The Òrìṣà Festival begins.
Drums echo through Akinwumi Village. Elders dance with painted faces, children sing folk songs, and hunters reenact heroic legends by torchlight. For the first time in moons, there is laughter, rhythm, and warmth. The rebel legion, wounded but breathing, gathers by the outskirts—Adeola, Moremi, Bayo, Ayomide, and Femi smiling softly under the twilight sky.
Moremi watches a child braid her sister's hair and whispers to herself:
> "Peace... is this what it could feel like?"
---
Yemi, however, stands near the forest edge, hand on his cutlass. Something in the air feels off. The birds are silent. The wind carries no scent. His heart won't calm.
> "Ọ̀run mọ ibi tí òràn ti máa rú... Heaven knows when trouble stirs," he mutters, eyes scanning the treeline.
---
Just before the final ceremonial dance begins, Wale and Adedayo appear. Dust clings to their boots, and sweat glistens on their brows. Wale wears a faint smile; Adedayo, behind him, carries something unreadable in his gaze.
Moremi gasps in joy, rushing to her brother.
> "You came. You're safe."
Wale hugs her, but his eyes flicker—weary, almost sensing something.
Then...
A sudden, sharp shlkkk!
Adedayo plunges a blade into Wale's back.
A hush falls. Then, screams.
Wale's body slumps forward, blood blooming across his agbada. He gasps, eyes wide in disbelief.
> "Adedayo...?"
---
From the festival shadows, Ojora soldiers emerge, blades glinting under torchlight.
Adedayo steps forward, his voice filled with cold bitterness:
> "I trained beside him. Bled beside him. Yet always, Wale the noble. Wale the chosen. But tell me—what of Adedayo, the forgotten?"
---
🔥 Flashback
Adedayo kneels before King Adekunle Ojora, cloak stained from travel.
> "Wale is a traitor. He's with the rebels. But I… I can give you his head."
Adekunle's stare is filled with contempt and curiosity.
> "A traitor turning in a traitor? You smell of desperation."
> "Make me general. Let me burn what Wale protects."
Adekunle smirks.
> "Very well. Cut him down. Prove your worth."
---
🎭 Back to Present
Panic erupts. Villagers scatter. Flames rise. The sacred festival turns into a nightmare.
Yemi bursts from the treeline, blade drawn.
> "Everyone take cover! Ọmọ aráyé, we're under attack!"
Moremi cradles Wale, blood on her hands. He whispers faintly:
> "Don't... trust him..."
Adeola, stunned, meets Adedayo's eyes.
In that moment, he sees not a man—but a soul consumed by envy.
> "You traded your soul for a title," Adeola growls.
> Adedayo: "No. I claimed what I was denied."
> The Lost King © 2025 by (Idris Bilal Adavize).
This is an original work protected by copyright. No part of this story may be reproduced or used in any form without the author's written permission.