The Crown's Demand: The Test of Legacy

The sun had barely broken through the clouds when the rider arrived, his horse foaming and breathless. The battlefield still smoldered. Prince Adebayo stood among the wounded and the fallen, his sword heavy with blood and dust, when the messenger bowed before him.

"My prince," the rider said, voice hoarse from the journey. "Kabiyesi... is gone."

For a moment, Adebayo said nothing. The clash of steel and the cries of dying men seemed to fade behind him. He stared at the horizon, blood on his brow, and felt the cold burn of news he had never expected.

He closed his eyes. "When?"

"Three days past."

The wind shifted, lifting the smell of charred grass and iron. Adebayo turned his gaze toward the west, toward Akun. Though pain clawed through his shoulder from a spear wound, he mounted his horse. He rode alone.

The gates of Akun creaked open beneath a gray, mourning sky. Prince Adebayo entered as a silent storm, the iron hooves of his steed clashing against the stone path that led into the heart of the kingdom he had defended for over two decades.

His armor, once gleaming, was dulled by dried blood and the dust of battle. The kingdom he had bled for was quiet. No trumpets. No chants. No waiting crowd to receive their prince. Only the somber tolling of bells that echoed like a judgment over the sandstone walls.

The scent of incense drifted faintly through the air, mixed with the sweetness of rotting flowers left too long in mourning bowls. Red silk banners hung limp from balconies, and guards stood unmoving like statues, spears angled toward the sky.

He pulled back the reins at the palace gates. Guards bowed stiffly. Servants avoided his eyes. A strange coldness clung to the stones beneath his feet.

"What has happened here?" he asked, though no one answered.

A young steward-one he barely recognized-stepped forward at last. "Your Highness... welcome home. Kabiyesi is... gone."

Though he had already heard the words, hearing them again on Akun soil made them real. The wound reopened.

"I know," he said softly. "Why is the palace so silent?"

The steward hesitated. "There is more you must hear."

Adebayo dismounted slowly. No one met his gaze. No one called him crown prince. He clenched his jaw, concealing the sting beneath his ribs. His father was gone. Kabiyesi Adeyemi Adesoji, once conqueror of five kingdoms, was dead. And he hadn't been here.

He had fought far from home, commanding the eastern defense, defeating a raid that threatened to burn the farmlands and enslave his people. He had stood on the battlefield for them, bearing the weight of leadership in his father's name. And now... this.

He was led through the palace with hushed respect. Curtains were drawn. Drums silent. The palace bore the air of loss-and something else. Something hidden. It lingered in the shadows of every hallway, behind every bowed head and locked door.

The walls of the palace were familiar and yet colder now. The marbled floors, once polished and alive with ceremony, were dusty, abandoned. Courtiers kept their distance. Even the flame in the main hall's oil lamps seemed to flicker lower than usual.

In the inner court, the elders stood with heads bowed. At their center stood the kingmaker-tall, robed in deep blue, with eyes like still fire.

"Prince Adebayo," the kingmaker said, his voice echoing across the open marble floor. "You have returned. But not to the title you once bore."

The room froze.

Adebayo stared. "What did you say?"

The kingmaker did not flinch. "By the final decree, and the will of the Circle, the title of crown prince has been stripped. You are now equal with your brothers."

Adebayo stepped forward. "I fought for this kingdom. I bled for it. And you strip me of what is mine?"

"The kingdom is in danger," the kingmaker replied calmly. "Kabiyesi's death has awakened the five rival kingdoms. They demand peace-but at a price. Five sacred treasures. One from each land."

Murmurs rose.

"And so," the kingmaker continued, raising his voice, "the sons of Adesoji must go. Each must journey into one of the rival kingdoms. Each must return with the treasure demanded."

He turned then, and strode out of the hall. A bell rang throughout the palace. Moments later, the great courtyard was filled with nobles, elders, and townspeople summoned for the public announcement. From a raised platform, the kingmaker stood, with the council at his back and the throne draped in mourning black.

His voice carried over the assembly:

"By the decree of Kabiyesi Adeyemi Adesoji, and in the presence of the Circle of Elders, let it be known! The throne shall not be inherited, but earned. The five sons of the king shall depart at sunrise to retrieve five sacred treasures from five kingdoms who now threaten our land."

Gasps broke from the crowd. Some wept. Others looked to one another in fear.

"If none return, Akun shall fall. If one returns, he shall rule. If two return, the kingdom shall be divided. No more than two may return alive."

Silence fell like ash.

Adebayo stood at the platform's edge, watching the sea of faces. Many avoided his eyes. Others studied him with suspicion. Whispers began to spread: The forgotten prince. The one once called heir. Is he ready to fight his own blood?

The kingmaker's voice rang out again. "This is the will of the king, and the word of legacy. So it is spoken. So it shall be."

As the crowd began to disperse, Adebayo turned back toward the palace. His steps were slow, heavy. The walls seemed narrower now, pressing in on him. Somewhere deep within, he felt the old ache return-not of the wound in his side, but of the boy who had once stood proud before a father who would never look at him with love.

His mother, Olori Akerele, had once said, 'Some kings rule with fire, others with silence. Yours ruled with both.'

Now both had been passed to him.

Outside, the sky had begun to darken. Thunder rolled distantly, and the first raindrops fell, soft as secrets. A wind stirred the palace flags. Somewhere in the city below, a woman wept.

The kingdom was bleeding. And once again, Adebayo would have to carry the sword.

He walked on.

Toward fate.

Toward war.

Toward the crown's demand.