When a man bears the ability to live, he also carries the ability to die. And between those two extremes lies the one thing that decides which path he takes—the spiritual heart. Some families, like the Adesina, call it the Òkàn. The will to live or die. The vessel of a man's essence.
It was here that Master Abiodun found himself—within the spiritual heart of Akenzua, beginning the purification ritual.
The landscape around him was strange: a wind-swept forest with thick dust floating in the air, clinging to the trees like old memories. The wind howled low, like something was groaning beneath the surface. Even from the threshold, Abiodun could sense it.
The thing possessing this boy… it's strong.
He began his search, moving through the Òkàn with careful steps. His task was simple: locate the boy's essence. Bring it forward. But the deeper he walked, the more chaotic the realm became. Fires burned in random patches—some distant, others close enough to feel. The trees began to warp, shadows thickening until they looked like scars in the earth. The darkness grew denser with every step.
Abiodun quickened his pace.
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
In most humans, the Òkàn was a small, focused realm. The essence was usually waiting—ready, or at least nearby. But here, it felt endless. He'd been walking what felt like twelve hours, even though barely a few minutes had passed in the physical realm. Still, no sign of Akenzua's essence.
Does he not have one? Abiodun wondered. No—that's impossible. He's human. He must have one. It has to be here… somewhere.
He pressed deeper into the spiritual forest, now surrounded by trees far taller than when he'd arrived. They stretched upward like they were trying to flee the place. The silence around him grew heavy—too heavy. The air became still. Eerie.
Hopelessness began to settle in his bones.
Then he heard it—a soft sound, like fingers brushing leaves. He turned.
There, beneath the roots of a wide tree, sat a young boy. Barefoot. Quiet. Petting what looked like a lizard, only it was the size of a small dog, coiled peacefully beside him.
Abiodun narrowed his eyes, stepping closer.
What is that?
But then he saw the boy more clearly—his face. His expression. It was Akenzua, or something close to him. But younger. Maybe twelve. Thirteen at most. A child version, untouched by time and tragedy.
This had to be his human essence.
Still… why was he so young?
Why was this whole place so vast and twisted?
Abiodun paused at the edge of the tree's shadow, suddenly aware of the question pressing at the back of his mind.
Could it get any stranger than this?
Abiodun stepped forward, voice steady but kind. "I am Master Abiodun. I've come to cleanse you of the fallen demon that's been living inside you. Once it's gone, I will share something divine with you—something that will expose you to a greater energy than anything you've ever known."
He took another step, speaking like a father trying to comfort a frightened child. "It will heal you when you're injured. Strengthen you when you're weak. Your body will move faster, strike harder—beyond the limits of any normal human."
He raised his hands slowly. "All I need is your hands."
But the boy didn't move.
Not a word. Not a blink. Just silence.
Abiodun frowned. This still isn't right…
He had always trusted his training and experience—his certainty that
Everything about the boy's essence radiated purity—untainted and peaceful. He was surrounded by gentle trees, healthy plants, and strange, serene wildlife. Nothing about this matched what Abiodun had experienced from similar situations of someone bound to a fallen demon.
When Abiodun stretched his hand a little closer, the boy finally stirred—almost like he had just noticed him for the first time.
And the look he gave Abiodun—
It wasn't defiance.
It wasn't confusion.
It was fear.
A hunted, desperate fear.
"No… no, no," the boy said in a soft, childlike voice.
Abiodun paused. "What's wrong?"
"What are you doing here?" the boy asked, eyes wide with panic.
"I've come to help you," Abiodun said, his voice softening with an edge of uncertainty.
He shook his head, panic flickering across his face. "No… you have to leave. No more deaths, please. You have to leave."
No more deaths? Abiodun's brow furrowed. What did he mean?
So he is possessed, Abiodun thought. But if that's the case… where is the fallen demon?
"You have to leave now," the boy said again, voice trembling. "Or else… I'll kill you if I see you."
Abiodun blinked. "What do you mean by that? You see me now, don't you?"
The boy shook his head. "Not this me," he whispered.
"…The other me."
