The drums of Ikenga had gone silent.
The echoes that once reverberated through the valleys and forests of the Okoye homeland - the rhythmic heartbeat that had stirred these ferocious warriors into battle - were extinguished. A land rich in flora and fauna suddenly becomes bare and barren.
Only the whisper of the wind travelling through broken banners and shattered shields could be heard. Smoke curled in thick black spirals above the battlefield, incensing the battlefield with its acrid stench of burning flesh and scorched earth . Ash drifted like morbid snow, landing on the twisted bodies of men, women, and children who had once sung the songs of the Okoye clan with pride.
Prince Kosi – a young man in his early twenties, tired and weary , limped through the devastation, sword heavy in his hand, its edge slick with the blood of friend and foe alike. Every step pressed down upon him as though the weight of history itself had been piled on his shoulders. Around him lay the last of his kin - brothers, cousins, warriors born of fire and blood.
The great Okoye clan, legendary in life and lore, reduced to whispers and ash within a few moments. Betrayal had cut deeper than any sword.
He fell to his knees beside his brother Chima, tracing the slack line of his face with trembling fingers. Memories rose unbidden - the laughter of brothers training in the courtyard and open field, the fiery discipline of their father's lessons, the proud march of warriors beneath banners snapping in the wind, the look on the faces of their lived ones. Ikenga had promised victory. Ikenga had filled their hearts with courage and their dreams with certainty; and yet, when the night sky burned with the torches of their enemies, the god's drums had stopped.
A scream tore from Kosi's throat, raw and primal. "IKENGA!" His voice carried across the ruins, challenging the heavens themselves. The clouds rumbled in response – or mockery –but he did not care. Rage and sorrow formed inside of him, forging a new, unbreakable core.
He rose, surveying the battlefield. Smoke swirled around broken weapons and fallen banners. The air itself seemed heavy with despair. But amid the ruin, a tattered banner caught his eye, fluttering weakly in the wind. He grasped it to his chest, feeling the pulse of his people through its frayed threads.
"I will avenge you," he whispered to the fallen. "I will tear down every temple, silence every hymn, and make the gods answer for their inaction."
Lightning flashed above, illuminating the devastation in stark white. His shadow stretched across the blood-soaked earth, merging with the bodies of his kin. The path ahead was lonely, strewn with suffering and trials yet unseen. Still, a fire burned inside him - a fire forged from loss, loyalty, and unyielding will.
He walked, each step a defiance to the natural law. Whispering the names of the dead – ;Chima… Obi… Ife… Nneka – he stitched memory into purpose. Night fell, and the moon rose pale and cold, clouds pulsing with a strange, otherworldly light. He lifted his sword to the sky. "Hear me, Ikenga! Hear the words of the last of the Okoye! I will not kneel. I will not cry in silence. I will make you answer for their inaction!"
Thunder rolled. The wind carried a mournful melody, the whispers of the dead mingling with the cries of the living. By dawn, Kosi stood alone amid the wreckage. The battlefield was quiet, save for distant birds and the sighing wind. He raised his sword, sun glinting on the bloodied edge. "Let the gods see me," he said, voice raw yet unwavering. "Let them witness what remains of their favor. I will rise, and I will make them answer."
In the silence of Ikenga, he no longer feared absence. It was a silence he would fill with the roar of his resolve. With every step kosi took , he went forward into the unknown, Prince Kosi began a journey defined not by titles or glory, but by a singular, burning purpose –to reclaim the honor of all he had loved and lost.
To end the reign of the gods