The air in Ama-Ogbo was thick with dread. Ever since Seiowei's brutal coup, the kingdom had become a husk of its former self. The streets, once filled with traders and children's laughter, were now eerily silent. Fear gripped the hearts of the people, turning them into ghosts of their former selves. Nobody spoke of the fallen king, Amananaowei, not aloud. Nobody whispered of the heir who had vanished into the shadows of the creeks. To do so was to invite death.
The elders who once guided the kingdom had been slain, their blood staining the great council hall. The warriors who had dared to resist had been executed in the village square, their heads displayed on spikes as a warning. Those who remained kept their eyes low and their voices hushed. Silence was their only armor.
Seiowei ruled with an iron fist, his decrees swift and merciless. Dissent was not tolerated. Informants lurked in every corner, waiting to report even the slightest hint of defiance. A misplaced word, a longing glance at the abandoned palace, a murmured prayer for the old king, any of these could lead to a brutal death.
Yet, beneath the surface, rebellion brewed. The silence of the people was not one of submission, but one of planning. Hidden among the fishermen, the traders, the weavers, among those who seemed broken and resigned, were those who would one day strike back. But they had to wait. The time was not yet right.
Seiowei's paranoia grew with each passing day. He knew the silence of the people was unnatural. He saw the way they averted their gazes, the way they bowed too quickly, the way they shuffled their feet in his presence. He could feel their hatred, their suppressed rage. And so, he struck first.
One evening, under a blood-red sunset, Seiowei summoned the people to the square. His guards, clad in dark armor, surrounded the gathering, their spears gleaming in the dying light. The people came, their faces expressionless, their hands clenched into fists beneath their robes.
"I have been merciful," Seiowei's voice rang out, cold and sharp. "I have allowed you to live under my rule, to breathe the air of this kingdom. But I see your ungrateful hearts. I hear your whispers in the night. I feel your treachery."
A murmur rippled through the crowd, quickly silenced by the sound of steel being unsheathed. The guards stood ready.
"From this day forward, anyone caught speaking against me, anyone who dares to dream of rebellion, will meet a fate worse than death." Seiowei's gaze swept across the crowd. "But I will not punish you blindly. No, I will make an example of one among you."
He turned to his commander and nodded. The guards dragged a man forward, a fisherman, known for his kindness, for his quiet strength. The crowd held their breath. They knew him. He had done nothing wrong. But that did not matter.
Seiowei unsheathed his sword and, in a single swift motion, sliced the man's throat. A gasp rippled through the crowd. Blood pooled at their feet. A woman stifled a sob. A child clung to his mother, eyes wide with horror. But nobody spoke. Nobody cried out. The silence remained unbroken.
Seiowei's smile was cruel. "This is what awaits traitors." He turned on his heel and disappeared into the palace, leaving the body behind as a reminder. The people dispersed slowly, their silence heavier than ever.
That night, in the dark corners of the kingdom, whispers finally broke the quiet. Not of fear, but of vengeance. The people's silence had spoken, and its answer was war.