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Silence was beheaded and in its place was confusion. Through the rain-droplets in Ala-ọnwụ and thousands of yards higher than it, the floors of the gods' prisons shook and the bars rattled. There was present at that time, the type of chaos that appeared to have no source. Wardens ran away from their units, the cell at the center of the prison their main focus. Feet tapped and boots thumped. Murmurs filled the hallways and anyone who could not murmur, strained their ears. Prisoners stared, eyes wide and mouth agape as Kwento slowly disappeared, body turning to mist, formless and then, leaving not an hair behind. The witnesses from surrounding cells were the ones who later explained and demonstrated what happened to the panting wardens who had appeared a minute late.

That type of thing had only happened once in history and the many stares at the center cell were because many people believed the first time it had happened to be a myth.

The altruistic god, bare chested and in pants, saw himself in his former room in the god's domain. It was dusty and should have been as he had left it, if it was not for the rumpled mattress and the familiar scent in the air, which although was faint, could not have ever been in his room before the drunken incident. He could never forget her scent, the scent of watermelon and nuts. It belonged to Chimma, the goddess of dreams and awareness, his lover, Mma as he would call her in the heights of amateur passion. So she had missed him enough to sneak into his room.

He took some steps in the direction of his closet, missing his wealthy and glamorous lifestyle. Flamboyant dresses stared at him as he pulled open the closet doors and when he walked in, he came out dressed in only a wrapper tied across his chest and on his shoulder.

"Finally," he said, swirling around with his hands up, "I'm back!"

But before he could fully turn, he heard a knock on the door and a guardian, dressed in boots and wrapper tied round his waist, informed him with such a deep, frosty, formal voice, "god of the innocent, Onye ndu requires your presence. "

Kwento exhaled, looked at the sky and then using their numbers to think of a valid response. "I would be there," he said. Then, when the guardian had exited the room, Kwento turned around and with a long stare at his bed and the staff of office beside it, he left to go grace Onye ndu his presence.

"Onye ndu," Kwento said when he was just three foot from his throne. Bowing, he said, "You summoned me."

"Yes I did," Onye ndu said with a tilt of his head and fingers tapping his muscular thighs. He was actually slouched in his throne, feet placed on a well cushioned footrest. The black outline of his eyes shone and the rings on his ears dangled. Among the hardness of his eyes, Kwento could see perfectly, an hint of resolution or probably sympathy. Why sympathy? "I just wanted to confirm some things," the leader of the gods said.

The silence in the room elapsed and an invisible wire in space became taut. You would think that the throne room should be empty at a time like this, but no, there were just some gods who took their nosiness as humans into their immortal life.

"You remember the reason why you were imprisoned in the first place, don't you?" Kwento asked.

Idi ọcha inhaled, then quietly exhaled. Now was not the time to dwell on the past but he must, if he wanted his freedom to be granted to him, truly, he must renounce crime.

"Yes I do," he said, head lowered in shame. That night when he was arrested was a day he would never forget, ever. Not in this lifetime if there was ever going to be another.

"And you promise not to repeat it?" Onye ndu's voice was intrusive but inquiring. It filled the whole space of the throne room and resided in Kwento's head.

"No I wouldn't."

"Well then, your freedom has been officially granted. This domain would hold a party tonight to celebrate your release," Onye ndu said with a smiled and a murmurs of agreement arose from all around. Although similar to the other smiles Kwento had received in the past, this was different. Onye ndu's past smiles were coated with fatherly love but this, had another type of emotion in it that was skin to fear or maybe guilt, and with the current situation, it was perfectly understandable. A criminal leaving detention was not good news, of course! With a shaky but determined voice, Onye ndu said with staff raised, "Cheers to you!"

He left the god of the innocent no other option than to say 'thank you". Then, the king disappeared and Kwento had to simply leave before they hoarded him with questions.

As he strolled the hallway of dark burgundy walls and ceiling high chandeliers, he felt a presence hurrying up to his side, and then, when he turned there was the goddess of aesthetics running after him. Due to his nature, he slowed his pace for her to catch up and she did. Her waltz was connoisseurial as if she was feeling the texture of the hard floor through the palms of her feet. Maybe she was, Kwento could not put it past her. He expected nothing less of the only goddess who could run mad because of a wrong colour pairing; Her dresses were always carefully picked out, and her ankle beads were such a common identity you would think they kept her alive. It had always been extremely hard for him to keep track of the clothing accessories on her. She was quite an exacting fellow.

