It's been two weeks since Jide died. Life in Ogbomosho has settled into a brittle, uneasy rhythm — markets still open, children still play in the streets, but the nights have a new edge.
Some wolves, just as Ige predicted, have drifted away from loyalty and quietly switched allegiance; it happens slowly, in whispered promises and gifts left at doorways, in the sudden appearance of new sigils on leather jackets. No one noticed at first. No one noticed, either, that Tolu is not among the pack. For Bode, that absence is a relief he refuses to speak aloud: better that Tolu remain away than be swept into the madness that followed Jide's fall.
With Jide gone, Ajamu's banners have crept into every visible corner of Ogbomosho. His pack doesn't literally own the city, but they control the arteries that matter — markets, junctions, the docks and the main roads — planting watchers, levying tribute, and enforcing curfews by intimidation.
Smaller groups folded or sold their loyalty; a few went quiet or fled. Human institutions either don't see it or are too entangled to act. It reads like domination from the street level:
Ajamu's colors fly highest, his men enforce order, and most folk now move through town as if under the shadow of his rule — a brittle, fear-backed control that could crack the moment someone with enough power or cunning challenges it.
---
Ajamu's mansion
Ajamu sat on a couch, exhausted and angry, with Alamu standing behind him.
"What did you say?" Ajamu asked.
Alamu replied, "We checked all the ancestral tombs again. We didn't find anything."
Ajamu was furious.
Ronke entered; her heels clacked against the marble floor. She turned to Alamu. "Leave us." He bowed and left.
They both stayed quiet for a while. Then Ajamu said, "You know I left this town for a reason. I built a good life for myself in the city and had a large territory. You made me leave it all to come back to this stupid town." He turned to her, his eyes glaring red. "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't chop your head off."
Ronke chuckled. She stretched her arm forward and Ajamu started to choke. She said, "A good reason is you'll be dead before your hand came at me." She dropped her arm, and the pressure on Ajamu's neck was gone as he took big, ragged breaths.
She looked out the window and said, "If ancient power was that easy to find it would be in the hands of every lowly wolf. Now tell them to keep searching." Then she left.
---
Deep in the forest, sunlight filtered weakly through the dense canopy, scattering golden flecks across a small clearing. Three figures stood there — Bode, tall and stern, watched from a stone as Ore and Tolu faced each other in the dust. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and sweat.
Their fists blurred as they moved — Ore's strikes precise and unrelenting, Tolu's defensive, desperate. Each clash echoed through the trees like distant thunder.
"Stop!" Bode's voice cut through the clearing. They froze immediately, breathing hard.
Bode stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "Tolu," he said, tone low and firm, "those punches would get you nowhere."
He crouched, slammed his fist into a nearby rock — crack! — it shattered into pieces. Pebbles skittered across the ground. "That's how you punch," he said, his voice carrying the weight of experience.
He turned to his daughter. "And you, Ore… you're slacking off. You're giving him openings — that won't make him grow, and it won't make you stronger either."
His eyes swept over both of them. "You have to pressure him. Push him until he breaks, then rebuild him stronger. Again."
Without hesitation, they began sparring once more. This time Ore's movements were sharper — ruthless even. Tolu fought for his life, blocking, dodging, taking hits that made his bones crack before they healed again. The sound of fists against flesh echoed like drumbeats of war.
Hours passed before Bode finally raised a hand. "That's enough for the day."
The forest grew quiet except for their ragged breathing. As they walked back through the trees — Bode leading, Ore and Tolu behind — Ore glanced sideways at him.
"You're getting better," she said.
Tolu gave a small, exhausted grin. "Yeah, but not enough. Your punches still hurt like hell."
She smirked. "You'll catch up someday… but for now, you're far behind."
He shot her a stubborn look. "No. I'm gonna catch up to you really soon."
Ore smiled, then leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper.
"I didn't use my full strength."
Tolu froze mid-step, her words sinking in. Ore only smiled wider and walked ahead, her braid swinging behind her as she joined her father.
He sighed — a deep, tired sound that vanished into the forest air — then followed silently as the shadows swallowed his steps.
---
After a while, Ore and her dad got home, the quiet creak of the front door echoing through the modest yet warm living room. They dropped onto the couch, exhaustion written across their faces. Ore let out a long sigh, sinking into the cushions.
"Dad," she began, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "why do you keep telling me to remind him he still has a long way to go?"
Bode leaned back, the faint hum of the ceiling fan filling the pause before his calm reply. "Because he does still have a long way to go. And besides,"—he glanced toward the window, eyes distant—"the faster he becomes powerful, the faster we can rely on his help."
Ore crossed her arms, frowning slightly. "For someone who's only been a wolf for less than a month, he's already so powerful. He'll catch up to me soon."
Bode chuckled softly, the corners of his lips curling into a proud smile. "Then you'd better train harder. And for the record, he hasn't been a wolf for a month—he's been one since birth. The blood was just sealed."
Before Ore could respond, her mother stepped into the sitting room, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "How was training, my dears?" she asked warmly.
Ore groaned. "Exhausting."
Her mother smiled, shaking her head. "Go shower. Dinner's almost ready."
Bode rose, stretching slightly, then leaned in to kiss his wife on the forehead. "Thanks, honey," he said, before heading toward the bathroom.
Ore stood too, rubbing the back of her neck as she trudged toward her room. Her mother watched her go, a faint, knowing smile on her lips before turning back into the kitchen—the soft clatter of pots and pans blending with the hum of the quiet house.
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