Book 1: Chapter 8 – Oluwa Umeme

"Can you cure her?" Jabari's voice was taut with urgency, his hands curled into tense fists at his sides.

Heba's expression was unreadable, but there was a weight in her gaze that made his stomach twist. "I need you all to step outside," she said, her voice steady but firm.

"Absolutely not!" Jabari shot back without hesitation. "I won't leave my sister!"

Heba met his fiery resistance with quiet patience. "I need to conduct one final test," she explained, her tone gentle but unwavering. "It will require her to undress."

Jabari's jaw tightened as he warred with himself. The thought of leaving Inayah alone with a stranger – even for a moment – was unbearable. But before he could refuse again, he felt the faintest touch against his hand. His sister's frail fingers slipped into his own, cool and trembling.

"It's okay," Inayah whispered, her dark eyes steady despite the exhaustion lining them. "I'll be fine."

Jabari swallowed hard, torn between the instinct to protect and the knowledge that Heba might be their only hope. He looked down at Inayah, searching her face, then exhaled sharply before turning back to the princess.

"I promise," Heba said, meeting his gaze with sincerity, "no harm will come to her."

Silence stretched between them as Jabari's mind raced, weighing trust against necessity. His gut twisted with distrust, but he couldn't ignore the truth – Heba was their best, and perhaps only, chance.

"Fine," he ground out at last. "But I'll be right outside." The words felt like surrender as he turned on his heel and strode out, the guards flanking him as they stepped into the dimly lit hallway.

The wait was excruciating. It couldn't have been more than two minutes, but to Jabari, it felt like an eternity stretched thin. Every second that ticked by gnawed at his patience, his ears straining for any sound from the room.

The moment the door creaked open, he was back inside in an instant. His eyes swept over Inayah, her small frame now wrapped in a towel, her expression weary but intact.

"I'm fine," she assured him softly, as if sensing the storm inside him.

Jabari let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from his shoulders. His gaze flicked to Heba, who regarded him with quiet amusement.

"I told you I wouldn't harm her," she said with a soft chuckle.

Jabari ignored her mirth, cutting straight to the point. "Do you know what's wrong with her?" His voice held a flicker of hope, a desperate thread clinging to the possibility of answers.

At the question, Heba's smile faded. A shadow crossed her face. "I do, but-"

"You do?!" Jabari surged forward, grasping onto the revelation like a drowning man to a rope. "That's great! Can you cure her? How long will it take?!" He fired questions in rapid succession, unable to contain the swell of emotions. But the longer he spoke, the more he noticed the way Heba hesitated. The way her expression darkened.

His breath hitched. "What...

What is it?"

Heba didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned to her guards. "Aten. Lateef. Wait outside."

Lateef hesitated. "But Your Highness-"

"Now," Heba commanded, her voice brooking no argument.

With a reluctant glance at Jabari, the sword-wielding guard gave a short nod and followed Aten out, shutting the door behind them.

Heba turned her full attention back to Jabari and Inayah. "How much do you know about mages?"

The question caught Jabari off guard. "Mages?" His brow furrowed. "Not much. Just that they're powerful and respected wherever they go."

Heba inclined her head slightly. "To become a mage, one must be born with something called a vassal – a container of sorts, for magical power. It's a rare gift, and it can be detected through an aptitude test. If a person has a vassal, the crystal changes colour. Like what you saw with Aten."

Jabari nodded, absorbing the explanation. "Alright...

But what does any of that have to do with Inayah?"

Heba hesitated, as if choosing her next words carefully. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with an edge of grim severity.

"There exists a technique – an unnatural, wicked practice – that allows a vassal to be stolen. Ripped from its rightful owner and transferred to another." Her eyes darkened. "The process is excruciating, and worse still, it's ultimately fatal."

Jabari felt the ground shift beneath him. His vision tunnelled, his breath coming sharp and ragged. The room was suddenly suffocating.

His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked in the silence. His mind reeled, churning with denial, fury, and fear all at once.

"Judging by your reaction..." Heba studied him carefully. "You already suspected the truth, didn't you?"

For a second, Jabari's mind went blank. He couldn't believe her words. How could he possibly have suspected anything?

His furious gaze fell on the princess as he prepared to respond, but what he saw shocked him to no end.

