out a short, amused laugh.
"Get rid of it?" he scoffed. "That's impossible. Unless, of course, you're asking to die."
He leaned in, whispering it like it was a joke only he understood.
"You were born with it. Which means it's what you are. Just as you are human… so are you Fallen."
He gave me a strange look—neither pity nor pride.
"Rather than asking how to rid yourself of it, why not ask… how to use what's already yours?"
That question stilled me.
In all the time since the massacre—since the truth had begun to creep into my reality—I had only ever wanted to bury the Fallen Essence inside me. I wanted it gone. Sealed. Forgotten. Because all it ever brought was death.
Pain.
Shame.
I remembered Master Abiodun—how he had tried, and failed, to purify me. Even he, with all his knowledge and power, could do nothing.
I had resigned myself to living in fear of that power.
To suppress it.
To cage it.
But now, here was a new idea. Something I hadn't considered.
Control.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked quietly. "How can I control a Fallen Essence? Only Divine Essence can be controlled by humans."
Tela chuckled again—this time, less mockery, more pity.
"No. That's just what ignorant humans believe."
"All Essences—Divine, Fallen, even Human—can be controlled. They're just... different. Each with its own language. Its own rhythm. Its own power."
He picked up his cane and began to draw in the soft soil between us—shapes, diagrams, lines that didn't make sense at first.
But his movements were precise, almost ritualistic.
"Now pay close attention," he said softly. "Because what I'm about to show you… is only the beginning."
And just like that, I realized:
This was a lesson I didn't know I had longed for.
But I needed it—because if I was ever going to truly understand what I was, and what I could become…
I had to stop running.
And learn.
Tela's fingers moved steadily across the dirt, sketching three interwoven sigils. His voice lowered, becoming more measured—as though he was guiding a ritual.
"Essence," he began, "is the fabric of all existence."
He pointed to the first symbol: a rough, flickering outline of a figure—simple, almost childlike in shape.
"Human Essence… brings life. Ordinary life. It is the weakest in raw power, but the most precious of the three. Why? Because it is the only one tied to choice—to will. It gives humans the potential to rise or fall, to destroy or save, depending on how they live."
He shifted his cane to the second mark—a cleaner, more refined figure surrounded by halos of lines.
"This is Divine Essence—the cleanser. The light-bringer. It purifies, strengthens, heals. It was passed down by the four Original Divine Fathers. They created the Divine Families… and through that, the system of hierarchy you know today."
Finally, he gestured to the third symbol.
"And this… is Fallen Essence. The destroyer. Death, the bringer of darkness. It was meant to be divine—but it fell short of the Creator's glory. Cast down, distorted, and left to become what it is now."
He let the silence sit for a moment before continuing.
"But understand this—none of them are evil. None of them are good. Each of these Essences exists for a reason. And they all depend on each other to maintain balance."
His cane tapped lightly against each drawing in turn.
"For the Divine to cleanse, corruption must exist.
For the Fallen to corrupt, purity must exist.
And for humanity to be free of corruption, they must be cleansed.
All three… locked in a cycle."
I watched the diagrams, the simplicity of them—and yet, they held so much weight. The roots of existence.