General Ọkwụlụọcha and Lady Adéọlá sit at a grand dining table, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. The evening is calm, but the air is thick with unspoken concerns, like a brewing storm hidden beneath a tranquil sea. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the intricately carved walls, each silhouette weaving a tapestry of mystery and history.
As they begin their dinner in relative silence, the soft clinking of cutlery against porcelain is the only sound, a delicate symphony underscoring their thoughts. They savour the carefully prepared dishes before them: roasted meats tender as a mother's embrace, and exotic spices that whisper tales of far-off lands. The aroma fills the air, a tantalizing reminder of the culinary prowess of their kitchen staff, whose skills have been honed through generations.
General Ọkwụlụọcha breaks the silence, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. "
GENERAL ỌKWULUOCHA: How is Káòṣù?
LADY ADÉỌLÁ (Exhales sharply, eyes narrowing slightly): He's doing okay.
(Dismissive, as if swatting away a fly)
He's improved, but he remains insufferable. I really wished he died but I thank the gods he is alive because I am going to make him wish he was dead
GENERAL ỌKWULUOCHA: (Expressions soften with a ghost of a smile)
"Bịa na nwayọọ ya.... Be gentle with him, Adéọlá.
(Voice carrying the weight of authority)
LADY ADÉỌLÁ: (Eyes flash with frustration and defiance, voice rising)
Ehn gentle kè? You want me to be gentle to the person that almost burnt you alive my Lord?
GENERAL ỌKWULUOCHA: (Leans forward, candlelight casting stern features into sharp relief, then smiles at the lady) are you still angry because of this? I am grateful for your concern my lady but I am okay he did not even scratch me.
LADY ADÉỌLÁ: (with the colour of the earth on her cheeks.) mo ti gbó... by the way
As she was about to voice her question, he heavy doors swung open with a solemn creak, admitting Adéìsẹ́lé and Adéjinéré into the room. Their entrance was a study in grace—their brown tie and dye gowns whispered softly like the wind through leaves as they moved. With a fluid motion, they knelt before their father, a tableau of respect and familial devotion.
"Ekú alé, Baba," they intoned in perfect unison, their voices blending like the harmonies of a well-rehearsed choir. Each word carried a weight of tradition and reverence, echoing through the solemnity of the grand chamber.
General Ọkwụlụọcha smiles and nods, a rare warmth softening his stern features with a mixture of pride and paternal concern, his presence commanding yet touched with a quiet tenderness. The lines on his face told tales of battles won and wisdom earned, resembling the weathered pages of an ancient manuscript.
"Good evening, my daughters."
They take their seats, and the servants quickly move to serve their meals. The room falls into a quiet rhythm of eating, the only sounds being the clinking of cutlery and the soft footsteps of the maidens. The tension in the air is palpable, like a coiled spring waiting to release.
GENERAL ỌKWULUOCHA: How was your day?
Adéìsẹ́lé: (smiles slightly, her green eyes reflecting the flickering candlelight). It was okay. I had company since Uwarshigiri was around. There was a disturbance, but I have handled it.)
Adéjinéré: What kind of disturbance?
Adéìsẹ́lé: I have handled it so don't worry
Adéjinéré: Ok oooooo
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (turns his face to Adéjinéré, his expression expectant) and you?
Adéjinéré: (shrugs her face, looking nonchalant). Just a normal day, no disturbances, I was training to pass the time, but it was quite boring.
Lady Adéọlá: (interjects, her tone softening like a mother hen.)It's okay to have some fun, Adéjinéré. Since the day of the trial of the half-caste, you've been busy. Use your free time to rest whenever you can.)
Adéjinéré: (shakes her head, her determination shining through.)I need to train to get better. The war isn't stopping anytime soon.)
Adéìsẹ́lé: (chimes in, her voice gentle but firm.) Ká kì í tó péṣé, ká fi ojú ṣíṣe ọgbọ́n. (This translates to "Before a tree becomes fully grown, it must go through stages of growth.") Sister, take it step by step.
