From the story: Ayàndá – The Child of Destiny

Written by SpecialMide

Ayàndá woke before dawn, heart beating like someone running from a dream he couldn’t fully remember. The hut was quiet, but a strange pressure sat on his chest — the kind that tells you something is coming, whether you’re ready or not.

He sat up, rubbing his face. The memory of the spirit realm still lingered in the corners of his mind — the shaking ground, the giant shadows, the voice that said:

“Two truths will meet you soon…”

He exhaled slowly.

“Ki ni gbogbo eleyi tumọ si?”

But no answer came.

Before he could stand, the door pushed open and Aduké rushed in, breathless.

“Ayàndá!”

Her voice was urgent but bright as always. “You need to come outside. There’s wahala. The whole village is talking.”

Ayàndá frowned. “Wahala again? Early morning?”

Aduké nodded fast, hair bouncing.

“Hmm! Someone arrived before sunrise. A stranger. But not ordinary at all. And he said he must speak with you.”

Ayàndá blinked, confused. “Me?”

Aduké pulled his wrist. “Yes now! Before people start concluding nonsense.”

As they walked, the village was already alive with whispers. Elderly women peeked from behind raffia mats. Children ran barefoot, pointing at Ayàndá like he was part of a story unfolding in real time.

Some teenage boys teased Aduké loudly:

“Àbí Ayàndá ti lóyún ẹ ni?”

Aduké hissed with embarrassment and walked faster, cheeks warm.

Ayàndá almost smiled — her drama always cut through tension.

When they reached the village square, everything fell quiet. The fire in the center crackled softly. Old men leaned on their walking sticks, watching with wide eyes.

Standing in the middle of the square…

was a man with his back turned.

Ayàndá stopped. Something about the posture, the silence around him — familiar, yet heavy.

Aduké whispered, “That’s the person who asked for you.”

Ayàndá stepped closer.

The man slowly turned.

Ayàndá froze.

“Alábà…”

His voice cracked between shock and confusion.

Alábà looked older than Ayàndá remembered — beard fuller, shoulders hardened by journeys, and eyes carrying stories he hadn’t spoken aloud.

“My son,” Alábà said quietly, “we need to talk.”

Ayàndá swallowed hard. “Why are you here? And why now?”

Alábà didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked around the village like he was searching for danger hiding in shadows.

“I didn’t come alone,” he finally said.

Before Ayàndá could ask more, a low rumble echoed across the trees — like thunder rolling underground.

Villagers gasped.

Another rumble.

Then the sound of heavy footsteps.

Aduké grabbed Ayàndá’s hand instinctively.

From the forest edge, four giant silhouettes emerged, each one radiating ancient power that made the air vibrate. Their forms shifted with smoke and light, like beings that existed between realms.

One old woman screamed and ran into her hut.

A young boy fainted on the spot.

Even the village warriors held their spears tighter.

Alábà stepped forward slowly.

His voice carried a painful truth:

“Ayàndá… these beings have been searching for you since the day you were born. They have finally found you.”

Ayàndá’s breath caught as the ground trembled slightly.

Two truths.

Two arrivals.

Two paths waiting.

And destiny… was no longer knocking.

It had entered the village.