The air was heavy with silence when Adeola opened his eyes.
That silence wasn't the deathly void he expected—it was calm. Peaceful. The pain in his body still echoed, but it was dulled, numbed by the scent of herbs and the cool, dry touch of cloth bandages wrapped around his chest and shoulders.
He blinked slowly, adjusting to the dim light pouring in from the open bamboo window. The room was circular, thatched with palm leaves and framed by wooden beams. Outside, the chirping of birds and distant clangs of metal-on-metal whispered the rhythms of life in a place he didn't recognize.
A shadow moved by the doorway.
"You're awake," a voice said.
Adeola tried to sit up, wincing as fire shot through his ribs. The figure stepped into view—a tall, broad-shouldered man with grey streaks in his beard and eyes like molten bronze.
"I'm Chief Alade," the man said. "Leader of the rebel legion. You were barely breathing when we found you."
Adeola's voice cracked. "Why did you save me?"
Alade studied him a moment before replying, "Because you were meant to live."
---
Later That Day…
The village of Akinwumi was nestled deep in the jungle—hidden by dense trees, surrounded by natural ridges and creeks. It buzzed with purpose: smiths hammered iron into blades, fighters trained under the rising sun, and children darted through the narrow paths laughing freely—oblivious to the war that loomed beyond the canopy.
Adeola limped behind Chief Alade, trying to keep up as the older man introduced him to the heart of the rebellion.
"These are the ones who have lost everything," Alade said. "But they chose to stand, not kneel."
He motioned toward a group of warriors gathered in a clearing.
"That's Yemi, my son. Disciplined, sharp. Leads one of our strongest squads."
Yemi, lean and intense, nodded as he met Adeola's gaze—cool, assessing. No smile. No welcome.
"Over there's Bayo—prince of the fallen Ibadi Kingdom. Proud, wild, but loyal."
Bayo looked up, gave Adeola a half-nod, then returned to sharpening his blade.
"Moremi—Ondulo's dagger. Smart. Fast. Never misses."
A young woman leaned against a tree, eyes keen as a hawk's. She offered Adeola a faint smirk.
"And those two," Alade gestured to a pair sparring near the fire pit, "Ayomide and Femi. Brothers in arms, though not by blood. Ayomide's calm. Femi's… the opposite."
The final warrior stood apart. Damilola. Silent. Scarred. A shadow made flesh.
Adeola didn't know where he belonged here—but something in his chest stirred, something ancient and hungry.
---
Training Days…
It wasn't easy.
Adeola's body, still healing, protested with every movement. Yemi made no effort to go easy on him. Every jab, block, and parry was met with correction—or punishment.
"You move like a goat in a muddy field," Yemi snapped after one failed attempt at a kick. "Again."
But it wasn't all frustration. In one sparring match, Adeola's instincts took over. For a brief moment, time slowed—he ducked a strike before it landed, countered with perfect precision, and disarmed Femi in a single movement.
The others stared.
Bayo muttered under his breath. "Beginner's luck."
Moremi tilted her head, curious. "Or something else."
That night, she sat beside Adeola by the fire. "Where did you learn to move like that?"
"I… don't know," he said honestly.
"You will," she replied, her voice low. "You'll remember when it matters most."
---
Far Away – Ojora Empire
In the golden halls of the Ojora palace, Tunde knelt before the black-stoned throne.
His father, Emperor Adekunle Ojora, stared down at him in silence. His expression was unreadable, his fingers tapping the carved armrest.
"You failed," the emperor said at last.
"I will correct it—"
"No. You've had your chance."
A third figure stepped into the room—taller than both, with a sword carved from obsidian and a face carved from stone.
"Wale," the emperor said. "I want the rebellion crushed. No more delays."
Wale gave a single nod. "It will be done."
Tunde remained kneeling, fists clenched. His pride cracked, but his ambition did not.
---
Back in Akinwumi…
The dreams started on the fifth night.
Flames licked the sky. Smoke choked the stars. Adeola stood amid a battlefield, but he wasn't alone. A faceless warrior towered above a burning throne—his blade dripping with blood, his eyes hollow.
Adeola woke drenched in sweat.
Later that morning, the village's elder priestess visited Chief Alade.
"There is something ancient in him," she whispered. "I see it when he sleeps. War. Fire. A bloodline not yet claimed."
Alade said nothing, but his eyes lingered on Adeola longer that day.
---
Final Scene – Edge of the Village
The night was quiet. The stars spread wide over the jungle canopy like silver dust on velvet.
Chief Alade stood at the edge of the cliff, hands behind his back, watching the night. Yemi approached, carrying two calabashes of palm wine. He handed one to his father without a word.
Alade took a sip, then said quietly, "The boy has the spirit of a king… but he doesn't know it yet."
Yemi's eyes didn't leave the horizon. "Then we must prepare him… before the empire finds him again."
They stood in silence, two shadows in the dark.
Below them, in the valley of Akinwumi, a storm was beginning to stir—in dreams, in prophecy, and in blood yet to be spilled.
> The Lost King © 2025 by [Your Name].
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