Verse 1
The sky over Benue that morning looked like it hadn't fully woken up. A soft blue, still wearing the tail-end of sleep. The kind of sky that made you feel like you arrived too early for something important.
Shun'Sayn Aburok stepped down from the rusting bus that had limped its way through dust and silence. As it drove off, coughing black smoke into the still air, it left him standing in the heart of a place that felt both distant and familiar — his mother's village.
The silence wasn't empty. It was thick — the kind that carried weight. The villagers didn't rush. Their movements were slow, their eyes quicker. He caught their glances: short, sharp, and then gone. But he knew what they said even without hearing it.
"That's the boy."
"Her son."
"The one whose father left."
"The outsider's blood."
Shun'Sayn adjusted his bag over his shoulder and kept walking, head forward, heart steady. The paths hadn't changed — narrow, dusty, stubborn. He passed rust-colored houses with roofs that groaned under years of sun, and fences patched with old metal sheets. A faded memory tugged at him: the smell of palm oil and firewood, his mother's younger voice, and the time she had warned him softly but seriously — "If you ever go there, don't step beyond the carved posts. Ever."
At the time, he didn't even know what grove she meant. But now, older, taller, sharper — he could guess.
By the time he reached their family compound, the village had fully taken note of his return. No welcome. No warmth. Just cautious eyes and unspoken thoughts. The gate creaked as he pushed it open. The compound was quiet — swept clean, but not lived-in. The breeze moved like it knew secrets. Inside, everything smelled like old wood, dried leaves, and something else… like the air was carrying a warning.
His mother wasn't home yet. He dropped his bag in the corner of the small room and sat on the edge of the bamboo bed. The mattress dipped under his weight. His hands rested on his knees, but his mind was far — pulled by something that had started before he even got there.
Out the window, he could see the edge of the forest — trees bunched tightly together like they were hiding something. And there, just faintly, stood the posts.
Old, carved wood. Markings faded by time. Standing like sentinels.
He didn't stare too long. Not yet. But he felt it. The pull. Like a hand reaching into his chest and gently tugging. It wasn't a voice. It wasn't a thought. Just a… knowing.
The day was only beginning.
And something was waiting.