She raised her son in the forest’s edge, in a small clay house surrounded by thick bush and silence, the house was given to her by the village chief. She became a farmer, teaching her son how to till the soil, make ridges, trap bush rats, and grind vegetables over stone bowl. She named him Achadu - a name to remind him of royalty,even if no crown would ever sit on his head. As he grew, the boy became strong. He had his father’s shoulders and his mother’s sharp cheekbones. His skin was dark caramel, his hair coiled tight. And his eyes - though brown like most - held a distant sadness beyond his years. But fate, cruel as ever, did not let joy linger. At eighteen, after returning from a hunting expedition, he found his mother collapsed in their backyard, coughing blood. Her skin turned pale. Within a week, she was gone. He buried her himself - no priest, no chants, no mourners. Just him alone.“Mother”, he screamed by her grave, “Why did the gods take you away from me?, why did you

In the quiet outskirts of Otukpo, past the streets and the scent of roasting corn, lived a family rooted in tradition and faith. Their modest bungalow stood with pride - a single story structure with fluted pillars painted cream and olive, zinc roofing that hummed in the afternoon heat, and an open veranda where family and friends sometimes gather to feel the peace of nature. Inside that home, Ochekawo, a devout police officer with a commanding voice and soft eyes, lived with his wife Ihotu, a chef who owned a humble yet popular restaurant in the neighborhood. She was warmth personified, her hands always busy with cooking or with healing bruises.Their love was more than a marriage. It was a bond sealed by an agreement to protect the ancient oath of Oloche - a sacred covenant passed down Ochekawo’s bloodline. Together, they defied time and custom, and together they bore two children: Ene, a tall, striking young woman with confident shoulders and a mischievous grin, and Agaba Ngbede

Back in class, Igbe the class clown howled, “here comes the lover boy Agaba, who wished to fight warriors for the hands of Nneka” Laughter rippled round class. Agaba walked straight to his seat as he is used to this things. Then Idibia stood from among his guys and walked towards him. “Agaba, when they told me of your heroic rescue, I never believed it”, he drawled, leaning on his desk, his boys watching them both. “What do you want?”, Agaba asked. “Why fight me, man? Can’t we both be friends”. he threw glances at his gang and his gaze fell back at Agaba. Agaba frowned. “I know, you’re up to something”. “I’m offering peace. We’ve fought for so long you know” Idibia said. Then the form-teacher walked in, and Idibia ended the conversation, “Think about it, man”. After the brief section with the form - teacher, the school bell rang, and as Agaba and Ahmed stormed off the class, they saw Nneka - hugging the same prime boy, she’d once rejected. Agaba’s heart sank.“she’s

Her steps was calm and elegant, and Agaba can’t stop picturing different scenarios in his head of how the proposal is going to sail through.“What if she rejects me?”“What if I’m not good for her?”“What is the worst she can say apart from NO?”“Arghh, I should just give up, she might have seen or heard of my past records with bullies”“Should I quit?”All these thoughts slowed him down.“All this are crap, Idibia is right! She will definitely have something for me”The alley was a bit crowded with students standing in cliques, while some moved in and out of the school complexes. The stair way that lead to the top of the building appeared some few meters away, while, Agaba walked fast towards her, grabbing her wrist, and attracting her attention as he gets down with his left Knee.Students who saw this, quickly brought out their smart-phones, camera light all went on around, like eyes of judgement watching over.“Nneka”, he began. “I have been…”“Don’t…” Her voice was a whip, a thorn

As Agaba dad’s words faded, Agaba’s pupils constricted, and he began to hover toward the ancient stone. Ochekawo’s eyes widened in horror as he watched his son levitate, his voice trembling as he cried out, “Agaba, Agaba!”Agaba’s bewildered response hung in the air. “Dad, what’s going on?” Ochekawo’s reply was laced with desperation: “I… I don’t know!”The air was electric with anticipation as the rock cracked, unleashing a fiery blaze of purple light. Agaba’s body went limp, and he hovered above the Echur, now shattered and broken into eight fragments, the contact lenses meant to keep the unique octagramic eyes of the Achadu family fell off from his eyes, as his pulpils glow purple, and the octagram in his pulpils became very visible. The sound of snapping bones and the sight of tearing flesh sent a chill down Ochekawo’s spine, and he was consumed by regret for bringing Agaba to this place.As he gazed upon his son’s broken form, a vision seized Ochekawo, transporting him to a rea