Dawn crept over the horizon, its pale light spilling across the ashes of Ileigi village, now reduced to a seething graveyard. The sun revealed Akami striding through Agbija Forest, his broad shoulders bearing the weight of Adigun, who slept soundly against his back. The boy's small arms hung loosely around his neck, his breathing soft and steady after the night's ordeal. Akami's dreads swayed with each step, his leopard fur glistening faintly with morning dew, and above, Asabi circled, her wings cutting through the dull sky.
Akami's gaze lifted to the hawk, then drifted to the grey expanse above. The fire had claimed Ileigi, a necessary purge to honor the dead, but it left him with Adigun, a responsibility he hadn't sought. His head throbbed as he weighed his options. He couldn't simply abandon the boy in the nearest village. Adigun's gift set him apart, a beacon for trouble in a world that didn't understand such power. Yet dragging him along on a mission to hunt the creature's kin and unearth its origins felt wrong. A child shouldn't walk a path stained with blood and vengeance.
"Brother," Adigun's voice murmured, lazy with sleep, breaking Akami's reverie.
"Call me…" Akami paused, catching himself. He couldn't give his true name—not Akami, the Primordial God of Death. Even Ajike, sharp as she'd been, had never heard it from his lips, though he suspected she'd pieced it together. "Call me Igbari," he said, settling on a name that felt safe, unburdened by his past.
Adigun nodded against his back, his cheek pressed to Akami's shoulder. "Where are we off to?" he asked, his eyes blinking open to take in the forest stretching around them. Agbija Forest was vast, its canopy a jumble of green and wood. He'd never left Ileigi before, but his father's tales had painted this place, its endless reach, its fierce beasts. Once, his hunter father had returned with the corpse of a yellow-eyed hyena, a scar raking his chest, pride shining in his eyes despite the wound.
"We're going to Oba-Aran," Akami answered, his voice steady. "I have something I must do, and I need to find you a home."
"No!" Adigun barked, his voice sharper than he'd intended, though it lacked the menace he'd hoped for. He slid down from Akami's back, landing on the forest floor with a soft thud, and faced him, his small frame taut with determination. "I want to go with you."
Akami's brows furrowed, caught off guard by the boy's resolve. "My journey is not one for a child, Adigun," he said gently, his tone a plea for reason.
"I am not just any child," Adigun shot back, his eyes blazing with a fire that belied his years.
Akami sighed, "You are right but you are still weak. You barely understand your powers. You deserve to grow with a family one that loves and protects you."
"No!" Adigun's voice rose. "If I am weak, then teach me! Family? I had one, and that thing took that away from me. I am weak but I don't want to be. So make me as strong as you."
"Alright then," he said, clicking his tongue in a mix of resignation and amusement. "But be prepared. It's not going to be easy."
Adigun's face broke into a wide smile, his small fists clenching with excitement. "Yes!" he exclaimed, the determination in his eyes unshaken by the warning.
Akami chuckled, a low rumble that softened the edges of his stern face. This suited him better, truth be told. Leaving Adigun with strangers had never sat right with him. There were too many unknowns, too little trust in a world that could turn cruel in an instant. Besides, the boy's affinity with the shadow moved something in him, a trace of curiosity marked with memory. It echoed faintly of Ojijori, the Primordial of the Night, one of his long-dead kin. The ability to manipulate the dark—there were similarities, but they were not the same. After all, darkness was not the same as shadow.
"Oba-Aran is seventeen days from here if we walk at a normal pace," Akami said, turning his gaze to the boy. He stepped toward a nearby rock, roughly the size of a human head, and hefted it with ease, its rough surface scraping against his palm. He held it out to Adigun, who took it with both hands, his fingers curling around its weight. It was heavy but bearable, and Adigun's brow furrowed as he tested its heft.
"What are you giving me this for?" he asked with confusion in his voice.
Akami grinned, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "That rock must always be on you until we get to Oba-Aran. You're only allowed to drop it when we're sleeping, eating, showering, or taking a shit. If you drop it any time aside from those moments, you starve for the day."
