The compound erupted in celebration.
Drums thundered. Songs soared into the evening sky. The scent of grilled meat and fresh palm wine wove through the air like a spell. Laughter echoed beneath the lanterns strung between tall poles, each one swaying gently with the breeze. Families gathered. Toasts were raised. Pride shimmered on every face.
I slipped away.
Weaving past dancers and elders, I moved toward the main building. My part was done. No point in staying longer than necessary. The further I kept from the crowd, the fewer questions I'd have to answer.
But just before the exit, a hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"So," a voice said, casual but firm. "You finally became a Hand."
I turned slowly, already hoping it wasn't someone important. Familiar was manageable. Anyone else would be trouble.
Tolu stood a few steps back, arms crossed, that same confident grin on his face—the one he wore the day we first met. Still sharp-eyed. Still full of certainty.
"We might've gotten off on the wrong foot," he said, stepping forward. Before I could speak, he slapped a hand on my back and gestured toward the drink stand with a tilt of his chin. "Come. We're comrades now. You've earned my respect."
I opened my mouth to decline, but no words came. He was already dragging me along.
"I'm good," I muttered, trying to resist. But his grip didn't budge. Tolu pulled with ease—too easily. For his size, he moved like someone twice as trained. It wasn't natural.
Then again, it didn't have to be. He was a true Hand now. Newly gifted with divine essence. Which meant his strength was no longer bound to human limits. Ten times stronger.
We reached the drink stand. A small wooden counter sizzled with meat skewers, the air thick with spice and oil. A gourd sat on the far end, clay cups stacked beside it. The server barely acknowledged us.
"Two cups of palm wine," Tolu ordered, snapping his fingers. "And the best meat you've got. Don't cheat me this time."
I stood still. Hands behind my back. No expression. Tolu grabbed a cup and turned to me.
"You'll have a drink," he said, grinning. "It's on me. A proper toast."
My eyes dropped to the cup.
A soft tightening spread through my chest.
How could I explain? I wasn't forbidden from drinking by tradition or belief. I avoided it because of what it did to me. One drop, and the thing inside—the Fallen essence—moved. Woke up. No one here was prepared for that. I wasn't sure I was either.
Even so, explaining wasn't necessary. I didn't owe that to anyone. Least of all him.
"I don't take palm wine," I said quietly.
Tolu blinked. "Eh?"
"I don't drink it," I repeated, firmer this time.
He laughed, brushing it off with a wave. "Come on, guy. It's a celebration. We're Hands now. Family. This is how it's done." He paused. "I know I came at you a little rough before. But I'm past that. This is me trying to show it."
I appreciated the attempt, honestly, if not the delivery. Loud, forceful, but not insincere.
"I get that. Thank you," I said. "But I still can't drink it."
I turned slightly, hoping to leave before it escalated. But his hand shot out again—this time, gripping my arm. Harder. The smile was gone.
"Guy," he said, voice lower. Controlled. "I'm being considerate. Normally, I wouldn't even look your way. But I am."
I held his gaze, steady. "I'm not disrespecting you. But I can't."
Inside, my thoughts ran. This was what I'd wanted to avoid. To them, a drink wasn't just a drink. It was a gesture. A test. A signal. Refusing it always felt personal. And I couldn't say yes. Not even to keep the peace.
Tolu's voice spiked—sharp, loud enough to cut through the background noise.
"Are you mad?! I offer you a drink, and you act like you're too big to toast with me?"
Eyes shifted toward us. The music didn't stop, but something in the air had shifted. Like a thread pulled too tight.
"I'm not too big for anything," I said, voice even. "I just don't drink palm wine."
Tolu leaned closer, irritation in his expression now.
"Don't think I forgot what you said when we first met," he whispered. "I'm moving past it so we can move forward. You should too."
"I am trying."
"Then drink."
"I can't."
I stepped back. He stepped forward.
Too close.
He leaned in again, hand on my shoulder, breath against my ear.
"Twice now," he said, voice like a blade. "You've disrespected me. If we weren't surrounded by family tonight, I'd teach you a lesson you'd never forget."
I didn't flinch.
Tolu shoved me once—more warning than threat—then turned and snatched both cups off the counter. He downed the first, then the second, wine dripping down his chin as he tossed the empty clay aside.
"I tried," he muttered, walking away. "But you? You just don't know how to be respectful."
He paused. Turned halfway back.
"Watch yourself, Akenzua."
I didn't reply.
