Morning came without thunder.But Kike woke as if called.Not by sound.Not by fear.But by something deeper—something she had carried for twenty years.She sat up slowly, her fingers instinctively finding the red ribbon tied around her wrist. It had faded with time, but not with meaning.“He’s here,” she whispered.She didn’t question it anymore.She knew.The streets of Egba moved like any other day, but to Kike, everything felt sharpened—like the world was holding its breath.She stepped out with purpose.Not toward the palace.Not toward the market.But toward the place her heart remembered.Omogun stood beneath the same fig tree where he had once sat with Aderonke.The city moved around him, unaware.He held the mask loosely in one hand, the red ribbon tied securely around his wrist.Two worlds.Two truths.Two women.He exhaled slowly.“For the first time,” he murmured, “I do not know what to choose.”Then do not choose yet, Wisdom whispered.Let truth reveal itself, Compassion

Power rarely introduced itself directly.It moved through men.Through titles.Through wealth.Through quiet influence that shaped decisions before they were even made.Aderonke began to understand this the moment she stepped beyond the familiar noise of the market.The house was larger than she expected.Not a palace—but close enough to command respect. Tall gates. Guarded entrance. Clean stone floors that reflected sunlight like polished mirrors.She hesitated at the entrance.“You’re expected,” one of the guards said.Expected.The word settled uneasily in her chest.She stepped inside.Servants moved with quiet efficiency, their eyes lowered, their movements precise. No one spoke unless spoken to. No one lingered.This was not just wealth.It was control.“Welcome.”Chief Afolabi’s voice carried from the inner hall.He emerged moments later, dressed less formally than before—but no less imposing.“I wasn’t sure you would come,” he said.“I said I would consider,” Aderonke replied.

Gold had a way of returning.Not loudly.Not forcefully.But persistently—like a thought that refused to leave.Aderonke stared at the pouch again.It sat where she had left it the night before, untouched on the small wooden table in her room. Morning light slipped through the narrow window and rested on it, making the edges glint faintly.She hadn’t opened it.She didn’t need to.She already knew what it represented.Not wealth.Choice.Outside, the city moved as usual—voices rising, traders calling, life continuing without pause.Inside, her world felt… paused.“Ogun…” she whispered.The name no longer settled the same way.It lingered.Unanswered.She picked up the pouch this time.Weighed it in her palm.Heavy.Certain.Unlike him.A knock came at her door.Firm.Measured.Not familiar.Aderonke stiffened.“Who is it?” she called.“A message,” came the reply. “From Chief Afolabi.”Her grip tightened slightly.“Leave it.”“It must be delivered in person.”She hesitated.Then moved

The market had a rhythm.Morning brought noise.Afternoon brought heat.Evening brought shadows.And shadows… brought truth.Aderonke felt it again.That quiet discomfort beneath normalcy.She stood behind her stall, arranging her goods with careful precision, but her attention was elsewhere—watching the movement of people, the hesitation in voices, the unnatural calm in certain corners.The city was pretending.And it was doing a poor job of it.“Prices have gone up again,” a woman complained nearby.“Taxes,” the seller replied bitterly. “The palace always needs more.”Aderonke said nothing.She had seen more since aligning herself—partially—with Afolabi.More wealth.More comfort.More truth.And what she saw… unsettled her.At the far end of the market, a disturbance broke the fragile rhythm.A young boy—no more than twelve—was dragged forward by two palace enforcers. His clothes were torn, his face bruised, his hands bound tightly behind him.“I didn’t steal!” he cried. “I swear,

The gold was still where she left it.Untouched.Unspent.Unanswered.Aderonke sat beside it as the morning light crept slowly into her room, stretching across the floor until it reached the small pouch that had become heavier than any burden she had ever carried.She stared at it.Not as money.But as a question.Outside, the city was already alive.Voices.Movement.Routine.But inside her, nothing felt normal.She hadn’t slept.Not really.Every time her eyes closed, she saw two things—A mask…And a door closing.A knock came.Soft.Measured.She didn’t respond.The knock came again.“Aderonke.”She froze.She knew that voice.She stood slowly and opened the door.Omogun stood there.No mask.No storm.Just Ogun.But somehow… more distant than ever.“You shouldn’t be here,” she said quietly.“I know.”“Then why are you?”He didn’t answer immediately.Because there was no answer that would change anything.“I came to see if you were alright,” he said finally.“I am.”The response w