The moon hung above the village like a silent witness, glowing cold and unyielding. Its pale light spilled across the beaten path that wound between the huts, painting the earth in silver and shadow. The night was alive with the smell of smoke, palm wine, and something heavier—fear.
Sola's chest rose and fell as she clutched the doorframe of her hut, her fingernails digging into the wood. Her whole body trembled. Every sound was louder than it should have been—the rustle of the palm leaves, the hiss of the wind, the creak of a distant door. But above all, she could hear the furious pounding of her own heart.
And then she saw him.
Ola stood in the center of the path, tall, broad-shouldered, and burning with anger. His face was twisted into something that no longer looked like the boy she had once laughed with at the stream. His jaw clenched hard, his nostrils flared, and his eyes blazed like fire hungry for wood. He looked less like a man and more like a storm waiting to break.
Behind him, two men hovered like shadows. Their machetes caught the moonlight, glinting sharp and merciless. Every move they made whispered of danger.
But where was Kunle?
Sola's eyes darted left and right, her breath quickening. Then she saw him. He was being pushed forward roughly by one of the men. His shirt was torn, his hair disheveled, and a fresh cut bled down the side of his forehead. Blood streaked his cheek, but his eyes—sharp, defiant—never left Ola.
"Ola!" Sola's voice broke into the night. She stepped forward though her knees shook. "Leave him! Please, leave him!"
Ola's laugh cut through the silence, deep and cruel, carrying across the village like thunder. "Leave him? After he has shamed me before my people? After he has stolen what belongs to me? No, Sola. Tonight, he pays."
Kunle spat blood to the dust at his feet. His voice was hoarse but steady. "Your pride is louder than your brain, Ola. You think blood will heal your shame? You think killing me will make the village respect you again?"
Ola's jaw twitched. His knuckles whitened as he raised his machete. "My honor is not for debate. And tonight, your blood will water this ground."
The first swing came swift and fierce. Kunle twisted his body at the last moment, the blade slicing past his ear. Sparks flew as metal struck stone. Kunle lunged forward, ramming his head against Ola's face. The impact cracked, and Ola staggered, blood gushing from his nose. Yet he didn't fall. His fury only deepened.
The two men rushed in. One swung low at Kunle's legs, forcing him to leap back, his bare feet scraping the earth. The other aimed for his back, but Kunle snatched up a broken farming hoe lying nearby. He spun it like a spear, the wood cracking against the man's arm. A howl of pain tore through the air.
"Kunle!" Sola screamed. Her hands reached out, but fear rooted her to the ground. She trembled like a bird caught in a hunter's snare.
The fight became savage, desperate. Fists struck flesh. Blades clashed with bone and wood. Dust rose from the ground, mixing with the smell of sweat and iron. Kunle fought like a cornered lion, his muscles straining, his skin slick with blood and sweat. He struck Ola in the ribs, making him stumble, but then a blade slashed across Kunle's side. Warm blood spilled down his waist, staining his wrapper.
Still—he did not fall.
"You will not break me!" Kunle roared, shoving one of the attackers into the dust. His chest heaved, his voice echoing through the village. His eyes locked onto Ola. "If you want my blood, come and take it yourself!"
Ola's scream tore through the night as he charged. Their bodies collided, blades flashing, fists hammering. Ola's rage gave him power, but Kunle's will to live made him unyielding. They rolled across the ground, each fighting like a beast, neither willing to surrender.
The village stirred. Doors cracked open. Faces peered from the darkness. Whispers spread like wildfire: "Ola and Kunle… they are fighting!" The people crept closer, hiding behind trees and walls. Some came out of fear, others out of hunger—for blood, for gossip, for the fall of men who had once stood as brothers.
But none dared intervene. Not yet.
Then another voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a drumbeat.
"Stop this madness!"
A woman rushed forward, her wrapper dragging in the dirt, her hair loose about her shoulders. Mama Teni, the old herbalist. Gasps rippled through the crowd. Mama Teni was not a woman who walked the night without reason.
She thrust herself between the fighters, arms wide. Her eyes flashed with fire. "Do you want to bring a curse upon this land? Blood spilled under the full moon calls spirits we cannot drive away!"
Ola snarled and shoved her aside. "Out of my way, old witch!"
But Mama Teni's gaze did not falter. She turned—not to Ola—but to Sola, her crooked finger rising like a judgment. "Woman, speak the truth now, before the ground drinks this blood. Tell him what you told me."
The crowd hushed. The wind itself seemed to hold its breath.
Sola's eyes widened. "What truth?"
Kunle staggered, clutching his bleeding side. "What is this?"
Mama Teni's voice grew low, heavy as thunder. "Sola is not the only reason Ola burns with hate. There is another hand in this fire. Someone close to Kunle… someone who betrayed him."
Gasps rippled through the villagers. Faces turned. Eyes darted. Kunle's voice cracked like a whip. "Who?"
From the shadows, a figure stepped forward.
Ade.
Kunle's childhood friend. The one who had shared his food, worked the farms, laughed beneath the mango tree. Ade's eyes avoided Kunle's. His hand shook, clutching a short dagger. His voice was barely a whisper.
"It was me. I told Ola where you go at night. I told him when you would be alone." He swallowed hard, his lips trembling. "I… I wanted Sola too. I thought if Ola destroyed you, maybe she would see me instead."
The silence was deafening. Even Ola's rage dimmed for a heartbeat.
Kunle's chest heaved. His face twisted, pain cutting deeper than the wound on his side. "Ade… you? My brother?"
Ade's voice cracked. "Forgive me. I was weak."
Sola covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. "Ade… I never knew…"
Ola's laugh broke the stillness, sharp and bitter. "So even my friend desires her. She is poison. She makes men betray blood and brotherhood."
Kunle's grip tightened on the broken hoe. His voice was low, dangerous. "You sold me out—for lust?"
Ade's tears glistened in the moonlight. "Yes. And I hate myself for it."
The tension snapped. Ola roared and charged again, machete swinging. Kunle blocked with his hoe. Sparks lit the night. The fight raged hotter, wilder. Now the crowd was restless, divided—some shouted for Ola, others murmured that the gods would punish them all.
Mama Teni raised her voice above the chaos. "This will not end in victory. It will end in death! Stop before the spirits claim you all!"
But no one listened. Blades clashed. Blood
spilled.
And above them all, the moon remained cold, watching like an unblinking eye.