"
"Even when the flames are gone, the embers still sting."
---
Scene 1: In the Forest of Bitterness
The forest held no peace.
Yemi stood by a tree with his fists clenched and heart heavy. His voice broke the silence:
> "If Bàbá Alade lies cold in the ground, your blade led him there, Bayo."
Bayo, scarred by war and weighed down by guilt, didn't flinch.
> "He chose to fight. And so did I. Don't make me the grave."
They clashed. No swords. Just fists and fury. The others watched—silent, weary, unsure whether to stop them or let the pain speak.
Adeola stepped in.
> "If two rams keep butting heads, the grass beneath will suffer. Let the fire in your hearts not burn the path we still walk."
---
Scene 2: Yemi's Grief
Later, Yemi sat beside the river. The water carried leaves, but his mind carried memories—of a father who raised a sword and a son with questions.
> "Be strong, Yemi," the memory of Chief Alade whispered.
"A king does not mourn beneath the gaze of the enemy."
He clutched the pendant left behind and whispered, "Forgive me, Bàbá."
---
Scene 3: Beneath the Iroko Tree
Moremi sat under the great Iroko, Wale's bracelet in her hand.
Adeola approached slowly, respectful of her silence.
> "He always protected me," she said. "Even when I was too angry to thank him."
> "He died doing what he always did," Adeola replied. "Shielding the fire he believed in."
No more words were needed.
---
Scene 4: The Shadow of Guilt
Femi stood alone, staring at the leaves rustling above. He had watched Ayomide fall—his brother in arms, gone in a flash of steel.
> "I heard him shout. But I couldn't move. I froze."
Behind him, Damilola listened. Her jaw tightened—not in anger, but remembrance. She too had once failed to move… and lost everything.
> "Grief is a patient visitor," she murmured. "It knows how to return."
---
Scene 5: The Throne of Memory
In the quiet halls of Ojora Palace, King Adekunle sat before the carved lion throne.
The reports spoke of rebellion, of death, of a boy fighting like fire.
> "That child... he fights like him," he whispered.
Then, in sleep, the king saw flames. He saw Abiola, sword in hand, face stern, voice echoing:
> "You spilled my blood. But my legacy still walks."
Adekunle awoke—drenched in sweat, haunted by shadows not buried deep enough.
---
Scene 6: A Flicker of Doubt
Morenike, her gaze heavy with wisdom, watched the camp.
She told Adeola stories—of Bankode, once a priest, now something far less holy.
> "If a man drinks too long from the calabash of power, the gods may forget he is mortal."
Adeola clenched his jaw, watching his weary friends. The fire was burning—but it flickered with anger, not hope.