Obiagheli sat close to her mother's hut, her back resting against the mud wall as she peeled yam into a shallow wooden bowl.
The peels fell in steady rhythms, thump after thump,
The rhythm should have been normal.
It always had been.
But today, it felt… wrong.
To ugomma ears who is reaching close .
The sound did not settle into the air the way it used to.
It carried too far—stretching beyond the compound, as if something unseen was listening… counting.
Obiagheli paused mid-cut.
Around the compound, her younger brothers and sisters chased one another barefoot, their laughter uneven, interrupted by whispers they thought the adults couldn't hear.
"The divine flames went out." "All the shrines." "My father said the gods are angry."
Even the children's voice felt thinner to her .
Not gone—but strained, like it was forcing itself to exist.
She glanced toward the shrine path in the distance.
No smoke.
No chants.
Nothing.
Obiagheli continues to prepare what would soon become utara—pounded yam meant for the evening meal.
Obiagheli finished peeling, wiped her hands against her wrapper, and carried the bowl of peels toward the goat pen.
That was when she saw Ugomma who's just at the entrance observing all the horror .
Her steps were slow.
Careful.
Like someone afraid the ground might betray her.
"Ugoo, my baby," Obiagheli called out warmly.
Ugomma nodded in response and forced a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.
"Is everything alright, or alleft ?" Obiagheli joked lightly.
She'd been learning sarcasm from Udonkanka.
Ugomma leaned close as Obiagheli tipped the peels into the pen.
"Finish feeding the goats and meet me," she whispered.
Something was wrong.
Obiagheli could hear it in her voice.
Ugomma turned toward Obiagheli's room.
On the way, she greeted Obiagheli's father, who responded absentmindedly, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
Obiagheli abandoned the goats and meets her.
"What's happening?" she asked quietly.
She sighs and take a deep breath .
Obiagheli held her hand and nods .
"Yesterday… when I was with Ojadili," Ugomma began, her hands gesturing awkwardly, embarrassed and afraid at the same time.
Obiagheli frowned. "That's normal."
"Let me land," Ugomma said quickly. "Before he released…
Obiagheli waited for her to laugh it off.
She didn't.
"His eyes turned white. It wasn't just his eyes," Ugomma continued, voice lower now.
"It was everything around him."
Her fingers tightened around her wrapper.
"The air changed. Like the room became too small for what was inside it.
"Like something else was looking out through him."
I saw sparks. Thunder—inside the room."
Obiagheli said nothing.
"I thought maybe I imagined it," Ugomma said quickly. "But I didn't. I know I didn't."
She looked up.
A pause.
"And for a moment…"
She hesitated.
Obiagheli froze.
"What? How possible? Only gods...'
"Yes. But he told me earlier—about the gods. About Amadioha. That he was selected to be a vessel that contains thier power" Ugomma's voice cracked.
"What touched him… it's... not finished.
She swallowed.
"What if the shadows come for all of us next time? Or worse—what if the gods do?"
Obiagheli exhaled sharply.
"All of us? No. Udonkanka and I are normal.
We've been together many nights—nothing strange. He even made me love the smell of palm wine."
She paused, then looked up and saw Ugomma's face.
Understanding replaced humor.
"Oh… I'm sorry." She moved closer.
"You're normal too. But Ojadili—coming back from the dead—he must be carrying things we don't understand."
She wrapped her arms around Ugomma.
"I'm sorry you're going through this."
Ugomma nodded against her shoulder as she places her head on Obiagheli laps.
"Should I distance myself from him?" Ugomma asked softly.
Obiagheli opened her mouth to answer — then stopped.
For a moment, the sounds of the compound crept in.
Life went on, unaware of what Ugomma was carrying.
"If I'm being honest," Obiagheli said finally, slower now,
"I don't know what the right answer is."
Ugomma's fingers tightened .
Ugomma looked away.
The answer should have been simple.
Stay—or leave.
But nothing about Ojadili was simple anymore.
Loving him now felt like standing at the edge of something she could not see the bottom of.
And worse—
she wasn't sure if she was afraid of falling…
or afraid that she already had.
"That's what scares me,"Ugomma said .
"Not him. The not knowing."
She hesitated.
"It's not like—"
Obiagheli interrupts and nods.
"If I'm to be honest ... I think this is the time he needs you the most ."
Ugomma looks up to her
" Yes . Try to put him in your shoes , though the gender swap might be rough and he won't admit it but he needs you "
Ugomma nodded exhausted on the next step to take , she leaned against her lap oncemore like a child.
THE HEAVENLY REALM
Chi appeared alone.
The thrones of the gods stood empty, their absence louder than any gathering. Chi's expression was heavy, his thoughts restless.
Had he done the right thing?
If he were human—if he were Ojadili—he knew he would have reacted the same way. Perhaps worse.
He considered apologizing.
