Ayàndá – The Child of Destiny

Written by SpecialMide

Aragbanla revealed itself slowly at the end of the dusty footpath — small, noisy, familiar. Smoke curled from cooking fires, market women argued over pepper, and goats chased each other like they owned the village.

But the moment Ayàndá stepped into the square, everything froze.

Mortars paused mid-pound.

Voices dropped.

Eyes widened.

“AYÀNDÁ TI PADÀ WÁ O!”

Whispers erupted around him like flames catching dry grass.

“Ó dà bí ẹni tí ogun kọjá lórí rẹ.”

“Ṣùgbọ́n wo oju rẹ… ó yá ní jinlẹ̀.”

“Ó tún mú ikòkò wòran…”

“Ọjọ́ ayanmọ̀ dé o.”

Ayàndá ignored the murmuring. The forest had hardened something inside him — sharpened his mind, tightened his chest, steadied his spirit. He walked deeper into the village, past the wells, past the laughing children who now watched him with awe.

And then he heard her.

“Welcome back… Ajani-ọkàn.”

Ayàndá stopped.

He didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

Adùkẹ́.

She stood by a tray of firewood, arms folded, eyes glittering with that familiar stubborn spark. She had grown — softer in her cheeks, stronger in her stance, dangerous in the confidence she carried like a second skin.

He turned slowly.

“A–Adùkẹ́.”

She circled him like a curious cat inspecting a missing warrior.

“So you left without telling anybody, got swallowed by the forest, fought who-knows-what, and now you’re walking around like a prince who lost his palace?”

Ayàndá tried to smile.

“I had things to handle.”

She raised a brow. “Hmm. You look… different.”

“How?”

She stepped closer.

“You’re calmer. Your eyes look like someone who saw something nobody else should see… and survived it.”

Before Ayàndá could answer, three village boys approached — the same ones who always looked for trouble.

“Adùkẹ́ leave am jare,” Rọ́láńpé scoffed. “Na forming he dey form because you dey here.”

The boys laughed loudly.

Ayàndá remained perfectly still.

Normally, he’d react.

Today… he didn’t even blink.

The boys got closer.

“Ayàndá, forest dey shake you? Or your head fall—”

He stepped forward gently.

The boys froze mid-insult.

The calm in his eyes was colder than anger.

Older than fear.

“No need to check anything,” Ayàndá said quietly. “I didn’t lose my mind.”

He tapped his chest.

“I found it.”

The boys scattered instantly.

Adùkẹ́ watched him, amused… and curious.

“Well, well,” she said. “You went into the forest as Ayàndá… but you came back as someone else.”

“A person can change,” he replied.

She held his gaze a moment longer, then her expression softened.

“You’re still you. But there’s something heavy in your eyes. Something you’re hiding.”

Ayàndá looked away.

“I… need to see Alábá.”

That wiped the smile off her face.

“Ayàndá… is everything okay?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I will.”

She touched his arm lightly.

“Go. But don’t disappear again.”

He nodded and walked toward Alábá’s hut.

But Adùkẹ́ didn’t move.

Something in the wind whispered against her ear—

“Ìwọ náà wà ní àárín ayé tí kò hàn…”

She spun around.

No one was there.

Her hand brushed the beads on her wrist — white, red, golden — the ones she had worn since childhood. And at that moment, a flash hit her mind:

A doorway of light.

A crying baby.

Hands passing the baby through the light.

A voice chanting her name—

“Adùkẹ́, ọmọ Ìmólébírì…”

The vision vanished.

Her breath trembled.

“Why… why does this happen whenever Ayàndá is near?”

She looked toward Alábá’s hut.

“Who exactly are you, Ayàndá?”

Ayàndá reached Alábá’s hut.

The old man was sharpening a cutlass, but when he looked up and saw Ayàndá, the blade slipped from his hand.

“…Ayandá?”

“We need to talk,” Ayàndá said.

Alábá’s eyes darted to the calabash under his arm.

“You… you opened it?”

“It opened itself.”

Fear washed over Alábá like cold water.

“Ha! Ayàndá not yet! You weren’t supposed to—”

“Who am I?” Ayàndá demanded.

Alábá looked away.

“It’s not safe to speak here.”

“Then make it safe.”

After a long silence, Alábá sighed and took him inside.

“You didn’t arrive here on foot,” the old man said slowly. “You were carried.”

Ayàndá stiffened. “Carried by who?”

Alábá swallowed.

“Not man.

Not woman.”

Ayàndá’s chest tightened.

“What do you mean?”

“You fell from the sky, Ayàndá.”

The world went silent.

“You were a baby wrapped in cloth with symbols I didn’t understand. The forest spirits gathered around you… but they didn’t touch you. They were afraid.”

Ayàndá’s breath shook.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because the day you know the truth,” Alábá said, voice trembling, “you stop being safe.”

Ayàndá stepped back, heart pounding.

“And the city I saw? The golden gates? The Gbadebo name?”

“That…” Alábá whispered, “is the life stolen from you.”

Ayàndá’s knees weakened.

Before he could speak, the calabash vibrated violently.

Alábá panicked.

“No… Ayàndá put it down—”

THOOM.

Light shot out.

The hut shook.

The earth trembled.

The calabash rose from Ayàndá’s hands.

“No! It’s too soon!” Alábá cried.

Cracks split the calabash.

Light burst out like a new sun being born.

Ayàndá screamed as the world shattered around him—

And outside the hut, Adùkẹ́ felt a force rip through the village.

Her beads glowed.