Part 1: Who Shall Lead?
The morning sun rose gently over Amogudu, casting golden light across neat rows of yam ridges and the freshly swept courtyard of the new meeting square. There was no chaos, no shouting — only the rhythm of a village in motion. Calm, steady, growing.
But beneath that peace stirred a rising question.
"We are no longer just a village," Elder Okenyi said, leaning forward in the council hut. "We are a voice among many. A center of trade. A shelter to others. And we answer to… whom?"
Ebitu was not present. He rarely came to such gatherings anymore, preferring to remain in the background, offering guidance when asked but never imposing it.
But the people had begun speaking louder now.
At the cloth-dyeing pits, women asked, "Will Uzuma marry a prince from Uzuakoli?"At the granary, the traders whispered, "When will we have our own seal of governance?"At the shrine, the priests wondered, "Shall we offer prayers to a throne… or a man who avoids it?"
That evening, under the ogilisi tree, Elder Urum called a general assembly. Torches flickered as villagers from Amogudu and even nearby settlements gathered, sitting cross-legged in the red earth.
When Kalu stood to speak, many leaned in. He had become a respected voice — young but wise beyond his years.
"We live in a place that used to be forgotten. Now, people bring their burdens to us. They bring their sons to learn. Their daughters to trade. They ask us for leadership."
He paused.
"But how can we lead them… if we do not name a leader for ourselves?"
A silence followed, thick with weight.
Then a voice from the crowd called out:
"What of Ebitu?"
Another joined in:
"He built this place.""He feeds us.""He taught us to think."
Later that night, in the quiet of the old farmland, Uzuma found her father near the new irrigation ditch, inspecting rows of cassava by moonlight.
"They want you to lead them — truly lead," she said softly.
Ebitu kept his eyes on the soil.
"I've led enough," he replied. "And I lost more than a crown."
"But now they follow you freely," she said. "No council forced them. No drums called them. They came because they believe."
He looked at her then — and for the first time in many moons, his eyes held something more than caution. They held grief. And hope.
"If I lead them again," he said slowly, "it must not be as the king I once was. It must be as the man they made me."
Uzuma nodded. "Then lead as the soil does. Quietly. But fully."
The next day, the council and villagers gathered to make the matter official. No coronation. No crown. Just a declaration written in carved wood and signed with the blood of elders.
"Let this land answer to Ebitu, son of Eluoma, now of Amogudu.Not as king, but as Keeper of the Land, guide of peace, and builder of truth."
And as the villagers clapped their hands and raised their heads, news of the decision began to spread — beyond Amogudu, beyond Ugwueke, even reaching the borders of Eluoma.
Just as the delegation from Ezikpe's court began its journey down the quiet road.