Darkness clung to the corners of the dungeon like a living thing, thick and oppressive. The air reeked of damp stone and old blood, the scent of forgotten men who had perished within these walls. Seiowei sat motionless, his back against the cold rock, his mind racing. He had been a warrior, a protector of Ama-Ogbo, but now he was a prisoner, betrayed by those he once swore to defend.
The weight of the iron shackles around his wrists and ankles was nothing compared to the weight of his failure. He had been careful, moving like a ghost in the night, gathering allies in whispers. And yet, the king had learned of his intentions. Someone had spoken. Someone had betrayed him.
Footsteps echoed down the stone corridor. A single torch flickered, casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. The guards approached, their faces unreadable beneath the dim glow. One of them, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, knelt before Seiowei, unlocking his shackles. The moment the iron fell away, Seiowei flexed his fingers, feeling blood rush back into his hands.
"The king has sentenced you to die," the scarred guard said. "At sunrise, your head will roll."
Seiowei met his gaze without fear. "Then you should have left the chains on me."
The guard smirked. "Maybe. But I have orders to move you to the execution grounds before dawn." He jerked his head toward the corridor. "Get up."
Seiowei rose slowly, his muscles stiff from captivity. Two more guards flanked him, their spears angled slightly, ready to strike if he so much as twitched the wrong way. He was led through the damp corridors, past rows of empty cells. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant dripping of water from the ceiling.
As they reached the heavy wooden doors that led outside, a sudden explosion rocked the air. The sound was deafening, shaking dust from the ceiling and sending the guards stumbling. A second blast followed, then shouts, battle cries and the unmistakable clash of steel.
Seiowei knew immediately: his men had come.
The moment of confusion was all he needed. He lunged, striking the nearest guard in the throat with the edge of his palm. The man gurgled and dropped. The second swung his spear, but Seiowei twisted, grabbing the shaft and yanking it free. With a swift motion, he drove the blunt end into the guard's face, shattering his nose.
The scarred guard recovered fast, unsheathing his sword. But Seiowei was faster. He spun the spear and drove it into the man's gut, twisting hard. The guard groaned and collapsed, clutching his wound as blood pooled beneath him.
Seiowei wasted no time. He stripped the dead guard of his sword and dashed toward the exit.
Outside, chaos reigned. Fire raged along the outer walls of the palace, smoke curling into the night sky. Shadows darted between the flames, his men, his brothers-in-arms. They had come for him.
A familiar voice rang through the fray. "Seiowei!"
He turned just in time to see Tarema, his most trusted lieutenant, slicing through a palace guard. Blood sprayed as the warrior rushed to Seiowei's side, his dark skin glistening with sweat.
"We don't have much time!" Tarema shouted over the din. "The king's forces are regrouping!"
Seiowei nodded. "Then we leave."
He sprinted through the burning courtyard, cutting down any guard who dared to stand in his way. His men carved a path, their battle cries tearing through the night like a storm. The gates loomed ahead, battered but still standing.
A horn blared, a signal. Reinforcements were coming.
Tarema grabbed Seiowei's arm. "The jungle! We can lose them in the wild!"
Seiowei didn't hesitate. He led his men through the gate, abandoning the city for the dark embrace of the wilderness beyond. The trees swallowed them whole, their dense canopy blocking the moonlight. The night sounds of the jungle, chirping insects, rustling leaves, seemed to mock their desperation.
Behind them, the palace burned.
The jungle was alive in ways the city never was. The air was thick, humid, filled with the cries of unseen creatures. Every step was treacherous, the ground uneven, roots twisting like serpents beneath their feet. But Seiowei did not stop. He could not.
They moved swiftly, the echoes of pursuit growing fainter. The king's men would not venture too deep into the wild, not at night. Superstition held the jungle as sacred, a domain of spirits and old gods. But Seiowei knew better. The only danger here was the one that hunted them.
Tarema fell into step beside him. "We can't keep running. We need shelter."
Seiowei scanned the terrain. "We keep moving until dawn. Then we rest."
The night stretched on, each minute dragging slower than the last. By the time the first hints of sunlight broke through the canopy, their bodies ached, their breaths labored. They found refuge in a rocky outcrop, its overhang providing some measure of cover.
As his men settled, Seiowei stood at the edge, staring back toward the distant glow of Ama-Ogbo. He had failed to seize the throne, but he had survived.
And survival was the first step to victory.
Tarema approached. "What now?"
Seiowei clenched his fists. "Now, we gather strength. We strike when they least expect it."
Tarema grinned. "The king should have killed you when he had the chance."
Seiowei turned, his eyes burning with resolve. "His mistake will cost him everything."
In the heart of the jungle, under the rising sun, the seeds of rebellion were sown. The warrior who had once sworn loyalty to the king was now the kingdom's greatest threat. And as the wild embraced him, Seiowei made a vow.
He would return.
And when he did, Ama-Ogbo would kneel before him.