The air in Ama-Ogbo was thick with the scent of rain, though the storm had not yet arrived. Clouds loomed over the kingdom, casting long shadows over the palace walls. The people bustled through the market, their voices mingling in a chaotic melody of commerce and gossip. Yet beneath the hum of daily life, a silent dread festered.
Whispers had begun to spread like wildfire.
Seiowei had returned.
For years, his name had been spoken only in hushed tones, a ghost story meant to warn disloyal hearts. The warrior who had once been exiled for treason, the man who had sworn vengeance upon King Amananaowei, was no longer a myth lurking in the dark. He was real. And he was coming.
Within the palace, Amananaowei sat on his throne, his fingers tightening around the armrest as his advisers spoke in frantic tones.
"My king, the scouts have confirmed it," Chief Azuama reported, his voice trembling. "Seiowei marches with an army."
Amananaowei's jaw clenched. "How many?"
"We cannot say for certain," Azuama admitted. "But they are many. And they are armed."
The king's gaze flickered to General Ebikade, the kingdom's greatest strategist. "How long do we have?"
Ebikade's face was grim. "If he moves swiftly, he will be at our gates within days."
Silence fell over the chamber. The walls, adorned with carvings of past victories, suddenly felt suffocating.
Amananaowei stood. "Then we prepare for war."
Beyond the city walls, Seiowei rode at the head of his army. His armor, darkened by the years of exile, bore the scars of countless battles. But his eyes, his eyes burned with a fire that had never dimmed.
He had spent years in the wilderness, sharpening his blade, biding his time. He had watched the kingdom from the shadows, waiting for the moment to strike. And now, that moment had come.
He pulled his horse to a stop atop a ridge, overlooking the kingdom he had once sworn to protect.
"It is time," he said.
His soldiers, a legion forged from the outcasts and warriors who had longed for his return, let out a thunderous roar.
Tonight, Ama-Ogbo would remember his name.
In the city, Tarebi gripped his spear, his heart pounding. He had trained for war, but nothing could prepare him for this. He watched as the soldiers assembled, as the gates were fortified, as the elders prayed to the gods for protection.
And yet, he knew.
A storm was coming.
And no prayer would stop it.