It had been a couple of hours we had sat there dining. The noise outside had reduced, and it was very quiet. Even the guards began to reduce in numbers, surprisingly. We were all feeling relatively tired.
We had all finished eating, and it was time to leave, but I needed to use the restroom. So I informed Major Deji, who agreed.
Tor had already begun dozing off on the chair, and the others were too tired to even wake him up. The Chief seemed to share the same tiredness.
Was this how everyone ate in this village? I thought, as I made my way to the bathroom while a guard guided me through.
Upon arriving there, I eased myself and stood at the hand-washing sink. I was beginning to feel tired as well, but more importantly, I was using a lot of my social energy just to keep up.
In truth, I wanted to run back to the Adesina compound and stay indoors. Since we crossed the Olu Bridge—especially after passing the Aja River—I could feel my mood shift. I was feeling increasingly irritated by everything. But I had managed to keep myself at bay. I even danced with Simi.
I began to sweat just thinking about it. Normally, I would only begin to feel like this after taking palm wine. But now… now I was getting a glimpse of my Fallen Essence even without it. And that was starting to bother me.
In truth, that was why I came here. To get myself together.
I poured water on my face over and over again, as if to drive the feeling—and the sensation—away. I took deep breaths, again and again, until I felt satisfied and a bit more composed.
I went out of the toilet, and the guard who had brought me here had dozed off on the ground just at the entrance.
How tired could one be, for them to just doze off at a place like this?
It might be a palace, but still—it was the entrance of a toilet. And to be a guard, for that matter… how disgraceful.
I tried waking him up, but all to no avail. He was still breathing, so he wasn't dead. But why was he not responding?
Something must have happened.
So I quickly rushed down to the dining hall to inform Major Deji—and they were all asleep at the table. Every single one of them.
The guards.The maids.The Chief.His children.My Major.My fellow Hands.All asleep.
Like they had all been drugged… or poisoned.
And then came the most shocking sight of it all—
A man.
Seated at the Chief's place.
Dressed in a dark red traditional robe. The color wasn't normal—it looked like blood had been used to paint the attire. As if it had been dipped in it, brought out, and immediately dried.
He had golden beads around his neck and wrists.
He was eating.
And he was enjoying himself too.
How odd.
Before I could interrupt his lovely dinner, he raised his hand — not in panic or surprise, but casually, like a man who already knew what I was about to do.
He wasn't even looking my way.
So how did he know I was there? And more importantly — how did he know I was just about to speak?
He hadn't turned once. Not a glance in my direction. Still, his palm said it all: Don't bother.
That only made it worse.
The irritation I had been keeping at bay since we crossed the Aja River — the one I had managed to subdue through sheer control — now began to swell.
I snapped."Hey!"
My voice echoed. Deep. Forceful. It had a certain bass to it — the kind that could rattle plates and stir the air. Enough to wake a man from a coma… okay, I exaggerated a bit there, but still, it was loud.
No response, nothing.Not even a twitch.
Everyone still lay there, heads bowed or slumped sideways, caught in some drugged or spellbound sleep. Like nothing had changed. Like babies rocked into calmness.
The man continued eating.
"You humans," he said finally, without turning. His tone flat. Measured."How disrespectful of you. Disrupting a man while he eats. No manners whatsoever."
I stood still for a moment, perplexed.
Did he just call me disrespectful?
He was the one enjoying a meal while unconscious bodies filled the room — bodies he very likely put to sleep himself.
But it didn't matter to him.
He chewed slowly, thoughtfully, then spoke again:"Your human nature has tainted your character. No manners. You couldn't even greet."
He shook his head and finished the last of the chicken on his plate. Clean to the bone.
Then he leaned back in the chair and exhaled — the type of sigh a man gives after a rich, well-deserved meal. He lifted a cup of water, drank it with elegance, then returned it softly to the table.
I didn't respond at first.
Human nature tainting my character?What does he know about my nature?What does he know about me at all?
I stepped closer. Angrily. The distance between us now barely a table's width.
