The moon was high, its pale light spilling across the village path like a cold hand. The air was heavy, carrying the faint smell of smoke and palm wine. Sola's breath caught in her throat as she gripped the wooden doorframe. Her heart pounded so loudly she thought the whole village could hear it.
There he was—Ola, standing tall with anger burning in his eyes. His chest rose and fell like a wild animal ready to strike. Behind him, two men shifted in the shadows, their machetes glinting faintly in the moonlight.
And where was Kunle?
Sola's eyes darted across the path. Then she saw him. He was being pushed forward, held by one of the men. His shirt was torn, and blood dripped from a cut on his forehead. Yet his eyes—sharp, defiant—never left Ola.
"Ola!" Sola's voice broke into the night. "Leave him! Please, leave him!"
Ola laughed, a deep, cruel laugh that echoed in the silence. "Leave him? After he has shamed me? After he has stolen what is mine? No, Sola. Tonight, he pays."
Kunle spat blood to the side. "Your pride is louder than your brain, Ola. You think this will bring back your honor? You think violence will heal your shame?"
Ola's jaw tightened. He raised his machete. "My honor is not up for debate. And tonight, you will die."
The first swing came fast. Kunle ducked, twisting his body as the blade sliced through the air. Sparks flew when metal struck stone. Kunle lunged forward, headbutting Ola square in the face. Blood gushed from Ola's nose, but he didn't fall.
The other men rushed in. One swung his cutlass low, aiming for Kunle's legs. Kunle leapt back, his bare feet kicking dust into the air. He grabbed a broken farming hoe that lay by the path and swung it like a spear. The wood cracked against one man's arm, making him howl in pain.
"Kunle!" Sola screamed. She tried to run out, but fear pinned her legs. Her body trembled like a trapped bird.
The fight grew savage. Blades clashed. Fists struck flesh. The sound of labored breathing filled the night. Kunle fought with the strength of a cornered lion, his muscles straining, his skin glistening with sweat. He struck Ola in the ribs, making him stumble. But one of the men slashed Kunle's side. Blood poured down his waist, staining his wrapper.
Still, Kunle stood.
"You will not break me!" he roared, shoving one of the attackers to the ground. His eyes locked with Ola's. "If you want my blood, come and take it yourself!"
Ola screamed like a madman and charged. Their bodies crashed together, fists flying, blades flashing. Ola's rage gave him power, but Kunle's will to live made him unyielding.
The village began to stir. Doors cracked open. Eyes peeked through the dark. Whispers spread like fire: "Ola and Kunle… they are fighting!" Some villagers drew closer, hiding behind trees, hungry for blood, for gossip, for the downfall of one of their own.
But none dared intervene. Not yet.
Then—suddenly—another voice cut through the chaos.
"Stop this madness!"
A woman rushed forward, her wrapper dragging in the dirt. It was Mama Teni, the herbalist, known for her bitter tongue and strange knowledge. The villagers gasped. She was not a woman who came out at night.
She pushed between the fighters, her arms wide. "Do you fools want to bring a curse on this land? Blood spilled under the full moon calls spirits we cannot drive away!"
Ola shoved her aside roughly. "Stay out of this, old woman!"
But Mama Teni's eyes glowed with something fierce. She turned, pointing a crooked finger—not at Ola, but at Sola. "Woman, speak the truth now, before the ground drinks blood. Tell him what you told me."
The crowd hushed. Sola froze, confusion flashing in her eyes. "What truth?"
Kunle, staggering from his wound, frowned. "What is this?"
Mama Teni's voice dropped low, heavy like a drumbeat. "Sola is not the only reason Ola burns with hate. There is another hand in this fire… someone close to Kunle. Someone who betrayed him."
Murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Faces turned from one to another, searching. Kunle's chest heaved. "Who?" he demanded. "Who betrayed me?"
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward.
It was Ade, Kunle's childhood friend—the one who had shared food with him, worked the farms with him, laughed with him since boyhood. Ade's eyes did not meet Kunle's. His hands shook, but in them was a short dagger.
"It was me," Ade said, his voice barely a whisper. "I told Ola where you go at night. I told him when you would be alone. I… I could not hold it anymore. You took Sola from him, and you were still my friend. But I—I wanted her too."
The world seemed to stop. Even Ola turned, his fury dimming for a heartbeat as he stared at Ade.
Kunle's face twisted in shock. Pain cut deeper than his wound. "Ade… you?"
Ade's lips trembled. "Forgive me. I thought if Ola destroyed you, maybe… maybe she would see me instead."
Sola gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Ade… I never knew…"
Ola's laugh broke the silence, sharp and bitter. "So, even my friend desires the same woman. She is poison. She makes men betray blood and brotherhood."
Kunle's hands tightened on the broken hoe. His voice was a growl. "You were my brother. And you sold me out—for lust?"
Ade's eyes welled with tears. "I was weak."
The tension snapped. Ola roared and swung his blade again. Kunle blocked it with his hoe, sparks flying. The fight raged once more, but now the crowd was restless, divided. Some shouted for Ola, others whispered that the gods would punish them all if the bloodshed continued.
Mama Teni raised her voice again. "This fight will not end with victory. It will end with death for more than one! Stop, or the land itself will curse us!"
But no one stopped. The blades kept flashing. The blood kept spilling.
And above them, the moon seemed to watch silently, like an unblinking eye.
Let wait for the fight to conclude