Then dismissed it.
Gods does not apologize.
With a wave of his hand, the heavenly thrones pulled together, reshaping themselves into a massive sofa with a resting platform.
Chi collapsed into it, staring at nothing.
"When the right time comes," he murmured, "those meant to be together will be."
Even if the path to it burned everything else first.
Far below, thunder rolled — not loud enough to be heard, but loud enough to be felt.
Chi closed his eyes.
Some choices echo longer than gods expect.
EARTH
Udonkanka and Ojadili trained beneath the open sky.
Udonkanka sprinted forward, planted one foot on a stone, and launched into a backflip—apama. Momentum carried him into a second rotation.
As he lands he pick up the spear .
Udonkanka held it there for a second longer than necessary.
Not to show off.
To steady himself.
There was a time his hands would have shaken before the throw even began.
He throws.
The spear struck wood.
This time, it held.
"You're becoming a pro."
"It wouldn't be possible without learning from a legend," Udonkanka replied.
Ojadili shook his head.
"I'm not."
Then, quieter:
"Let's end here for today."
They shook hands and turned to leave.
"Odonk—wait," Ojadili called.
Udonkanka turned back.
"Sorry for the stress," Ojadili said.
"It's nothing. Why call me back?"
"The Chief Priest," Ojadili said.
"The one who threatened you?"
"Yes. He's been calling me—to his shrine. Through dreams. Visions. Signs."
"Weird signs?"
"When I woke up this morning, his nzu mark was beside my bed. A sign telling me to meet him."
Udonkanka inhaled slowly.
"Considering how he operates…I advise , go with someone.
Doesn't have to be me."
"That's fair," Ojadili nodded. "I'll go tomorrow."
"Good. See you then."
They parted.
SHRINE.
"If I cannot bring him to the shrine," he said, gripping his staff, "then I will bring the shrine to him."
That night, the air smelled wrong — like rain that never came.
Somewhere in the dark, a shrine bell rang once.
That night, the Chief Priest began his ritual.
The shrine reeked of blood and decay. White cocks blood stained the earth, splashed across the idols of Ikenga and Ojukwu. He danced, chanted, praised, cursed.
His feet did not follow a human rhythm.
They struck the ground too precisely—like something guided them from beneath.
The blood around the shrine did not soak into the earth.
It clung.
Thickening.
Darkening.
The idols watched.
Not the carved stone or woods.
Their shadows shifted against the firelight, bending in directions no flame could produce.
The Chief Priest did not notice.
Or perhaps—
he did.
And chose not to stop.
The Chief priests.
The idols did not remain still.
Their shadows shifted—out of rhythm with his movements.
His aim was to take away Ojadili's power.
When the ritual reached its peak, he blew cursed nzu powder into the air.
"Your godly power will be taken from you," he declared.
He smiled—ignorant of what godly power truly was.
Ojadili slept.
The charms found him anyway.
The shadows returned.
They pinned him to the ground, forcing him to his knees. One sank its fangs into his side.
Blood spilled.
They pressed him down slowly—forcing him to feel every second of helplessness.
His arms refused to move.
His breath shortened.
Another moved to finish him.
The shadows aim this time is to kill him.
As they picked up the sword hanged in his bedroom to stab him .
That moment .
That second .
His power exploded.
It did not explode outward.
It tore its way out of him.
Lightning blasted from his body.
Thunder tore the sky apart.
Ojadili jerked awake, breath ragged.
It had been a dream.
But the lightening emerging from his body was real.
The blast did not just destroy his hut.
It tore through huts—splitting wood, collapsing roofs, erasing walls like they had never stood.
All those inside where levelled.
When the thunder faded—
screams remained.
And bodies.
The smell came first.
Burnt earth.
Smoked wood.
And something else—
something human.
The survivors did not scream immediately.
Shock held them in place.
Eyes wide.
Breathing uneven.
Then the realization came.
And with it—
the noise.
It spread through the village like wild fire .
The village woke in terror.
By morning, the elders gathered. Ojadili was bound and held in the sacred house.
The debate lasted hours.
The verdict was already decided.
"Ojadili has insulted Amadioha," the Chief Priest announced.
"Despite being brought back to life."
The villagers screamed.
"That is why the gods were angry and manifested it through him."
Silence followed.
"Ojadili is banished from the land," the Chief Priest continued.
"Anyone who helps him will be bound and thrown into the Evil Forest.
"This is mercy," the Chief Priest said softly.
No one spoke.
"With the rules of banishment," the Chief Priest concluded, "let tradition hold."
He turned and left.
Ojadili stood alone.
As the elders dispersed, Ojadili felt it again.
Not thunder.
Something older.
The shadows did not retreat with the village.
They waited — beyond the boundary stones.
They did not move closer.
They did not retreat.
Patience.
That was new.
As if they no longer needed to chase him.
As if something had already begun…