Just stood there, jaw tight, breath slow.
All around me, the celebration continued. The drums, the laughter, the movement of light through the compound. But a different silence settled in my chest. Heavier. The price of restraint was always heavier than people realized.
***
"Some people just like to bark when the crowd's watching," a calm voice said behind me.
I turned.
Olamilekan Ajani. One of the other new Hands. Neatly dressed, composed. He wasn't smiling, but he also wasn't hostile. Just observant. Like someone who studied people more than he spoke to them.
"I saw what happened with Tolu," he added, stepping beside me. "That guy's been weird since day one."
I didn't reply. Not because I didn't agree, but because silence felt more comfortable.
Ajani folded his arms. "I used to think it was just pride. But now… I'm not so sure. He's got something bottled up. Maybe envy. Maybe insecurity. Hard to say."
I studied his posture. No judgment in his voice—just plain analysis. A person like this wasn't looking for drama. Just answers.
"I appreciate you saying something," I replied.
He nodded once. "No need to thank me. We're brothers now. Bound by divinity."
I glanced at him. "You really believe that?"
"Yeah. I do." Ajani looked up at the swaying lanterns. "Becoming a Hand… I've dreamed about this day. Since I was a child."
His tone wasn't boastful. Just sincere.
"I come from a small village, far west of the Aja borderlands. Not much to it. One road. One shrine. And one rule."
I raised a brow, curious.
Ajani continued, "Every Saturday morning, before the sun fully rose, everyone was expected to clear the weeds from their compound. No exceptions. Even the old and sick made arrangements. At first, I thought it was just superstition. Turns out it wasn't."
He paused, as if testing whether to say more.
"The Kuduroth demon. Ever heard of it?"
The name triggered something faint. Old fragments in my memory. Murmurs from Chuba, maybe. I shook my head slowly. "Not fully. Sounds… familiar, though."
Ajani exhaled. "That's what it does. Hides in the weeds. That's its medium. If left unchecked, it creeps through the village and seeks someone to possess."
His words dropped like slow, heavy stones.
"One morning, our father was sick. Could barely get out of bed. He asked my brother and I to handle the clearing." He stopped again, then added quietly, "We weren't as thorough as he was. Missed a few spots. Thought it wouldn't matter."
I didn't interrupt.
"A week later, my brother changed," Ajani said. "At first, it was small. Sleepwalking. Talking to himself. Cold hands. Then, he started getting violent. My parents thought it was a fever, or maybe a curse. But I knew something was wrong. And then…"
His jaw clenched.
"He killed my younger sister. Tried to kill me. We were just kids. Only reason I survived was because a Hand Unit arrived in time. Took him down."
He looked away, eyes hardening. "If my parents had just reported the signs. If they'd handed him to the Madarikans or Divine authorities, we'd still be a full family. Instead, they hoped love could cure possession."
He turned back to me.
"That's why I became a Hand. I won't let anyone else make that mistake. As long as it's fallen, I'll cut it down."
His words were final. No wavering.
Then came the inevitable.
"What about you? Why'd you become a Hand?"
The question hit clean. I'd expected it eventually. Still, my muscles tensed.
I glanced at him, kept my voice level. "It's similar to yours, actually. Except the Fallen wasn't family."
Ajani listened, alert.
"It was someone in our village. A Shadow Shifter. My father—he was the village chief—found out. He contacted the Adesina family for a contract. Somehow, the Shifter found out before the Hands arrived. He… killed my family. Every one of them."
Ajani's eyes narrowed slightly, sympathetic but focused.
"I barely survived. Major Deji was the one who saved me."
He raised a brow. "That's… quite the coincidence."
I gave a slow nod. "Yeah. It is."
But internally, I was already pulling away from the moment.
He didn't ask anything else. He didn't have to. The kind of pain I described didn't invite more questions—it shut them down.
We sat in silence for a moment.
And in that moment, my mind replayed the real conversation—the one no one else would ever hear.
Two days ago. After the meeting with the village chief.
Deji stood with his back to me, staring out into the trees from the window in his private room. He didn't turn when he spoke.
"They're going to ask. Not now. But soon. You're quiet. Mysterious. That only works for a while before it becomes suspicious."
I said nothing.
Deji continued, "I came up with something. Simple. Brutal. Believable."
He turned now. Looked me in the eye.
"You're the son of a chief. Shadow Shifter wiped out your family. I saved you. You became a Hand."
I studied him.
"Just like that?"
