AYÀNDÁ – THE CHILD OF DESTINATION

Written by SpecialMide

The room was almost pitch-black — the kind of darkness that hides intentions. Only the faint red glow from a digital clock revealed that the night was far from over.

A shadowy figure stood near a window, phone pressed to his ear, voice lowered like he feared the walls were listening.

“Ẹ rò pé ẹ ti pa ìròyìn mọ́… shey?” he asked.

A deeper voice responded from the other end, distorted and impatient.

“We kept our end. But the boy—he’s not supposed to be alive.”

Silence.

The man’s jaw tightened. “Well… he is. And from what I heard, he’s no longer alone in that forgotten village.”

The other voice scoffed. “Then handle it.”

The man chuckled — short, bitter. “It’s not that simple. Gbadebo is moving again.”

The voice paused. “So what will you do?”

The man didn’t answer immediately. He stared into the darkness, eyes burning with something between fear and ambition.

“I’ll keep watching,” he finally whispered. “He won’t outrun blood.”

The call ended.

He slipped the phone into his pocket, straightened his jacket, and walked out — footsteps light, rehearsed, careful.

Some secrets weren’t meant to echo.

---

Inside the mansion, everything looked expensive and quiet — too quiet, like money had paid noise to disappear. Hidden lights glowed from the floor edges, giving the hallway a golden path to the living room.

In the sitting room, Gbadebo lounged on a leather sofa, posture relaxed but eyes alert. A big flat-screen silently displayed evening news — headlines rolling about political unrest, stock prices, foreign investments — things only men with power cared about.

He didn’t look away from the screen as he lifted a crystal glass, swirling the dark, aged whisky before taking a slow sip. His fingers tapped the side of his phone — not nervously, but rhythmically, calculated.

He heard footsteps long before they reached the door.

“So you’re still awake,” a familiar voice said, smooth like someone who practiced sounding harmless.

Gbadebo finally looked up.

His younger brother stepped into the room, wearing a smirk that never trusted itself — dressed casually, hands in pockets, like he had nothing to hide… which usually meant he did.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Gbadebo replied, tone unreadable.

The brother laughed lightly, heading toward the mini-bar without asking for permission. “Night like this? Nobody sleeps.” He poured himself a drink, lifted it toward Gbadebo. “To unpredictable times.”

Gbadebo raised his glass slightly, but didn’t drink.

“That’s not why you’re here,” he said.

The brother smiled wider. “Ah ah, must I have a reason to visit my own brother?”

Gbadebo didn’t blink. “Yes.”

The room swallowed the silence that followed.

The brother sat across from him, crossing his legs casually. “I heard you’ve been busy lately… moving money, making calls, canceling meetings. Even the board is whispering.”

Gbadebo shrugged. “Whispers are what small minds do.”

The brother chuckled softly. “True. But they usually whisper when something big is coming.”

Gbadebo leaned back, eyes locked on him, studying. “Who told you something is coming?”

“Who told you something is coming?” the brother shot back, amused.

They stared at each other — same blood, same upbringing, different destinies.

Finally, Gbadebo spoke again. “If you have something to say, say it.”

“Oh, I don’t,” his brother said, sipping his drink. “I just like… observing.”

Gbadebo smiled — just a twitch. “You’ve always been good at watching other people’s battles.”

“And you’ve always been good at starting them,” his brother replied, voice light, words heavy.

A soft, distant thunder rumbled outside, though the sky was clear. The air shifted — tension gaining teeth.

Gbadebo slowly picked up the remote and muted the TV. The silence was now louder.

“Did you come here to warn me,” he asked, “or to test me?”

His brother rested his chin on his hand. “Maybe both.”

Gbadebo’s eyes narrowed slightly — a movement only someone who knew him well would notice.

“You’re hiding something,” the brother continued, playful but sharp. “I feel it. And when you hide things, Gbadebo… the world shakes.”

Gbadebo didn’t deny it.

“Should I be afraid?” the brother teased.

“No,” Gbadebo said calmly. “Only enemies should be afraid.”

The brother’s smile finally faltered — just a crack.

“Is that a message?” he asked quietly.

“No,” Gbadebo replied. “It’s a reminder.”

Lightning flashed somewhere far away, painting the windows white for a split second.

The brother stood. “Well… it’s late. I should let you return to whatever you weren’t doing.”

Gbadebo didn’t rise, didn’t respond — just watched him place the empty glass on the table.

“You know,” his brother added at the doorway, “someday, your secrets will cost more than your silence can pay.”

Gbadebo answered without looking at him. “And someday, yours will reveal why you’re really here tonight.”

The brother paused — then smirked again, almost proudly — and left.

The door clicked shut.

Gbadebo sat still for a moment, eyes fixed on the untouched news headlines.

Then he exhaled slowly — not afraid, not angry — calculating.

Many people feared darkness.

Gbadebo feared what moved inside it.

And now… one of those things shared his last name.