Adéjinéré: (becomes furious) "Ìgbàtí igi bá kú láàárín igbó, àfọ̀mọ́ ni ó sọ." (This translates to "When a tree dies in the forest, it is due to neglect.") Since that half-caste entered this land, nothing has been the same. Our battles have become worse, chaos are becoming stronger and they are increasing, we don't even know if there is foreigners in our land, our enemies at the tail are getting stronger and stronger, if we are not cautious; they might invade us
Lady Adéọlá: (eyes flash with determination, like a warrior ready for battle.) It will never come to that. We are more than capable of preventing an invasion.
Adéjinéré: (remains resolute, her voice unwavering.) so I cannot allow the tree to grow without watering it so it can bear fruits for us to eat, I can't afford to get rusty. I'll train whenever I have the chance.
A tense silence follows, broken only by the sounds of their eating. The weight of their unspoken fears hangs in the air, a silent spectre at the table. Finally, Adéìsẹ́lé turns to Lady Adéọlá, her curiosity piqued.
Adéìsẹ́lé: How is the half-caste?
.
Lady Adéọlá: (eyes narrow, her suspicion evident)
The abomination is doing fine ooo," she says cautiously. "Why are you curious?
Adéìsẹ́lé: No reason,(she replies quickly, her cheeks flushing slightly) Just curious.
Lady Adéọlá: (probes further, her voice like a needle pricking at a balloon.) Speaking of curiosity, why did you two allow the man who almost killed your father to live?
Adéìsẹ́lé: it was a vote and father voted for him also
Lady Adéọlá: I know but the both of you voted for the abomination to live. You and your father are too kind (faces Adéjinéré) but I never expected you to also allow such thing to happen Adéjinérẹ.
Adéjinérẹ: Ìsèlè said this earlier, it was a vote my lady
Lady Adéọlá: Really a vote that was a tie till you had to decide his fate? You had his life in your hands and you permitted him to live
Adéjinérẹ: (eyes flash with anger, like lightning in a stormy sky.) yes I allowed him to live, but I never permitted him to live like a prince in a land where he is not welcome. (Facing the general)
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (interjects, his voice calm but firm, like the steady beat of a drum) He is our guest. We must treat him well.
Adéjinéré: Guest kè (voice rises, her anger bubbling over.) We never accepted him as our guest. He came uninvited. He is our prisoner; he belongs in a cage not in the castle,
Adéìsẹ́lé: (interrupts, her voice a soothing balm.) He was badly wounded and poisoned. We needed to help him.
Adéjinéré: (counters, her tone sharp as a blade.)He's already fine now. You healed him, remember?
Adéìsẹ́lé: Yes I remember, I also gave him a power up making his fire purple, did you forget?
Adéjinéré (scoffs, her anger unrelenting.): "Omo ejò kò lè dàbí ejò; kó tóó dàgbà, ó máa jẹ́ ejò." (This translates to "A baby snake will always become a snake; before it grows up, it is already a snake."). You just made his growth faster. He is a threat to us all just like what Ifádànà said.
Adéìsẹ́lé: Then why did you save his life?
Adéjinéré: You know why I saved his life why are you asking me this question sister?
The discussion grows more heated, voices overlapping in a mix of concern and frustration. The tension is a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. Finally, the general's voice cuts through the clamour, a thunderous command.
General Ọkwụlụọcha: Enough!" (He shouts, slamming his fist on the table.)
A heavy silence falls over the room. The daughters lower their heads, murmuring apologies before leaving the room, their departure punctuated by the soft click of the closing doors.
Lady Adéọlá rolls her eyes and coughs twice. At this signal, all the guards and maids exit the room swiftly, leaving the general and Lady Adéọlá alone in the now eerily quiet dining hall. The weight of their responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future hangs heavily in the air, a silent testament to the struggles they face.
