Episode 7: ÌPÌNNÚ ÌRÒRÙN (The Choice of Ease)

Written by Specialmide

Ayàndá woke to the faint scent of herbs and the soft crackle of firewood. The room was dimly lit, shadows of dried leaves and clay pots hanging around. His head throbbed like a drum beaten at a festival, his wounds bound neatly with white cloth. He tried to sit up, but his body screamed in pain.

“Don’t move too much,” a calm voice said.

Ayàndá turned slowly. By the doorway stood a young woman, her face half-covered with a shawl. Her eyes held something strange — wisdom beyond her years, yet heavy with pain. She moved closer, placing a wooden bowl beside him.

“Who are you?” Ayàndá asked, voice rough. “Where am I?”

The girl smiled faintly. “You’re safe… for now. This place, nobody comes here. My name is Tanimọla.”

Ayàndá’s gaze hardened. “You saved me. Why?”

Tanimọla looked away, stirring the herbs in the bowl. “You were lying near the riverbank, close to death. If the forest spirits hadn’t whispered, I wouldn’t have found you.”

He blinked, confused. “Forest spirits?”

She nodded. “Not everything that walks breathes, and not everything that breathes lives. You’ll learn.”

Ayàndá studied her — her calm, her movements. Something about her felt... familiar, as if his destiny had been waiting for her.

Days passed. Tanimọla treated his wounds, fed him, and shared stories of old wars and the fall of kings. She lived alone — or so she claimed. But at night, Ayàndá could hear whispers outside, voices that faded when he tried to listen closer.

One evening, as the moon bled gold through the trees, Tanimọla sat beside him. “You have a fire in you, Ayàndá. But you’re chasing a past that was never yours.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You were not born to be a farmer’s son,” she said softly. “Your bloodline runs deeper than you think. When the men from the city came for you, it wasn’t by mistake.”

Ayàndá’s heart froze. “How do you know about that?”

Tanimọla gave a sad smile. “Because I’ve seen it before. Power always finds its way back to its source. And soon, you’ll have to choose — live in peace as Ayàndá of Aragbanla, or rise as Ayàndá the child of destiny.”

The night fell silent, except for the wind brushing the roof. Ayàndá turned to her, but she had already vanished into the dark, leaving behind only the faint scent of herbs and destiny burning in his chest.

He whispered to himself, “Who exactly am I?”

Outside, the moon watched — bright, cold, and full of secrets.