Chapter 4: Turning Pain to Power

Early the next morning, as day just dey break, I wan go out when I jam the Heir Apparent, Musa, rushing over.

Smoke from early morning cooking fires curled above the compound, mixing with the cry of hawkers selling bread. The sky was barely light, the world still waking up. Roosters called in the distance as Musa approached, footsteps quick on the sandy path. He looked anxious, eyes darting about as if he feared being seen.

As he saw me, his eyes brightened. He shook the golden bow in his left hand and raised his eyebrows at me.

He smiled—nervous, hopeful, trying to bridge the gap between us with old jokes and familiar gestures. The bow gleamed in the morning light, a relic of yesterday’s trouble. He held it out like a peace offering, but I only watched, arms folded, waiting to see what story he would tell this time.