Abiodun's words stumbled at the edge of his mouth. "You… you're saying there's another you?"
Akenzua immediately grew still.
His eyes widened.
"I have seen you," he whispered. "I'm coming. Run."
Before Abiodun could respond, the boy turned sharply. "Come with me!"
Akenzua broke into a sprint through the thick grove, the strange lizard-dog darting beside him.
Abiodun stood frozen for a moment, confused.
Then—he felt it.
A weight in the air.
A presence.
An essence.
Fast. Enormous. Approaching like a storm crashing through the Okan itself.
His chest tightened as he felt the presence draw nearer, an overwhelming pressure filling the air. "Oh my God, what is happening?
Part of him wanted to wait—to see what it was. Maybe even confront it.
But the boy was already gone, vanishing between the trees like a shadow.
No. He turned and took off running.
Let me run first.
And he chased after Akenzua.
As they ran through the forest, Abiodun could feel it—that presence chasing them. Heavy. Massive. Like a storm with teeth. But his mind wasn't on the fear alone.
How could a child exist in a place like this, with something this powerful?
No. That wasn't the right question.
Why was all this happening inside Akenzua's Okan?
They burst into a clearing—before them, a wide river stretched across the forest, separating two worlds. The other side was calm. Serene. Peaceful in a way that felt untouched.
Abiodun turned back.
Darkness. Thick and endless, rolling in like smoke and shadow. The forest behind them was burning—trees crumbling into ash, the fire swallowing everything.
"Oh my God," Abiodun muttered. He had never wanted to jump into a river more in his life.
They reached the edge.
"Now!" the boy shouted, grabbing Abiodun's arm. "You have to jump! It's the only chance we've got!
"What about you?" Abiodun asked.
The boy shook his head. "Don't worry about me. Just go."
"No." Abiodun took a step closer. "I'm not leaving you here."
He had come to save the boy. He wasn't going to abandon him at the edge of something so terrifying.
But the boy's tone turned sharp. Cold. "This is me."
His eyes burned.
"Don't try to save me. Or I'll kill you."
Then it came.
The other essence.
Not a demon.
No… something else.
It wasn't human, but neither was it mindless. It was intent. A living force, overwhelming and deep, a Fallen Essence unlike anything he had ever felt
It surged through the burning trees toward them. The air shook.
Abiodun stood his ground at the edge of the river, eyes wide. The boy beside him didn't flinch. He simply reached out and gripped Abiodun's arm.
"If I'm with you," he said softly, "I won't hurt you."
The essence screeched to a halt—lurking. Circling. Waiting. One wrong move, one slip, and it would devour Abiodun whole.
"I told you to jump," the boy muttered. "Why did you have to be so stubborn? Now we're in a tight situation."
Panic clawed at Abiodun as he struggled to catch his breath. Understanding came slowly, creeping in with dreadful clarity. He had to leave
He had to leave.
After a brief moment of thought, he said,
"Jump with me. Let's go into the water. You can let go of me when I'm in."
The boy nodded, finally.
Together, they stepped forward—
The Fallen Essence lurking.
Patiently waiting.
In one accord, they leapt into the river.
***
Abiodun's eyes snapped open, his hands still tied tightly to Akenzua's. In an instant, the restraints snapped like dry twigs, startling Deji into taking a step back. His face was a mixture of shock and confusion.
"Master, what are you doing?" Deji stammered, his voice laced with disbelief. "You could have just had me untie the bead."
But Abiodun didn't respond immediately. His gaze was distant, his mind racing as he paced back and forth. His breath was shaky, his movements tense, as though something had rattled him deeply. The room had grown unnaturally still, a weight in the air that seemed to press on everything.
Akenzua, still groggy from his trance, slowly began to stir. He blinked, his mind fumbling to make sense of the situation. He felt the weight of the silence around him, the confusion on everyone's faces. What in the world was going on? He looked from Deji to Abiodun, sensing something was terribly wrong, though he couldn't yet grasp it.
Deji's worry began to grow as he watched Abiodun's agitated pacing.
"What's wrong, Master?" Deji asked, his voice laced with concern. "What happened? What's going on?"