"Eh?" Adigun's jaw dropped, his eyes widening as the reality of the task sank in.
"Got any complaints?" Akami's grin widened, taking on a sinister edge, his tone daring the boy to protest.
"No, no, haha," Adigun stammered, forcing an anxious laugh as he adjusted his grip on the rock, already feeling its strain against his arms.
Akami straightened, his dreads swaying as he turned eastward, the direction of Oba-Aran
The days in Agbija Forest bled into one another, the sun and moon trading places as Akami and Adigun pressed eastward toward Oba-Aran. For Adigun, the first few days were a torment carved in stone. The rock's jagged edges bit into his palms, leaving thin cuts that stung with every shift of his grip. When exhaustion or carelessness made him drop it, Akami held firm to his word—no food passed the boy's lips that day. The forest, as his father had warned, teemed with danger. Beasts. Snarling leopards, coiled snakes, even a hulking boar with tusks like spears, lunged from the shadows, but Akami dispatched them with an ease that bordered on grace. Obegun flashed in his hands, cutting through fur and bone, and each victory stoked Adigun's hunger to grow stronger, to wield such power himself.
By the seventh day, the rock's weight felt less oppressive. Adigun's arms ached less, his steps grew surer. On the twelfth day, it was as if the stone had fused with him, an extension of his body rather than a burden. Akami watched in secret, his sharp eyes tracing the boy's progress with quiet amazement. He'd known Blesseds adapted faster than mortals, their bodies and spirits bending to meet their gifts, but Adigun's pace was exceptional, a cut above even the others he'd encountered.
That night, as the twelfth day gave way to dusk, Akami knelt by a small pile of firewood he'd gathered, coaxing blue flames from his fingertips to set it ablaze. The firelight danced across their corner of the forest, casting flickering shadows as he skewered a skinned rabbit over the flames. Adigun sat nearby, the rock resting beside him, a permitted reprieve while they ate. "Igbari," the boy's voice broke the quiet, curious and clear.
"Yes?" Akami replied, turning the rabbit to cook evenly.
"Who created juju?" Adigun asked, his head tilting as he watched the flames.
The question caught Akami off guard, a ripple of surprise rousing beneath.
"I mean," Adigun continued, "I understand the reason I can do what I can do is because of juju. It makes me curious. Who made juju? The person must be a god, right?" His eyes glowed with the same wonder that had lit them when he'd first slipped through the shadows.
Akami laughed gently, a sound that softened the night. "You must really love the gods," he said, amused.
"Truth be told, I could care less about the Orisa," Adigun replied, tearing a piece of meat from the now-cooked rabbit and popping it into his mouth. "Father said we should respect them. He had great reverence for Ososigi, Orisa of the Hunt." He chewed thoughtfully, the juices staining his lips.
"You don't agree?" Akami asked, his curiosity piqued as he took a piece of meat for himself.
"No," Adigun shook his head, swallowing. "Mama Ajike talked about some gods that were before the Orisa." His eyes brightened with memory. "Primor… Prami…" He fumbled over the word, his tongue tripping.
"Primordials," Akami supplied, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he saved the boy from his struggle.
"Yes! Primordals," Adigun said, still mangling it, and Akami's laugh rang out again, warm and unguarded. "I know it's nothing but a tale," Adigun went on, munching proudly, "but I do want to be like the great Akami."
Akami's smile turned bitter, a shadow crossing his face as he said nothing. Adigun didn't notice, pressing on with his question. "So who made juju?"
Akami rubbed his beardless chin slowly, his gaze drifting to the fire. "Juju is as old as nature itself," he said at last. "To know who created juju, you have to know who created this world. Unfortunately, I do not know that."
Adigun sighed, nodding as he tore into another bite of rabbit, accepting the answer with a child's pragmatism. Akami rose, stepping past him and ruffling the boy's hair as he went. "Get some sleep," he said, his voice firm but kind. "Tomorrow, your juju training starts."
Adigun's face lit up, a grin spreading wide as he nodded eagerly.