The air in Ama-Ogbo was thick with unease. It had been weeks since Seiowei's escape into the wild, and though the city had returned to a semblance of normalcy, an unspoken fear lingered. The king's soldiers patrolled the streets in greater numbers, their eyes scanning the crowds for whispers of rebellion. Yet, despite their presence, murmurs of unrest were growing. Something was coming, something inevitable.
Deep within the jungle, far from the king's reach, Seiowei stood atop a rocky ridge, looking down at the men gathered before him. They were warriors, outcasts, and former palace guards, those who had either lost faith in the king or had their faith shattered by his tyranny. He had spent the last few weeks moving through villages, gathering men who sought justice, vengeance, or both. Now, they were an army in waiting.
Tarema approached, his footsteps light despite the heavy atmosphere. "We have over two hundred men now," he said, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. "More are coming. The people are ready."
Seiowei nodded but did not smile. Two hundred men were not enough. Not yet. "We need more," he said. "The king's forces number in the thousands."
Tarema smirked. "Thousands who have never fought a war in the wild. This land belongs to us."
Seiowei turned to the gathered warriors, his expression hard as stone. He raised his voice, letting it carry through the clearing. "You have all come here for a reason! You have seen what the king has done how he rules through fear and blood. We will not beg for mercy. We will not cower in the shadows. We take back what is ours!"
A chorus of agreement rose from the men. Some slammed their fists against their chests. Others raised their weapons in silent determination.
Seiowei's grip on his sword tightened. "We strike soon. But first, we prepare."
The days that followed were grueling. Seiowei led them through intense drills, pushing each man to his limit. They trained in the cover of the jungle, learning how to move like shadows, how to strike swiftly and disappear before the enemy could react. Every battle-hardened warrior among them taught the younger ones, ensuring that when the time came, no one would hesitate.
One evening, as the sky turned a deep orange, Tarema found Seiowei sharpening his blade near the riverbank. "Scouts returned from the city," Tarema said, crouching beside him. "The king has doubled security around the palace. He knows something is coming."
Seiowei smirked. "Good. Let him fear the storm before it arrives."
Tarema exhaled, gazing at the rippling water. "There is something else. The king's general, Ebikade, has begun hunting our sympathizers. Anyone caught aiding us is executed."
Seiowei's jaw clenched. Ebikade had always been a brutal man, loyal to power above all else. "Then we cannot wait much longer," Seiowei said. "We must strike before the king wipes out our support."
Tarema nodded. "I will spread the word. We move soon."
As the final night before their assault arrived, Seiowei stood at the edge of the camp, watching the storm clouds roll in. Thunder rumbled in the distance, a deep, ominous growl that echoed across the land.
It was fitting. A storm was gathering, both in the sky and in the hearts of men. And by dawn, Ama-Ogbo would never be the same.
The time had come.
Seiowei, his warriors at his back, emerged from the jungle just as the first drops of rain began to fall. The city walls loomed ahead, their defenses prepared for an attack. But the king had prepared for the wrong kind of war.
Seiowei raised his hand, signaling his men. The storm had arrived.