Episode 6: ÌJÀ ÀNÍMỌ́ (The Battle Within)

Written by Specialmide

The night air was thick — a mix of blood, sweat, and the iron scent of fear. Flames licked the edge of Aragbanla Village as screams echoed into the forest. The gang from the city — Fori Fogo, Ekun Meji, Emi Kan, and their men — had come not to steal, but to capture.

Ayàndá stood in the middle of the chaos, chest heaving, spear in one hand, blood dripping from his lip. The moonlight carved a silver glow on his face, revealing a mix of rage and exhaustion.

“Where’s the boy?” Fori Fogo barked, swinging his machete.

Ayàndá smirked faintly. “You’re looking at him.”

For a heartbeat, the world froze. Then — clash.

The fight was a storm. Ayàndá moved like a shadow, dodging, countering, striking with precision that belied his youth. The men fell one after another, but their numbers were endless. Spears shattered, fists flew, blades cut through flesh and flame.

He wasn’t fighting to win. He was fighting to survive.

A sudden kick slammed into his ribs — Ekun Meji. The man laughed, his gold teeth flashing. “You fight well, bush boy. Shame you won’t live long enough to learn why we want you.”

Ayàndá spat blood and swung his broken spear, slicing across Ekun’s face. “Then die without saying it.”

But before he could strike again, a gunshot cracked the night. The sound was foreign — sharp, final. Ayàndá froze. His body went cold. He looked down and saw the wound bloom red across his side.

He stumbled back, vision blurring. The world tilted. The fire roared higher, faces fading into smoke.

Somewhere in the distance, he heard Fori Fogo shout, “Leave him! The job’s done. If he lives, destiny will kill him itself.”

Then — silence.

Ayàndá fell to his knees, the spear slipping from his hand. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, heavy and uneven. He tried to crawl, his fingers digging into the dirt, dragging himself toward the river’s glow beyond the burning trees.

Each movement was pain. Each breath was fire. But he refused to die.

“Baba Àlàbá…” he muttered weakly. “I tried…”

His vision flickered. Just before the darkness swallowed him, he saw a shape — a woman’s silhouette kneeling beside him, her eyes glowing faintly in the night.

A whisper reached him — soft, like wind through palm leaves.

“Sleep now, Ayàndá… the journey hasn’t ended.”

Then everything went black.

The moon hid behind the clouds, and the forest went silent — as if even the night itself was holding its breath.