He shrugged. "People don't look too closely at pain. Especially when it mirrors something they fear. Shadow Shifters. Lost families. It's familiar. Familiar is safe. It makes you relatable."
"And what if I don't want to be relatable?"
He gave me a hard look. "This isn't about what you want. It's about survival. If you want to stay with us, function here, exist here—you need a past they can understand. And you need to believe it when you say it."
I scoffed. "So this is my mask."
Deji didn't deny it. "I'm giving you a shield. Use it well."
Still, Ajani's story had stirred something deeper. Made me feel… heavy.
I forced a breath.
"That's rough," Ajani said, after the brief silence "What you went through."
"Yours too," I replied. And I meant it.
He offered a hand.
"Here's to starting something new. Maybe not healing. But fighting back."
I hesitated—then shook it. I respected those who believed in new beginings.
***
Just as Ajani and I eased into a quiet rhythm, the air around us shifted—subtle, but sharp.
A tall figure in a deeper shade of navy approached from the far end of the compound, boots striking the stone floor with deliberate confidence. His cloak carried a different seal—one I didn't recognize.
He walked with purpose. Calm. Controlled.
Simi caught sight of him just before he reached her. Her body tensed. Shoulders drawn back. Jaw tight.
They spoke.
I couldn't hear them from here, but I didn't need to. Her stance, the set of her eyes, the way she folded her arms—everything about her screamed discomfort. His face barely moved. He leaned in slightly, saying something low.
Something passed between them. Heavy. Unspoken. Unfinished.
"Hmm." I let the sound escape without meaning to.
Ajani noticed, followed my gaze. "Oh," he said. "Right."
I turned to him. "You know him?"
"Yeah. That's Major Segun Ige. He's with Master Tife Adebayo's division."
I looked back at the man—Segun. My eyes drifted back to Simi. She didn't look like someone enjoying the conversation.
"What's going on between them? "
Ajani tilted his head at me like I'd asked whether water was wet. "Why do you look surprised? Like you're not the reason things are this tense."
I blinked. "What?"
Ajani's eyes narrowed, amused. "Don't tell me you didn't know."
"Didn't know what?"
He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. "Segun and Simi had a thing. They broke up. Not long before you arrived, actually."
I glanced back at them. Simi's back was straighter now. Her arms crossed like armor.
Ajani continued, voice low. "Segun was sent on a long-term contract. He just got back. And now…" He flicked his chin toward her. "Now he's trying to pick up where he left off."
I stayed silent.
"You showing up right after the breakup," Ajani added, "and then spending all your time around Simi like you're her personal shadow—it's not hard to see why he might be... pressed."
I took another glance around.
Now that I thought about it, a lot of the cloaks I saw today were on faces I hadn't seen since I got here. Different heights. Different builds. Quiet chatter that wasn't there before.
It made sense. I'd been... fast-tracked.
Most of the others—Ajani, Tolu—had been around longer. Lesser Hands-in-training, preparing for months before the inauguration. Normal Hands weren't picked like me. Pulled out of chaos and branded with a role.
I wouldn't have been a Hand yet if not for circumstance.
Ajani nudged my shoulder, pulling me back.
"Don't worry," he said, smirking. "Segun's bark is louder than his bite. And from the way Simi looks, she's not exactly begging to be dragged back into his arms."
I looked again. Simi was saying something now—sharp and final. Segun's smirk cracked, just slightly, before he turned and walked off without looking back.
Something stirred in me watching that. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Cold. Displeased. The kind of look that lingered long after words ended.
I wondered if that's why I felt that pull in my chest. It wasn't jealousy. At least, not the kind I could admit to. I was just getting to know her. But maybe knowing she didn't want him... made me feel a way.
Not that it mattered. I had other things to worry about.
I took my eyes off her.
Ajani noticed but didn't comment. Instead, he shifted the topic back as if we never left it.
"So," he said, "about the initiation cycle. You really got pulled in early, huh?"
I gave a small nod. "Seems like it."
"Yeah. They usually wait a year for all the Lesser Hands to be trained before promoting anyone. We've been through drills, theory, discipline, divine craft. You? Just walked in like it was nothing."
"Wasn't nothing."
Ajani chuckled. "Didn't say it was. Just… different."
There wasn't resentment in his voice. More like curiosity.
"And honestly?" he added, eyes forward, "I'm kinda glad you're here."
That caught me off guard.