"How chivalrous of you to wait," she said as they shared the same pace. The wind a gentle melody and singing like a melanin. The padding of her feet against the floor, slow and sensuous.

"That isn't chivalry, it's just me being considerate."

She smiled. "The god of the Innocent being considerate, maybe they should have also considered you innocent."

"What are you getting at Clara?"

"Do you remember what happened that night?"

This got his interest.

"When?" Kwento asked in a softened voice. He felt like he was in a truck without direction. The goddess of aesthetic had been proven times without number, to have a very unpredictable personality and now, she was surely taking him unaware.

"The night before you were imprisoned."

"I was drunk," Kwento said in a cold voice. It was the last topic he wanted to discuss and it started to seem like Clara understood, because the next words she uttered would have been completely unrelated.

"I'm glad you're back, the children of the world need you-" the smile never left her face. "-and while we are at it, I'd love to request your permission to plan your party."

"You've always been the one to plan parties, Clara. Even if anyone else could, party planning is your job. You are the goddess of aesthetics, I see no reason for you to ask for my permission."

"Maybe, this was the exact same thing you told the god that drugged you that night. You know that there is a fault to altruism right?"

"You're making my brain cells shrink, Clara."

"You should seek Justice for what happened 1500 years ago. You lost a lot of liberties."

"I don't get you or what you're trying to say."

"If you wish to, you will. But like always, you want to leave your fate in the hands of others. I hope you understand that the SOCs failed at doing their job then, not to talk of now, when there is nothing stopping them. They are not investigating that night and it is up to you to find out the truth."

"You mean that I was drugged?"

"Finding it out is up to you. I believe that I've done my part," she said and then walked in the other direction of the hallway. Kwento squinted at her back, deep in thoughts.

*****

Kwento had been thinking for hours about what Clara said, but he still could not wrap his head around the fact that he was drugged. Drugged by who, what did the person hope to gain by destroying his life.

He was a friendly person who made sure he never crossed anyone's feet. How then, will someone, among the many gods he consider his friends, want to hurt him so bad that they drugged him and make him loose his job.

It sounded sick and unrealistic to him. The more he thought about it, the more he considered it to be faux. But what if the probability that he had been framed was indeed high? Who exactly would consider that?

It could never be Chimma because she had sworn to loving him. In fact, she even promised to love him till eternity and the only ally he had was Micheal, the god of liquids that pleases man. Micheal had been a god for a millennium before he, was more achieved and had next to zero reasons to want him dead. It could never be him. As Idi ọcha paced back and forth, he felt an headache forming at the question which he asked out loud, "Who then was it?"

When silence greeted him back, he looked around he room to notice that he'd been asking no one but himself. He guessed he will be the one to actually investigate. He was pacing back and forth in his room. How he would go about the investigation was the question. And as he paused in front of his window in thought, he heard a knock. The wooden door creaked open and the mailman walked in with a parcel wrapped in a wooden box.

"7Ututu ọma god of the innocent. Special delivery from the goddess of dreams and awareness."

Kwento felt a smile sneak up to his face. She remembered him and she still cared.

"You can drop it on the bed," he said, not moving from his spot by the window. "Thank you."

The mail man left and Kwento felt free to express himself. The smile was unstoppable,; it blossomed across the length of his face, shining brighter than the golden beam in the sky. He would surely surprise her at the party. She must smile like she's made him smile.

*****

Crickets creaked in the night sky. It was still a dark night, an abnormality. As Dike kept seeking his way home, the villagers never bothered to stare at him and when they did, their eyes always moved to something more interesting which was the sky.

Children who were awake came out to stare at the sky, asking whatever grown-up available if it was the end of the world, a question which they smartly dodged or tiptoed about.

Finally, he arrived at his neighborhood. It was filled with brick and mud houses, thatched and galvanized roofing- all a show of modernization. His neighbors were all out in front of their houses and like the other neighborhoods, they were distracted by the strange weather.

However, when Dike started at the doormat of their bungalow, made of brick and galvanized roofing sheets, he could not see his mum outside and there was no sign that the lamp was on. It seemed, that while a part of him had been worried about how distraught his mother could have been, she was not even home like most times.

He used the back route, not wanting his neighbours to be concerned for anymore reasons than they were, and made his way up the muddy pathway to the entrance of the house. The key was where it usually was underneath a loose brick beside he door so he located it with a wince and opened the door.

Finally, he was inside. Cool wind brushed his hair, reminding him that he had lost his cap. What will he tell his mother?

