They say that to kill a god,
you must sing a truth so powerful,
even divinity bleeds.
In the heart of Obade, the final drum sat inside the shrine
still humming low, like a creature in sleep.
But the village itself was changing.
The river was no longer still.
Children wept in their sleep.
And the dogs refused to bark.
Because deep below the soil, the Drumfather stirred.
A Reckoning Begins
Aleshọ́rú placed the scroll on the shrine floor. Its seal was cracked open with a whisper, not a blade.
Inside: a single parchment, burned at the edges, written in blood ink.
The villagers gathered Amaka, Kareem, the elders. Ola stood closest, heart trembling.
"What is that?" one of the elders asked.
Aleshọ́rú did not smile.
"This is Ìròyìn Ikú.
The Death Song.
A forbidden hymn written by the last of the Echo Keepers.
It calls the soul from flesh even of gods."
Someone gasped.
Kareem asked the question they all feared: "What does it cost?"
The Price
Aleshọ́rú looked down. "Three things," she said.
"One A willing voice. It must be sung by someone whose blood is tied to the crime.
Two The Final Drum. Without it, the song has no anchor.
And three Silence. The singer's voice will be erased forever."
Amaka's eyes filled.
"You mean… they'll die?"
"No," Aleshọ́rú said. "They'll live. But they will never speak again. Not a sound. Not a whisper."
And worse still…
If the song fails, the Drumfather will wear their voice like a crown.
The Volunteer
That night, Ola stood beneath the stars, alone. He had gone to the river, where the waters whispered old names.
He thought of his grandmother.
He thought of Ifeoma.
He thought of the drum he once carved as a boy using wood taken from the sacred grove.
He thought of the guilt that stained his lineage.
And then… he returned to the shrine.
"I'll sing it," he said.
The room fell silent.
Even the drum stopped humming.
The Drumfather Draws Near
Three days.
That's all they had.
The crows flew in crooked patterns.
The river ran backwards at night.
The trees began to hum.
And beneath the forest, something ancient rose.
The earth cracked near the Abandoned Drum Grove.
From it emerged a man-shaped figure, covered in cracked red lacquer, with drumsticks bound to his hands nailed through the skin.
His mouth was stitched shut.
But his chest?
It pulsed like a war drum.
The Drumfather had risen.
And he was coming home.
Final Scene: The Preparation
Aleshọ́rú painted Ola's face with ash.
"You'll only have one verse," she said. "The rest will burn with you."
He nodded.
"I was born with a voice I never deserved," he replied. "Let me give it to something that ends this."
In the distance, the trees bent as a figure approached.
The air turned thick. The shrine walls shook.
The final drum… began to bleed.
And the first drumbeat of the end began to sound.