"Look, mister," I said, my voice flat but edged. "I don't know who you are or why you've come here — but you've got some explaining to do. First off—what happened here? Why are they all unconscious?"
Still, nothing.
It was like he didn't even hear me. His attention remained on his plate, eyes fixed like I didn't exist. The irritation boiled.
I slammed the table.
That finally got him.
Slowly, he raised his gaze from the plate — and for the first time, our eyes met.
I froze.
His eyes… they looked cracked. Not like old age or fatigue, but as though the very pupil had split — as if something unnatural was trapped inside it, leaking out through fractures.
The gaze was commanding. Loud. Not in sound — but in presence. It screamed without making a noise.
And in that instant, a chill ran through my spine.
My legs felt the need to step back before my mind gave the command. My hairs rose. Every nerve in my body shivered, not from cold — but from the quiet, heavy truth that something was wrong.
Very wrong.
He stood up — gracefully, almost lazily. As if none of this concerned him. As if I wasn't standing right there.
I stepped further back.
Who is he? Why am I scared?
The fear didn't feel rational. It felt like instinct — ancient and primal. Like my body knew something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.
He reached for a napkin, wiped his mouth, then carelessly dropped it onto the table. His eyes glanced lazily over the sleeping room — from the Chief to his children, to Deji and the rest of the Hands.
He gave a small nod, like a man who had expected nothing more.
Then, calmly, he pointed at me.
"To answer your question," he said."I've come for you… Tuedon Akenzua."
My breath caught.
He knew my name.
No. Not just my name — me.
And it was now clear — this man was not ordinary. He had most likely silenced an entire palace without making a sound. No flash of power. No ritual or chant. Just silence. And stillness.
I had faced Fallen Creatures. Even Madarikans. But this… this was worse.
This was something else entirely.
A part of me considered confronting him. Demanding more answers. Demanding justice.
But if every Madarikan, every Major and every Hand in this room was down, then what chance did I have?
None.
Every fiber of my being screamed the same word: Run.
And so I did.
I turned. And I took off through the nearest exit.
***
I felt like a coward, running through the quiet paths of the village.
But really—why wouldn't I run?
I wasn't a true Hand. Not like the others. I was more of a… Madarikan, with even less experience. Staying back to fight with my bare hands? That would only end one way. And not a good one.
At the very least, I needed my Divine Craft.
But as I kept moving, weaving through the empty alleys, something started to bother me more than my own self-hate. The quiet. It was growing deeper. Thicker. Not a single soul outside. No late-night chatter. No snoring from guards. Nothing.
This village felt dead.
I kept my head low, my footsteps fast. The only place I needed to be right now was our guest quarters. That's where I left it—my blade, Bleeding Mercy. I kept running, occasionally glancing over my shoulder.
Nothing. He wasn't chasing me.
Of course he wasn't. A man like that… he didn't seem like one who would run. That only made him more terrifying.
When I reached the room, I wasted no time. Threw the door open. Grabbed the craft. My fingers instinctively wrapped around the hilt.
It felt good. Familiar. Not just a weapon—but a comfort.
I ran back outside, back toward the palace. My breathing was steady, and for the first time in a long while, I was beginning to feel something close to courage. Maybe, just maybe, I could face him now.
Then I saw him.
Standing directly in my path.
I stopped cold. Feet rooted to the earth.
He hadn't been running. He had just walked.
He just stood there, calm, like this was all normal. His blood-red robe moved gently with the breeze, golden beads catching the moonlight as if mocking me.
I raised Bleeding Mercy, slid into my stance. The one I'd drilled over and over again since joining the Adesina. It felt solid. Controlled. Trained.
But was that enough?
I guess I was about to find out.
"What do you want from me?" I asked, blade steady. "Why are you after me? Is that why you made everyone in the village unconscious—just to capture me? Isn't that a bit… excessive?"
He didn't blink. Just looked at me like I was asking the wrong questions.
"You warrant such measures," he said calmly. "To ensure a successful capture—it was necessary."
So he was here for me.