Abiodun finally stopped pacing, shaking his head as if trying to shake off a strange sensation. He ran a hand over his face, his brow furrowed in confusion, as though trying to piece together the truth of what had just transpired.
"I… I can't purify him," Abiodun muttered, his voice thick with frustration. "He's not possessed. Not by anything… not by a demon, not by anything you saw. It was all him." He paused, staring at Akenzua for a long moment, as if trying to make sense of the words himself. "But another him."
Abiodun's confusion seemed to bleed into his words, making the already unclear situation even more enigmatic. The words didn't fit, and they didn't make sense, even to him. The power that had surged within the boy, that terrifying presence, it wasn't what he had expected. It wasn't a fallen demon. It wasn't anything that could be purified.
Deji stood frozen for a moment, his brow furrowed deeper. "What do you mean, 'another him'? Master… you're not making sense."
Abiodun took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His mind was still reeling from the events inside the Òkàn, trying to connect the dots. But nothing seemed to fit. He couldn't explain it, not in a way that would make sense to anyone else.
"I don't know how to explain it." Abiodun's voice was low, still shaky. "But it's clear now. He's… he's not possessed. He isn't what we thought. He's something else entirely."
He looked to Deji, his expression softening just slightly. "Take him away."
Deji stared at him for a moment, the confusion still evident on his face. "Away?" he asked, unsure of what Abiodun meant. "Where?"
Abiodun's voice was firm, despite the uncertainty that lingered in his words. "Outside. His room, anywhere. Just away from here."
Deji, still unsure but trusting Abiodun's orders, stepped forward and gently guided Akenzua out of the room. Akenzua's gaze flickered back to Abiodun, who had stopped pacing but remained distant, lost in his thoughts.
As Deji led Akenzua out, the silence of the room seemed to grow even more oppressive. Abiodun's composure had cracked. This was something deeper, something far more dangerous than anything he could have imagined.
And Akenzua couldn't help but wonder… what had Master Abiodun seen inside him? What was it that had shaken him to his core?
***
I was back in the dark about my place in the house. When I first heard about the purification, I ate like someone who had just received a second chance. But after Master Abiodun's reaction, that hope collapsed. Whatever the Master saw during the ritual, it unsettled me. I was sure they'd send me away. "Why bother eating now?" I would say to myself.
I stayed indoors. Didn't visit the craftshop. Didn't watch the Hands train. Not even Simi got a word from me. Tor, who was quietly relieved by the distance, still couldn't help but wonder what had happened.
Meanwhile, the Adesina House was buzzing with preparation. The inauguration of new Hands was just days away, and this year, the ceremony was being hosted at their compound. All new Hands and their Masters from the three other divine families would be attending.
If the compound had once been busy, now it was a storm.
Dozens of Ashtaris swept in daily, carrying supplies, Hands, majors and Madarikans. Decorations gradually appeared across the compound: house banners were reinforced, the ceremony feild was cleared and polished.
Majors and their Hands returning from long contracts came back in waves, greeted with cheers and embraces.
The buzz became impossible to ignore.
My curiosity started to grow. Eventually, I broke the silence and began speaking to Simi again, mostly asking about the ceremony. She kept her answers short, but it was enough to slowly draw me back into the rhythm of the house.
The night before the inauguration, Master Abiodun summoned all his Hands for a meeting.
To my surprise, I was called to attend as well.
Inside the Master's room, we sat in a wide circle.
The Majors—Deji, Ayo, and Adeshola—were closest to Master Abiodun, positioned around him like pillars flanking a throne. Just beside them were the Upper Hands: Bajo, Tunde, and Funso, each seated with quiet authority.
The rest of us—six in total, myself included if I counted as a Lesser Hand—filled the remaining space in the circle. No one said it out loud, but the seating arrangement made the hierarchy unmistakable.
Master Abiodun spoke without embellishment.
"I'll be appointing three new Hands, bringing the total to twelve. It's the first time I've held that many."
He listed the names one after the other, without pause or fanfare:
"Tolu Obaloluwa, Hand of Major Ayo.
