The dense mangroves of Ama-Ogbo whispered with the rustling of unseen creatures. The night air carried the scent of damp earth, salt, and something more elusive, anticipation. Beneath the moon's pale glow, a lone figure stood atop a rocky outcrop, his gaze fixed on the flickering torches of the royal palace in the distance.
Seiowei.
His muscles, honed by years of battle, tensed beneath his darkened tunic. The sound of distant drums echoed through the night, a rhythmic song of peace, of a kingdom unprepared for what lurked in the shadows. He had fought for this land, bled for it. Yet, it would never be his. Not unless he took it.
Seiowei had risen through the ranks, not by noble birth, but by sheer will. His father had been a fisherman, a man who spent his days at sea and his nights warning his son that power belonged to those born to it. But Seiowei had refused to accept such a fate. He had trained relentlessly, proving himself in every battle, earning the trust of Amananaowei himself. And yet, for all his sacrifices, he was still just a warrior. A protector, never a ruler.
He turned away from the palace lights and descended the rocky path where his most trusted men waited. Their faces were hidden beneath the shadows of the towering palm trees. These were warriors, outcasts, men whose loyalty had been forged in blood. He looked into their expectant eyes and spoke in a voice barely above a whisper.
"It is time."
Earlier that day, in the heart of Ama-Ogbo, the palace had been alive with festivities. The market overflowed with traders, the scent of roasted plantains and fresh palm wine filling the air. The people laughed and danced, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath their feet.
Inside the great hall, Amananaowei sat on his carved throne, his son, Tobara, standing beside him. The young prince listened intently as his father spoke to the council of chiefs.
"The gods have favored us," Amananaowei said, his deep voice commanding respect. "Our borders are secure, our people thrive. This is the duty of a king, to bring peace, not war."
The chiefs nodded in agreement, but Seiowei, who stood at the back of the room, felt a flicker of frustration. Peace? He had seen what happened when a kingdom grew too comfortable. Enemies lurked in the shadows, waiting for a moment of weakness. He clenched his fists, his patience wearing thin.
Amananaowei's eyes settled on him. "Seiowei, you have fought bravely for this land. What say you?"
Seiowei hesitated, measuring his words. "A strong kingdom does not wait for war to come to its gates. We must strike first, remind our enemies that Ama-Ogbo is not to be challenged."
Amananaowei smiled knowingly. "Strength is not always found in war, my friend."
The words stung more than they should have. Seiowei bowed, but inside, something in him snapped. He had spent his life fighting for a throne he would never sit upon. He had seen weak rulers fall because they mistook peace for power. He would not make the same mistake.
The night stretched on as Seiowei and his men crept through the narrow paths that led to the palace's outer walls. The guards were few, their minds dulled by the night's celebrations.
Seiowei signaled to his men. Silent as the river at dawn, they moved. A quick flash of steel, a muffled cry, and the first guard fell. One by one, the palace's defenses crumbled. They slipped through the shadows, past sleeping servants and unguarded corridors.
As they neared the royal chambers, Seiowei's heart pounded, not with fear, but with the thrill of inevitability. This was his moment.
The door to the king's chamber stood before him. He raised his hand to push it open.
A sharp cry rang out from behind. One of his men had been spotted. The alarm spread like wildfire. The palace erupted in chaos. Warriors scrambled to arms, shouts filled the air, and the once-quiet night was shattered by the clash of steel.
Seiowei cursed under his breath. The plan had been perfect. But he was not a man who feared battle.
Drawing his blade, he turned to his men. "No retreat."
And with that, he plunged into the fight, knowing that by dawn, Ama-Ogbo would either be his, or he would be dead.
The battle raged through the palace. Seiowei fought with the fury of a man who had nothing to lose. He carved a path through the defenders, his blade a blur of deadly precision. The king's warriors were skilled, but they fought with hesitation, caught off guard by the betrayal of one of their own.
Inside the royal chambers, Amananaowei stood with his son, a spear clutched tightly in his hands. He was not a king who had forgotten how to fight. But even he knew this was a battle already lost.
Seiowei stormed in, his blade dripping with blood. "It is over," he said, his voice steady.
Amananaowei met his gaze, unflinching. "You were like a son to me."
Seiowei hesitated, just for a moment. Then, without a word, he struck. The king fell, his blood staining the floor. The young prince screamed, but before Seiowei could reach him, a warrior pulled the boy away into the darkness.
Seiowei stood over the fallen king, his chest heaving. He had done it. He had taken the throne. But as the shouts of battle echoed through the palace, he realized something he had never considered.
Conquering was easy. Ruling would be another battle entirely.
As dawn broke over Ama-Ogbo, the kingdom was forever changed. Smoke curled into the sky, the scent of blood and ash tainting the air. Seiowei stood atop the palace steps, watching as the people gathered below, their faces a mix of fear and uncertainty.
He raised his sword high. "I am your king now."
The silence that followed was deafening.
And in that silence, deep in the mangroves beyond the city, a boy swore vengeance.