He kept going. "You're not like the others. You don't talk much. You think before you speak. You listen. Maybe it's because we come from similar backgrounds... maybe that's why I understand you a little."
I didn't comment right away.
If only he knew. The weight I carried wasn't a burden. It was the punishment I chose.
"I just do what I can," I finally said.
Ajani nodded once, and that was that.
Two strangers. Now a little less strange.
***
After the inauguration, some visiting Masters remained behind for a few more days. Most used the time to exchange updates on contracts, drink, or talk politics—but not all. One of those who lingered was Master Haruna, he carried himself with the ease of someone who had earned respect across families. His bond with Major Ayo had been forged years ago, far from the northern plains, on a brutal contract down south. Back then, Ayo was just a lesser Hand—young, sharp, and commanding even without stripes. Haruna still remembered how that mission went south quickly, and how it was Ayo who held the line when most would've crumbled.
"You should've been born an Husafi," Haruna once told him after that mission. "Would've made sense. Talent like that? That's house blood."
Now they sat together again, in Ayo's modest office—bare walls, neatly stacked scrolls, a strong scent of dried ink and leather. A breeze drifted through the small window, brushing past the two Masters.
There was a knock.
"Come in," Ayo said without looking up.
Tolu stepped in, posture straight, lips tight.
He bowed first to Major Ayo, then to Master Haruna, lowering his head with controlled grace.
"Major Ayo. Master Haruna," he greeted.
Both men gave small nods of acknowledgment.
"At ease," Ayo said.
Tolu straightened, but remained standing—hands clasped neatly behind him, gaze forward.
A moment passed before Ayo spoke. "You and Akenzua. What happened?"
This was what he feared.
The altercation with Akenzua hadn't gone unnoticed. Of course it hadn't. Nothing ever did in this family. And now he was here, being questioned like a boy—because of him. Because of Akenzua.
Tolu hesitated. "Just a misunderstanding, Major."
Ayo raised a brow.
"I offered him palm wine. He refused," Tolu continued. "I pressed him a bit. Nothing serious, truly. I was trying to be friendly, to show that there's no bad blood between us. I didn't cross any boundaries. I respected his refusal."
Ayo glanced sideways. Haruna gave him a look—a calm, knowing glance that said, "You see? I told you."
Ayo turned back to Tolu.
"You weren't wrong," he said slowly. "Offering him palm wine was a kind gesture. And it's the proper thing to do when celebrating your official birth into the family. Refusing that… raises questions."
Tolu blinked. "So… I wasn't out of line?"
"No," Ayo said, pacing slightly behind his desk. "You weren't."
Tolu frowned, even more confused.
To him, it seemed like Akenzua was simply trying to maintain composure—maybe he thought he was too big to drink, or couldn't afford to be under the influence.
Which was understandable. Even the strongest men got intoxicated from palm wine.
But Major Ayo saw it differently.
Now walking toward the small window, hands behind his back. He stood there for a moment, quiet. Then his voice dropped, heavy and deliberate.
"There may be another truth behind his refusal."
He turned slowly, eyes narrowed.
"The boy may not be human. He may be… A Fallen," Ayo said simply. "A Fallen, hiding in plain sight."
The words hung in the room like smoke. Thick. Sharp.
Tolu said nothing. Just stared.
"Master Abiodun is aware," Ayo continued. "And from what I've observed… he's deliberately letting this slide."
He moved back to the desk and leaned on it slightly, folding his arms.
"I'm skeptical. This is Master Abiodun we're talking about here. But—"
He nodded toward Haruna.
"—Master Haruna brought it to my attention. And I trust him. I've fought beside him. I've bled beside him. If he says something doesn't smell right, I take it seriously."
Tolu's mouth felt dry. He kept his expression still, but his thoughts spun.
This had gone way differently than he would have expected and Akenzua being a fallen? That was a scary twist he also didn't see coming.
Now, Major Ayo finally informed him of the real reason he had been called.
Given his already strained relationship with Akenzua, Ayo believed Tolu was the best person for the job.
It was simple.
Tolu was tasked to observe Akenzua—closely—and report everything.
Now that Akenzua had officially been made a Hand, it was expected that he'd begin going on contracts with Major Deji's unit.
Tolu, under direct orders from Major Ayo, would secretly join some of these contracts behind the scenes, keeping watch, collecting anything suspicious—any proof that Akenzua was, in fact, a Fallen.
And once that proof was found, Major Ayo would take the rightful steps to bring that truth to light.