Olamilekan Ajani, Hand of Major Adeshola.
Tuedon Akenzua, Hand of Major Deji."
As our names were called, the Majors and Upper Hands shifted their eyes toward us—casual in motion, but precise in intent.
We stood, silent and still. For identification, yes.
But also, perhaps, for evaluation.
Although hearing my name caught me off guard, I couldn't ignore what it truly meant. Calling me to this meeting wasn't a trial run—it was confirmation. I had already been accepted.
But why?
Given what Master Abiodun knew about me, the logical course would've been to make it public—lay out the facts, pronounce judgment. Or, at the very least, hand me over to the Madarikans and wash their hands of the risk. Neither happened. Instead, I was appointed a Lesser Hand. Formally.
Against all odds.
Was my power that valuable? Valuable enough to outweigh the danger it carried?
Or had they quietly prepared a solution—some method to keep me in check without my knowing? Either way, the outcome was clear. They'd made their decision. Now, I had to figure out why.
The only way to get answers was to speak with Major Deji after the meeting.
While that thought settled, I noticed Tolu staring at me again—briefly, then looking away.
Embarrassed, maybe. And he should be. He had just been named a fellow Lesser Hand… alongside the same person he'd dismissed earlier.
We returned to our seats after the announcements. Master Abiodun didn't pause for long.
"After the ceremony," he said plainly, "I'll be stepping away from duty for a while. So if you need anything from me directly, speak now—or wait."
Just as Upper Bajo had said—Making new Hands wasn't simple. It was an essence-draining process that left even someone like Master Abiodun in need of rest. His unavailability during recovery wasn't just expected—it was necessary.
At this point, the only thing that could pull him out of that rest would be a crisis. Something urgent. Something dangerous. Something only a Master could resolve. I glanced around the room.
I hope I don't end up being that situation, I thought.
The meeting moved on. More details were shared—about the inauguration ceremony, the roles we were expected to play, the preparations already underway. Eventually, things drew to a natural close.
As we filtered out, Bajo and Simi made their way over to me.
"Congrats," Bajo said, with the easy warmth he always carried. Simi offered a nod and a quick smile. I appreciated the gesture. Even if it didn't mean much to me yet.
Tor didn't say anything. I didn't expect him to.
He had always been wary of me—and this announcement had only made things worse.
I couldn't blame him. Truth was, my own presence here still didn't make sense to me either.
After accepting their congratulations with a quiet nod, I slipped away and made my way toward Major Deji. He was already heading to his room. It felt like he had been expecting me. Without a word, he gestured for me to follow. Discussing a matter like this in the open wasn't wise. A conversation like ours required privacy.
***
The ceremony grounds were already glowing with life.
Bright cloth banners marked each divine family's arrival—red for the Adesina, orange for the Udoka, blue for the Tari, and grey for the Husafi. Each color moved like a wave as warriors, masters, madams, and newly ascended Hands stepped into the courtyard, greeted by horns and chants echoing from the village drums. Smoke from fresh incense curled up toward the evening sky, carried on a slow breeze thick with the smell of roasted yam and burning palm oil.
It was the kind of night meant for pride. Celebration. Belonging.
I stood apart.
My cloak was pressed, my posture calm, but internally, tension stretched like a taut bowstring. The others were laughing, embracing, clapping backs and swapping stories about their first contracts. I should've been doing the same—technically, this was a moment of honor. But I wasn't like them. Not just because I had yet to earn the title of a Hand—but because deep down, this kind of joy didn't feel like it was mine to hold.
How could it?
Celebrations always reminded me of that day—the last one my people ever had. The laughter. The dancing. The joy in their eyes moments before it all turned to screaming and death. Before my power slipped, or maybe surged, and brought me here. Since then, joy had felt like a betrayal. Like smiling in the middle of a graveyard.
So as usual, I kept to himself, tucked into a quiet shadowed spot beneath a tall ceremonial staff, waiting for the event to begin. I kept my thoughts sharp. This was just another duty. If I chose to smile, maybe even sip something wrong, that would be my choice and I would have no one to blame.
"Akenzua."
