The Choice

Wafula staggered forward, his body still buzzing from the transformation. Every fiber of his being had been torn apart and reforged, yet here he stood, unscathed, no longer in pain. He took a breath, steady, deep and powerful. His mind, however, was another matter. Nothing about this was normal.

Before he could even gather his thoughts, his surroundings changed. The dim flicker of light around him expanded into an overwhelming radiance, forcing him to shield his eyes. When the brightness finally faded, he found himself standing in a vast, endless land unlike anything he had ever seen before.

The air was thick with energy, heavy and almost alive. Towering statues surrounded him in every direction, each one unique, carved from materials that looked ancient yet untouched by time. Some gleamed like polished marble, others stood weathered with cracks running along their surfaces, yet all of them carried an overwhelming presence.

Wafula looked down at his hands. He felt different stronger, lighter, as if he had shed the weight of his old self. But before he could dwell on that, a movement in his peripheral vision made him snap his head up.

His divine spirit.

It had left his body, floating just a few feet away, its once-translucent form now pulsating with energy. Wafula's breath hitched as he watched it move, no, not just move. It was absorbing.

From the statues surrounding him, streams of glowing energy lifted into the air, swirling toward his divine spirit, merging with it in a hypnotic dance. At first, the changes were subtle. Its outline became sharper, its glow steadier. But then, color began seeping into it, slow at first, then all at once, as though someone had spilled ink into clear water.

Wafula didn't understand it completely, but he felt the connection deep in his core. This energy belonged to him now.

His gaze flickered around the land, trying to make sense of what was happening. He turned his attention back to the statues and realized something, only a few of them were releasing energy. He couldn't count them all, but he could feel their presence, an overwhelming force pressing down on him.

That's when curiosity took hold.

His divine spirit was still absorbing power, showing no signs of needing him. So Wafula did what he did best, he explored.

Moving past the absorbing energy, he walked toward one of the massive stone structures. It wasn't just a statue, it was a monument, and behind it stood a towering wall covered in inscriptions. The writing wasn't in any language he recognized, but somehow, he understood it instantly. The words weren't just words. They were truth.

And they told him everything.

This place, the Divine Land, was where all protectors came only once in their lifetimes. It was a sacred realm, created alongside the order itself, and it held a singular purpose: inheritance and conferment of responsibility.

Each protector had to make a choice. A defining decision that would determine their entire path. The statues weren't just random. They represented the wills of those who had come before, the roads walked by protectors for generations. Some paths were known and respected, others feared and avoided. But in the end, every protector had to inherit a will.

A divine will.

Wafula exhaled, the weight of the revelation settling in. This wasn't just about survival anymore. This wasn't just about getting back to Kenya, about running from killers, about protecting some fancy Excalibur. No, this was bigger.

This was his baptism.

His divine spirit let out a soft pulse, its transformation nearly complete. Wafula glanced at it, then back at the statues, and for the first time, he truly understood.

He wasn't here to fight. He was here to choose.

And whatever choice he made… there would be no turning back.

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