ADEOLA'S POV:
The air in Ayo was different — heavier, like a ghost watching from every rooftop.
Disguised in Ojora armor, Adeola walked through the marketplace, the colors and scents almost foreign to him now. His heart clenched at the sight of his people — heads bowed, backs bent under burdens they once carried with pride. This was home. And it was bleeding.
A shout rang out. An Ojora guard struck a fruit seller for speaking out of turn. Adeola's fists clenched. That man could've been his father. His people cowered while tyranny paraded as order.
He stepped forward — armor or not.
> "Enough," he barked, voice sharp.
The guard turned, shocked — then suspicious.
And just like that, the lie began to unravel.
Yemi gave him a sharp glare. Bayo shook his head subtly.
But it was too late.
He couldn't watch another injustice. Not here. Not now.
---
YEMI'S POV:
Yemi had learned to hold fire in his mouth — and patience in his sword.
So when Adeola stepped out, Yemi felt a storm boil in his chest. Why now? Why not wait until nightfall, when the plan was set?
He respected Adeola — but kingship came with more than boldness. It demanded timing. Silence. Strategy.
When the guards turned on them, Yemi cursed under his breath. Their cover was blown. This wasn't how they were supposed to start a rebellion.
But then Adekunle arrived. And suddenly, it wasn't just about strategy.
It was about survival.
---
BAYO'S POV:
Bayo stood frozen — not from fear, but guilt.
He saw the villagers' broken faces and remembered Ibadi burning. He remembered the screams. The ash. His hesitation had cost lives before.
Now again, he hesitated.
Only when Adeola was struck to the ground did Bayo move. His blade sang through the air, slicing down a guard.
> "Not this time," he muttered. "I won't fail again."
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ADEKUNLE'S POV:
He stared at the boy held in chains before him, squinting against the sun.
Something about the jawline. The defiance. The eyes.
It couldn't be…
> "Who are you?"
The boy raised his chin.
> "The son of the man you murdered."
The crowd gasped.
The world shifted.
Adekunle's hand tightened on his sword. For a moment, he saw Abiola standing before him again.
But the moment passed. He turned to strike.
That's when the villagers moved.
---
THE PEOPLE'S POV:
They had been silent for so long — too long.
But this boy… this warrior… spoke like the king they lost.
He bled like them.
And when the guards raised their blades, he did not run. He stood.
And one of them — a young man, trembling but proud — stepped forward.
> "You're not alone," he said.
And with him, the fire spread.
They fought with sticks. Stones. Fury.
And they won.
---
BABAjIDE'S POV:
Later, after the chaos cooled and the rebels gathered in the chief's hut, Babatunde sat with quiet eyes.
He looked at Adeola not as a stranger — but as a mirror.
> "I served your father. King Abiola. You bear his fire."
He opened a chest and pulled out a rusted pendant — one with the crest of Ayo.
> "He gave this to me… before the end."
Adeola didn't speak. He couldn't.
But in his heart, something old — something buried — awakened.
---
Ending Note:
The villagers cheered. They hailed him as king. But Adeola wasn't ready.
> "We must leave. Ojora will return, and next time they'll bring death."
Yet as they mounted their horses, the people knelt.
Not in fear… but in faith.
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