He drank water first, because he felt parched and then located the kitchen to get food but found out that there was no food. Magdalene had not even made an attempt.

He was too tired to change his clothes, he treated his wounds the only way any eight year old could and started preparing a meal. Standing before the stove with his eyes squinted in pain, he surely thanked God that it was weekend.

It was some minutes to dawn when Dike felt his mother's presence. He could hear her stumble as she made her way up the threshold stairs. It was not the first time that she abandoned her duties for palm wine and it surely would not be the last.

He winced as he turned in his bed to look at the window. It was dark and bleary. Insects sang and owls rotated their heads on trees. He was too afraid to stand up. This particular night was frighteningly similar to the other nights where he needed extra lulling to be able to sleep. Like breeze, the little courage he had dissipated through the window, the prayers he had offered earlier to Kwento seemed like a chasm and the fear he had been trying to wade out came back tenfold like they were a starved widow waiting for their husband.

The sound of the wind consumed his brain and he shot up from the bed, moving to a corner where he stayed wiide awake and unable to sleep. According to him, the evil spirits were there for him and he envisioned their misty forms, moving about the atmosphere with ease. He had this overwhelming urge to shut the windows. It was clawing at his brain, eating it raw.

He listened for any sound of motion in the sitting room. His mother was still maneuvering her way through. He heard a crash. It was probably her bumping into the lamp that they had replaced a million times. It was so dark that he felt like helping her, but he too was locked in on his fear.

Like many other nights, he would stay awake to dawn and if luck was on his side, his neighbors would remember him enough to bring food.

*****

The party was in full swing. People Kwento knew or used to know came about him, to share how pleased they were on his release. He was back with them they believed, but his mind was elsewhere. He wanted to shout at them questions like why they had not bothered to prove him innocent? The SOCs came with him that day and they were all quiet, watching if it was true or not. Why had they hurried to believe that he was at the wrong?

Was his altruism that doubtful? Was it so easy to believe that the God of the innocent was a pretender?

"Oh god of the Innocent. It's nice to see you again," Belu the god of the seas and waterbodies greeted. Bodies parted for him so that he could shake Kwento's hands. Navigating a sea of bodies should not be hard for him since it was a critical skill required for his job. Kwento smiled pleasantly and they did shake in a firm grip. Belu had a medium built and like all gods, he was muscular and dark skinned. He had brown eyes the like of the soil and a cheerful but mysterious persona. You could never really know what was in his mind.

Could he be a suspect?

"Thank you god of the seas and waterbodies. I can say the same for you."

Kwento shook hands with more gods and goddesses, each was dressed in materials of marvelous designs with different paint patterns on their skin. Then his eyes took in the hall. The hall's design was elaborate. Each colour and texture was exacting and the foods were of innocuous flavouring.

But he wasn't here for all that. He avoided taking wines with such great care.

His eyes followed Alexer who went ahead to meet his friend and his gaze was cut short when a bubbly female playfully bumped into his side. Thank God he had stamina!

"What are you thinking?" she asks in that soft voice of hers. Her body soft and luscious and then, there was her pretty face. Her scent never failed to raise his awareness to the extent that it was the only thing he could breathe in or ever know. She was his to care for and his to love.

"Goddess of dreams and awareness, what else could occupy my thoughts if not you."

"Tell me," she said as he faced her completely. "-or where you not just ogling a man. Are you now interested in males my love?"

"Not while I have you."

"Are you sure?"

A beat started. It was time to dance. It was a soft melody, stretching for miles across the room. It made most couples sensuous that Kwento stretched his hand forward towards Chimma. "My love, please do me the honour of granting me this dance."

"The honour is mine."

"I love this dress," Idi ọcha said, twirling her around and then placing his hand around her waist.

"It is the latest in town."

"Thank you, my love," he said. He brought her body close to him so that she closed her eyes and breathed him in. There was no doubting that she missed him, two soulmates lost in time. If only they could remain like this forever, without their jobs hunting them.

However, the music soon came to an end. They got a perfect swirl in sync with the flute and drums. It was an end to how close they could be; an end to what their bodies wanted.

Kwento bowed to the goddess of dreams and awareness, and the tension became too much that he had to excuse himself.

"Please excuse me, my lady."

Chimma nodded in confusion. And then, Kwento parted through the eyes watching him and moved to his room, where he enjoyed the solace of the balcony and the salty air in the atmosphere until he got a call of want. A child was in need and he had no other option than to pick up his staff of office and attend to his duty.

*****

Can you please be a sweetie pie and hit that like button?

Em❤️