My hands gripped the sword tighter. "Then you know," I said, eyes narrowing. "About my… Fallen nature. That's why you're here?"
He gave a slight nod. As if it was obvious.
"Of course."
I stared at him. His voice, his posture, his presence… it was all too unnatural. Too composed. Like he wasn't even pretending to be human.
"How?" I asked. "Who are you? And how do you know me?"
He didn't answer immediately. Just studied me, tilting his head like he was examining something beneath my skin. Then, with the same calm voice, he said,
"Because you are one of us," he said again, calm as ever. "You do not belong here."
That word hit harder than expected.
One of us?
Who was he that I was one of?
I kept my sword up, but my arms had slightly tensed—not out of preparation, but confusion. There was a difference between standing your ground and not knowing which direction the ground even is.
"You talk like you're not human. Are you… are you a Fallen possessing a human body?"
He tilted his head again, just slightly.
"Sort of," he replied. "But not quite."
Then he said it. Clear. Unapologetic.
"I am Prince Lu of the Fall."
I blinked.
Prince?
Of the what?
Prince… of the Fall?
Was he a prince of some forgotten village? A ruined kingdom no one remembered? What did that have to do with me?
And how did he know about the thing I had been trying to understand my whole life?
His words echoed louder in my mind than my shout had earlier in that palace.
"You have a lot of questions," he said, with a tone that sounded amused but hollow. "Understandable. Fortunately for you… there are answers. Many of them, in fact."
He brushed a speck off his attire, not even looking at me as he continued.
"And they will be presented to you… but only if you come with me."
I tightened my grip on Bleeding Mercy.
"Come with you?" I asked. "To where?"
"To my kingdom," he said, calmly. "The King demands your presence."
I scoffed lightly. "What king?"
That was when the air changed.
I blinked—and suddenly he was no longer ahead of me.
He was in front of me.
So close I could feel his breath against my cheek.
He had moved without a sound. Not a footstep. Not a flicker of motion. Just… appeared. Like space itself had folded to accommodate him.
"You ask a lot of questions," he whispered, voice low, disapproving. "For someone so uncultured."
His gaze dropped to my sword and the disgust that washed over his face was almost human.
"This… pathetic tool," he muttered, brushing his fingers against the blade. "Is this what gives you courage? Hope? Strength?"
He tilted his head slowly, voice tinged with disappointment. "How sad."
He shook his head once more.
Something in me cracked. The proximity. The condescension. The fact that he called my weapon—my one anchor—pathetic.
Without thinking, I swung.
Hard.
Fast.
Direct.
He didn't move.
He didn't flinch.
He simply grabbed the blade in midair with one hand—stopping it cold—and with the same motion, lifted me off the ground. My grip broke. I was suspended by the neck, feet off the floor, his grip cold and unrelenting.
I struggled.
And then, without warning—boom.
He slammed me to the earth. Full force. My back hit first, then my skull. The ground trembled beneath the impact. Air fled my lungs. I tasted iron. Blood. I coughed and rolled slightly to the side, trying to recover, but he wasn't finished.
"So disrespectful," he said again, like a disappointed teacher.
Then came the stomp.
His foot slammed into the side of my head with the weight of a collapsing world.
My vision blurred. My thoughts scattered like dust in wind. I could feel the world slipping away from me—slowly, steadily. A dull ringing crawled into my ears. I was slipping… fading.
But then—
Footsteps.
Fast. Familiar.
I turned my head slightly—barely.
Major Deji.
Tor.
They were charging toward us, cloaked in energy, Divine Crafts drawn and crackling with life.
Right. They didn't need to run back to the guest room like I did. They could summon their Crafts from wherever, at any time. That's the privilege of those with divine essence. A luxury I didn't have — and a reminder of what I truly was.
I felt a bit relieved seeing them, even as the pain in my chest pulsed harder and my vision started to blur. Maybe they'd get to him. Maybe they'd stop him.
My body refused to move, but for the first time since I ran, I stopped feeling alone.
And with that single thread of comfort, I finally gave in — falling into darkness.