Heba wasn't looking at him. She was looking at Inayah!

Jabari followed her gaze, and his heart stopped.

His little sister – his sweet, fragile Inayah – sat there with her head bowed, her fingers twisting the fabric of her towel. Silent. Her lower lip trembled, and tears clung to the edges of her lashes.

"Yah-Yah...?" His voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Inayah squeezed her eyes shut, her shoulders shaking.

She had known. She had known all along.

Jabari's mind was a storm, his thoughts crashing into one another like waves in a violent sea. This couldn't be real. Not only had someone used this vile, unnatural technique on his little sister, but she had known all along – and never told him.

Why?!

The pain of it all sat heavy on his chest, suffocating him, twisting into something dark and unrecognisable. He didn't know what to think. He didn't even know how to feel.

"I'm sorry," Inayah whispered, her voice barely more than a breath. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her fragile frame trembling. "I'm so sorry…

So sorry!"

Her apologies only deepened the chasm inside him. Jabari swallowed against the rage and confusion clawing at his throat. "What happened?" His voice was rough, unsteady. "What haven't you told me?"

But Inayah only curled in on herself, fingers clutching the towel around her as though it was the only thing keeping her together. She wouldn't even look at him.

A spark of frustration flared. "Inayah!" he barked, his voice sharp and raw.

She flinched but finally spoke, her voice barely audible.

"It...

It was Oluwa."

The world around Jabari seemed to tilt.

"Oluwa?" The name felt foreign in his mouth, like it no longer belonged to the boy he once knew.

"As in Oluwa Umeme?" Heba asked, her own surprise mirroring Jabari's.

Inayah nodded hesitantly, her tear-filled eyes never leaving the wooden floor beneath her.

Jabari's breath turned shallow. His mind latched onto her words, processing them, dissecting them, refusing to accept them.

Wait…

"Oluwa was an Umeme?" His voice was eerily devoid of emotion now, an empty, hollow thing. "Not only did he belong to the ruling family of the tribe... but he was the one who stole your vassal?" His fingers curled into fists. "And you've known this whole time? And never told me?"

Inayah finally looked up, only to find Jabari's eyes – cold, unreadable, distant.

She had never seen him like this before. And it terrified her.

She could do nothing but nod.

A terrible silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating. Then, suddenly, everything clicked.

Jabari thought back to all the times he had brushed off his instincts, ignored the strange behaviour of his little sister.

Unlike the other children in the slums, Inayah had never been excited at the thought of becoming a mage. She had never entertained the possibility, never once expressed hope.

Because she already knew it was impossible. Because of him. Because of Oluwa.

Jabari felt something inside him fracture.

Oluwa…

The boy he had once called a friend.

The memories came rushing back, sharp as a blade.

He remembered the day they first met – six years ago, when Jabari had only just begun hunting to feed himself and Inayah. He had been scouring the outskirts of the settlement when he stumbled upon a gruesome scene.

A boy, no older than him, lay on the ground, his clothes stained crimson, his chest rising and falling in frantic, shallow breaths. Around him, the bodies of several slain guards sprawled across the dirt, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. Among the corpses were the mangled remains of a wolf pack, their blood pooling beneath them.

Only one remained. A lone, battered wolf, its fur matted with gore, its eyes wild with hunger. It crept forward, step by step, towards the injured boy.

Jabari had stood frozen, watching. Hesitating.

Back then, he was no stranger to death. The slums had hardened him, stripped him of softness. If he had turned his back that day, the boy would have died, and he would've gone on with his life as usual. And yet…

Something inside him had rebelled against the thought.

The moment the wolf lunged, Jabari had moved. With nothing but a rusted kitchen knife, he drove the blade into the creature's throat until he felt the hot gush of blood spill over his hands.

From that moment on, the two had become friends.

Jabari had never asked where Oluwa came from – it was obvious. The fine stitching of his clothes, the way his words carried the weight of someone accustomed to being obeyed, the ever-present guards at his side. He was nobility. A child of the main settlement.

Nor did he ask this new friend of his to help him become a member of the main settlement. And yet, Oluwa still used his influence to help them.

