The palace celebration had ended, but echoes of the journey lived on in the hearts of those who walked it.
At dawn, Uzoaru stood at the threshold of her mother's compound, the weight of the crown replaced by a simple wrapper and bare feet. Children ran past her, pointing and whispering, "That's her! The queen that touched the spirits!"
But to Uzoaru, home had not changed.
Her mother, Mama Nkechi, stood at the doorway, eyes moist with pride.
"You left a girl," she said. "You've returned something deeper. Not just queen. But woman."
Uzoaru dropped her bag and hugged her tightly, burying her face in the scent of roasted cassava and camwood.
Inside, the compound was warm and alive. Neighbors came with gifts of kolanut, palm oil, and song. Women sat around the courtyard, asking her to retell the story of the river crossing, of the spirit tests, of how she had faced danger alone.
But Uzoaru often fell quiet.
"The journey is not one of boasting," she said gently. "The forest changed us. It peeled away pride and left truth."
That same morning, miles away in another part of Abiriba, Nwanne returned to her own home—not as the chosen, but not defeated either.
Her father sat under the mango tree, sharpening a small hoe, eyes lowered. Her mother was nowhere in sight, still smarting from the scandal of her daughter's dealings with the dark seer.
Nwanne walked in slowly, her coral beads now replaced with plain earrings.
"I'm home," she said.
Her father looked up, measured her, then set the hoe down.
"You returned," he said, not unkindly. "That means the journey did not eat you. Good."
Nwanne nodded. "I came back with more than I left with."
He motioned to a stool. She sat, and the silence between them held an understanding.
She spent the next few days away from crowds, helping in the family's dye pit, her fingers stained blue with indigo and effort. Young girls would pass by and whisper, "That's the one who tried to marry the prince." But Nwanne never flinched.
She had touched the edge of greatness and fallen—but in the fall, she had found herself.
Later that week, an old widow from across the stream came to her.
"I heard you stood with the other maiden," the woman said. "Even when the spirits tested both of you."
"We had no choice," Nwanne replied.
The widow smiled. "You always have choice. And you chose well."
That night, Nwanne sat outside under the stars, combing her hair slowly, gently, no longer in a rush to impress or conquer.
The journey was over.
But who they had become would echo for a lifetime.