22/07/2026
Chapter Four: The Forgotten Prophecy (Part Two)
The wooden door crashed against the wall.
Chief Ezeagu stepped inside, followed by four stern-looking elders. Behind them stood two young shrine attendants dressed in white wrappers, each carrying a carved staff.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Mama Nkem remained standing, her frail hands resting calmly on her walking stick.
"You've broken the door of an old widow," she said quietly. "Is this how the council now honors its elders?"
Chief Ezeagu offered a thin smile.
"Forgive the disturbance, Mama Nkem. We came only because we are concerned for Adaora's safety."
Adaora stepped forward.
"My safety?"
"Yes," Chief Ezeagu replied. "There are dangerous stories spreading through the village. We fear someone may be misleading you."
His eyes drifted toward the backpack resting beside Adaora's chair.
"The journal your father left behind has caused enough confusion."
"It contains the truth," Adaora answered firmly.
"The truth?" One of the elders laughed. "Truth has kept this village alive for generations. Your father nearly destroyed everything."
"My father tried to protect us."
The room fell silent.
Chief Ezeagu's expression hardened.
"Your father forgot that some knowledge carries a heavy price."
Mama Nkem raised her voice.
"No, Chief Ezeagu. It is lies that demand payment. Truth sets people free."
The old chief's smile vanished.
"You still cling to that prophecy."
"It is not merely a prophecy," Mama Nkem replied. "It is a warning."
Chief Ezeagu took one slow step forward.
"That document should have been burned years ago."
Adaora's heart pounded.
"So it is real," she said.
The chief realized he had revealed more than he intended.
For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face.
"You know about it?" Adaora pressed.
He did not answer.
Instead, he turned to the attendants.
"Search the house."
The two young men moved quickly, opening cupboards, lifting baskets, and searching every corner of the small hut.
Adaora tightened her grip on her backpack.
Inside were both her father's journal and the ancient parchment.
She silently prayed.
"Lord, give me wisdom."
One attendant walked toward her.
"Hand me the bag."
"No."
"It belongs to the council."
"It belongs to my family."
The young man reached for it.
Before his hand could touch the strap, Mama Nkem struck the floor sharply with her walking stick.
The sound echoed through the room.
"Enough!"
Her voice carried a strength that surprised everyone present.
"You may bully an old woman, but you have no authority over what God has preserved."
For several long seconds, no one moved.
Then a low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky.
The room darkened as clouds gathered unexpectedly above the village.
One of the shrine attendants glanced nervously toward the window.
"Chief..."
"What is it?"
"The weather changed too quickly."
Chief Ezeagu looked outside but said nothing.
He turned back to Adaora.
"You have seventy-two hours."
"Seventy-two hours for what?"
"To accept the calling willingly."
"And if I refuse?"
His voice became cold.
"The covenant always collects its debt."
Without another word, he motioned to the others.
They left as suddenly as they had arrived.
Only after their footsteps faded into the distance did Adaora release the breath she had been holding.
Mama Nkem slowly closed the broken door as best she could.
"They're afraid," Adaora whispered.
"Yes."
"Not of me."
"No."
The old woman looked directly into her eyes.
"They're afraid of what you might discover."
She returned to the wooden chest and removed a small bundle wrapped in white cloth.
Inside was a simple silver pendant engraved with a tiny cross.
"It belonged to your father."
Adaora accepted it carefully.
"He wore it every day after he gave his life to Christ," Mama Nkem said. "He believed no charm made by human hands could protect him better than his faith."
Tears filled Adaora's eyes.
"I wish I had known him."
"You know more of him than you realize."
Mama Nkem smiled gently.
"Every time you choose truth over fear, you walk the same path he walked."
She pointed to the journal.
"There is one more secret hidden in those pages."
"What secret?"
"Your father never finished drawing the map."
Adaora frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"The map ends at the old shrine because the final path cannot be seen during daylight."
"When can it be seen?"
"The night of the new moon."
Adaora's heart skipped.
"When is the new moon?"
Mama Nkem's face grew solemn.
"Tomorrow night."
Silence filled the hut.
Only twenty-four hours remained before the hidden path would reveal itself.
Twenty-four hours before she could uncover what lay beneath the shrine.
And only two days before she had to leave for Abuja to protect the scholarship she had worked so hard to earn.
As Adaora stepped outside, she looked toward the distant forest.
The trees swayed gently in the afternoon breeze.
For just a moment, she thought she saw a man standing among them.
He wore a dark cloak.
Around his neck hung a familiar bronze charm.
But unlike the others, he did not beckon her toward the shrine.
Instead, he raised one hand and pointed toward the hills beyond the forest—as if warning her that someone was already waiting.
"Ezekiel..." she whispered.
The figure disappeared.
Clutching her father's journal and the silver cross close to her chest, Adaora began the walk home, unaware that from the branches of a nearby iroko tree, unseen eyes were watching her every step.
The race for the truth had begun.