Lady Adéọlá: (Her voice like a whisper of the wind) My Lord, you know the real reason Jìnęrę let that brat Káòṣù live, don't you? She's seeking an excuse to venture into the other world."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (His voice a deep rumble) "Yes, I know. It worries me deeply. She's not ready yet. She still has many flaws."
Lady Adéọlá: (Raising an eyebrow, her tone probing) "Is it because of her emotions?"
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Sighing, looking down at the table as if searching for answers) "Partly. She's driven by a storm of feelings, and it clouds her judgment."
Lady Adéọlá: (Leaning forward, her eyes like daggers) "My Lord, We cannot keep her here for eternity. Sooner or later, she will leave."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Nodding slowly, his voice heavy with resignation) "I know. And Káòṣù's arrival could make that happen sooner. She could have killed him the moment she met him at the borders but she kept him alive;"
Lady Adéọlá: (Her voice sharp as a blade) "That brat has been an issue since he entered our realm, why didn't you destroy that boy the moment you had the chance?"
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Meeting her gaze, his expression unreadable) "I have my reasons, and you know that."
Lady Adéọlá: hmmmm (Pausing, her eyes searching his face) "He might have some similarities, but Káòṣù is not that boy. The boy is dead."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Voice low, almost a whisper, as if speaking to a ghost) "What if he is the one? Ehn tell me my lady, what if he is the boy ehn will you allow me kill him again? No. (nodding his head and shaking his hands) I will not let him die twice."
Lady Adéọlá: (Takes a deep breath, her expression conflicted) "Do whatever you think is right, my lord. It is proof that Jìnęrę is her father's daughter. But remember this; I swear to the gods (using her right index finger to touch her tongue and point to the sky): if anything bad happens, I will not hesitate to end that abominated brat Káòṣù's life myself."
Lady Adéọlá rises gracefully, the rustle of her gown the only sound in the room. She gives the general one last, lingering look before turning to leave. Just as she reaches the door:
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Calling after her, his voice softer) "Please, stop calling me 'my lord' my Lady,."
Lady Adéọlá: (Pausing, a faint smile touching her lips) "Till you stop calling me 'my lady', my lord."
She turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind her, leaving the general in a deep, contemplative silence. The candlelight flickers, casting long shadows, as if the very walls are holding their breath.
Moments later, the door creaks open again, and a soldier enters the room, bowing his head deeply.
SOLDIER: (Respectfully) "Grand General."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Looking up, his expression stern) "Status?"
SOLDIER: "The commander has returned soldiers to the capital, sir. Some will join the palace guards, and some are already stationed at the wings and the heart."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Eyes narrowing, tension building in his voice) "How many soldiers?"
SOLDIER: (Voice trembling slightly) "A hundred, sir."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (Anger flashing like lightning across his face) "I requested three hundred. Why did he send back only a hundred soldiers?"
SOLDIER: (Hesitant, fear in his eyes) "Apologies, my lord, but the full moon is close. Most soldiers sent back are new recruits."
The general's fury erupts, and he slams his fist on the table with such force that it breaks into two. The room echoes with the crack of wood splitting, the sound hanging in the air like a ghostly wail. The soldier flinches, eyes wide with fear and regret.
SOLDIER: (Trembling, almost whispering) "I am sorry if I have offended you, my lord."
General Ọkwụlụọcha: (A surprising smile crossing his lips, though his eyes remain hard) "No, you did not. Prepare my horse. We ride to Iséikùn."
SOLDIER: (Nodding quickly, relief and urgency in his voice) "Yes, General."
The soldier swiftly exits the room, leaving the general standing amidst the ruins of the table, his fist still clenched. The flickering candlelight casts dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the turmoil within him. His knuckles are white, the veins on his hand standing out like rivers on a map, a testament to the barely contained storm raging inside him.
The silence that follows is heavy, filled with unspoken fears and the weight of impending decisions. The general stands alone, his mind a battlefield of duty, worry, and unresolved grief.