It was Oluwa who had secured them a small hut at the far edge of the slums, giving Jabari and Inayah a space of their own. It was Oluwa who had gifted him his first real weapons – the razor-sharp throwing knives Jabari still carried to this day.

Jabari had trusted him.

And all this time…

All this time, he never knew.

Never once had he suspected that his so-called friend was anything more than a privileged noble with an unusual sense of kindness. Never once had he imagined that the boy he once risked his life for would be the one to steal something so vital from his little sister.

His pulse roared in his ears, and his vision blurred at the edges, consumed by a deep, simmering rage.

"How did he do it?" Jabari's voice was low now, cold, cutting. As if he couldn't see the way Inayah flinched. As if he didn't care.

"It…

"It was five years ago, the week before your mage assessment," Inayah began, her voice steady despite the weight of her words. "You were out hunting when Oluwa came to our hut... but he wasn't accompanied by just his guards. This time, there was also a woman with him – dressed in all black, she looked... terrifying."

Jabari and Heba listened in silence, their expressions unreadable. Inayah swallowed before continuing.

"When I asked what they wanted, neither of them answered. Instead, Oluwa pinned me to the ground while the woman began chanting in a strange language. She dipped two fingers into a black, inky liquid, then traced something onto my stomach. As soon as she finished, the markings began to glow."

Her tone remained composed, almost detached, but Heba, who understood exactly what kind of technique had been used, could only imagine the suffering she had endured. The sheer fact that Inayah could recount the event so plainly, without mentioning the pain and terror she must have felt, spoke volumes about her resilience.

The more she spoke, the more Heba's heart ached. She wanted nothing more than to pull the girl into an embrace, to offer her comfort, but she respected Inayah's strength and remained silent, letting her continue.

"Then," Inayah went on, her fingers unconsciously brushing against her lower stomach, "the woman took a blade and cut me, just beneath the markings.

She pushed her fingers inside the wound. And as Oluwa lay beside me, she did the exact same thing to him. But this time, she used my blood to draw the markings on his skin."

"It didn't hurt," she lied, her voice soft but firm. She knew Jabari too well – knew how much he was already blaming himself for something he hadn't even known about until now. "I just... felt like something was missing."

Jabari's fists clenched at his sides, his body rigid, but he didn't interrupt.

"After it was done, Oluwa told me the truth – he was the only son of the tribe's ruling family and that his mother wanted to kill us both to make sure no one ever discovered what had happened. But because you once saved his life, he swore he'd let us live."

She hesitated before adding, "As long as I never told a soul, we would be safe. But if I did – if I told you, or anyone else – he said we would suffer a fate worse than death."

A shadow passed over Heba's face, but she held her tongue.

"He made me swear an oath," Inayah admitted. "He made me dip my fingers in my own blood, raise my hand, and swear on my life that I would never speak of it."

Jabari's expression remained unreadable, but Inayah could feel the weight of his silence pressing down on her.

At the same time, an odd expression flashed across Heba's face. Still, she didn't interject, silently allowing Inayah to continue her story.

"And the day I came home to find Oluwa tending to you," he said at last, his voice unnervingly calm. "When you told me you fell on a knife and collapsed from a sudden spell of weakness..."

His words were careful, deliberate. Inayah felt the guilt coil tighter in her chest. Still, she nodded.

"Oluwa said I would start having these weak spells from then on," she admitted. "And that I should tell you he found me after I fell."

Jabari exhaled slowly. "I see."

A single tear slipped down his cheek. Then another.

Memories of his closest friend flooded his mind. The day they met. The time Oluwa used his status to secure him and Inayah a place of their own. The gift of throwing knives to help him hunt. The day Inayah "stabbed" herself.

The last time they saw each other…

He had walked Oluwa outside after she had fallen asleep. Even then, something had felt... wrong. Oluwa wasn't himself. He had assumed it was sadness that his friend was reluctant to say goodbye before leaving to continue his studies.

But now, he understood the truth.

A shudder ran through Jabari's body. His vision blurred with rage as his irises turned a burning, blood-red. His entire form trembled with an all-consuming fury, a storm that no longer had any hope of being contained.

Then, with his head thrown back, he released a roar so raw, so primal, so filled with anguish and betrayal, it tore through the night like a wounded beast's final cry.

"OLLUUWWAAAAAA!"