Ayàndá – The Child of Destiny

Written by SpecialMide

The night after the raid was heavy. The forest still smelled of gunpowder and burning leaves. Somewhere deep in the trees, Ayàndá sat by a small fire — his spear beside him, his clothes torn, his eyes lost in flame.

He could still hear the echo of Alaba’s voice. “Go, boy! Run!” The words cut through him sharper than any bullet. The old man’s fate was unknown — maybe captured, maybe worse. But Ayàndá had no tears left. He only had rage.

He clenched his fist. The glowing mark on his wrist pulsed again, like something alive beneath his skin. Each throb sent a wave of heat through his body, whispering strange words into his mind — in an ancient tongue he didn’t understand.

“Ẹ̀jẹ̀ ń sọ̀rọ̀…” he muttered unconsciously. The blood speaks.

Then, a voice from the dark: “And it remembers.”

Ayàndá turned instantly, spear drawn. A figure emerged from the shadows — a woman, tall, cloaked in flowing white cloth, beads rattling softly as she walked closer. Her presence felt unreal, like the air bent around her.

“Who are you?” Ayàndá demanded.

“I am the keeper of your blood,” she said calmly. “You may call me Yèyé Ọ̀ṣunmí, guardian of your mother’s covenant.”

The name struck him like thunder. “You knew my mother?”

“Knew her?” The woman smiled faintly. “I served her. I watched her defy kings and councils. I watched her hide you when the hunters came. And I watched her die for what you now carry.”

Ayàndá’s heart pounded. “What do I carry?”

She stepped closer, her voice soft but piercing. “The blood of the royal serpent — the lineage that once ruled the city before the council took power. The council fears that blood, because it cannot be controlled.”

Ayàndá swallowed hard, staring at the fire. “So that’s why they came. To end what she started.”

The guardian nodded. “And now, you must choose — to hide like she did, or to rise like she never could.”

Before Ayàndá could answer, the earth beneath them trembled — distant explosions rolled through the forest, followed by gunfire. Yèyé Ọ̀ṣunmí turned toward the sound, her expression sharp.

“They’ve found you again. The city dogs never sleep.”

Ayàndá stood, gripping his spear. “Then let them come.”

She raised her hand and whispered something ancient. The fire blew out — replaced by a golden glow that rose from Ayàndá’s wrist, spreading across his arms like veins of light. The mark flared brighter, and the ground responded.

The trees bent. The wind howled. The river roared.

“Your power is not theirs to control,” Yèyé said, voice echoing like thunder. “It is the land’s — and you are its heir.”

Then she vanished into smoke, leaving behind only a faint scent of palm oil and rain.

Ayàndá turned toward the distant sound of war, his eyes glowing gold once more. The night no longer frightened him.

He whispered to himself, “Alaba… I will find you. And I will find them all.”

As the dawn began to break, the forest of Aragbanla fell silent — not out of peace, but respect.

Because something greater than a man had just awakened.