I turned just slightly—enough to catch Simi's figure sliding up beside me, her navy cloak pulled half over her shoulder. She handed me a wooden cup without turning.
"You look nervous," she said, casually.
"I'm not," I replied, accepting it.
She smiled faintly, like she knew something I didn't. "You should be. This is the only time all four divine families gather in one place… unless there's a war."
I raised the cup and sniffed. Not palm wine. Something earthier.
"It's not palm wine," she added, as if reading my mind. "I wouldn't give you that. Not today."
The scent reminded me of millet—dried, ground, brewed slow. I took a sip. It was sweet, but with a quiet grainy finish that sat heavy on the tongue. Like memory.
"This is good," I said, quieter than I intended to.
Simi's gaze was elsewhere, watching a new cluster of guests arrive. "It's my favorite. I always pack some before a contract. Most villages don't have it."
She tilted her chin toward the procession.
"That's the Udoka family from the Eastern Kingdom," she murmured. "Those two in front—Master Amadi and Master Chidera. They're long-range specialists. Cold, precise. Their hands rarely team up with others. Very independent."
I followed her eyes. The Udoka uniforms were a deep rust-orange. Their warriors moved like chess pieces, deliberate and distant, their backs straight and faces unreadable.
She motioned slightly toward another corner. "That's the Husafi brothers. Northern Kingdom. Master Haruna and Master Gowon. All about raw strength. Axes, hammers, brute force. No subtlety, no compromise. Every one of their hands has that squared jaw and big chest. No women. You have to be northern-born to even be considered."
I glanced at the towering men in their iron-grey cloaks and nodded. "They're like Tor," I muttered.
Simi smirked. "He's from the north."
"Why didn't he join them?"
She hesitated, lips curling sideways. "Long story. I'll tell you another time."
Then her tone shifted as another group approached. This time, her voice carried something else—respect… and maybe longing.
"And that," she said, "is the Tari family. From the South. Your Kingdom. That's Madam Tare."
A column of women in sky-blue garments crossed the compound like water flowing between stones. Elegant, quiet, but with eyes that glinted like knives. Their divine crafts rested across their backs like extensions of their bodies.
"No men," Simi continued. "Not a single one. All their madams are women. Their hands, too. And unlike the rest of us, they don't serve a Father. They serve a Mother. A real matriarch."
She lowered her voice, almost like confessing. "I want to be one of them someday. Not just a Hand. Not just someone who's told when I'm good enough. The Tari women… they don't wait to be approved. They define themselves."
I didn't answer right away. My eyes followed the Tari women—how their footsteps never broke rhythm. Grace in motion. Power without performance.
"Why did they come with only one master?" I finally asked.
"Madam," Simi corrected gently. "And they're short on hands. Unlike the others, they don't get as many volunteers. So I'm guessing she's the only one with new hands this cycle."
Taking another sip of the drink. I felt grounded by it. Sweet. Strong. Honest.
The ceremony hadn't even started, and already the air buzzed with legacy, pride, history. All four families. All eyes eventually turning toward whoever dared stand out.
And myself? I just wanted to get through it. Do my part. Receive the honor and look toward whatever future awaited me.
Eventually, the ceremony began.
A hush swept through the compound as each Master and Madam stepped forward, their new Hands forming neat rows behind them. These were the ones newly blessed with divine essence—each one chosen, trained, and now standing before witnesses from all four divine families.
One by one, the new Hands—myself included—were called forward before the gathered crowd. Each of us was formally awarded our 1st Order badge. From what I'd heard, it was a symbol of readiness. A mark that we were now fit to accept official contracts under our assigned Majors.
The badges shimmered faintly as they were pinned into place, catching the sunlight like quiet fire. I stood silently among the two other new Hands assigned to Master Abiodun. When our turn came, I stepped forward without hesitation.
In another life—another decision—this moment would've gone differently. No badge. Just chains.
I had Major Deji to thank for this outcome.
When the badge was pressed into the slot on my chest, it caught the light for just a moment.
It was official.
Tuedon Akenzua. Hand of Major Deji. Under Master Abiodun of the Adesina Family.