The dawn was a faint glow on the horizon, barely piercing the heavy darkness that still clung to the land. The rain had washed away the worst of the smoke, but its residue clawed at my lungs with every breath, tearing through my throat in a raw, scraping cough. I pushed myself up, fighting the weight in my chest and the lingering haze in my mind, blinking to clear my vision.

Bodies lay sprawled across the compound, scattered like discarded pots. I dragged myself to Amadi, pressing my fingers to his nose. His breaths were shallow, barely there, but present. Relief surged through me—just enough to keep me moving. Obi was also alive, but the others... they lay still, their lives claimed in the night's brutal clash. Among them lay the Ashangi assassins and Ozo Ibezim himself, his face frozen in twisted satisfaction even in death.

Through the mud, I noticed fresh footprints, deep and haphazard, as if someone had dragged themselves through the muck.

The Onowu.

Gritting my teeth against the fire in my lungs, I seized a fallen machete from the ground and forced my battered body to follow the prints, each step dragging me closer to the edge of my endurance.

I traced the path down a narrow trail, winding past scattered rocks and bushes, the faint trail of footprints leading me toward the riverbank. And there he was, crawling through the mud, his once-grand wrapper clinging to his broken form, every movement a struggle. The Onowu turned his head, catching sight of me. His eyes flared with something between fear and defiance.

"Still alive?" he rasped, his voice weak but laced with venom. "You don't know when to die, do you?"

I stumbled forward, gripping the machete tighter, each step crunching in the mud as I drew closer. "Maybe you should've chosen an enemy with less resolve."

He laughed bitterly, a cough rattling in his chest as he tried to push himself up. "Resolve? You think that's what's kept you going? Foolish pride, maybe. A desperation to cling to your precious loyalty," he sneered, pausing to spit blood into the mud. "You and your... whore," he added, his mouth twisting around the word as if it left a bitter taste.

"She trusted me. They all did," I said quietly, my voice hoarse but steady. "I promised them all something worth fighting for—something you wouldn't understand."

"Understand?" he growled, pushing himself up on his elbows, his gaze flicking between the machete in my hand and my face. "You think I don't understand loyalty? I have loyalty—men willing to die for me, to defend our people from the likes of you."

"Loyalty?" I scoffed, taking a step closer, the machete feeling heavier with every breath. "Your loyalty is only to yourself. The moment a man becomes a tool for his own power, he forgets what loyalty means."

The Onowu's lips twisted in a snarl. "And you think you're any different? You think they fought beside you out of anything but fear and desperation?"

"Desperation may have been a part of it," I admitted, feeling the weight of each life lost that night. "But fear isn't why they stayed. They believed in something more—something beyond bloodshed and power."

"And look where that belief got them," he spat, bitterness etched into every syllable. "Dead, because of your arrogance."

Before I could respond, he lunged forward, a flash of steel in his hand. I staggered back, just barely deflecting his knife with the machete. His face twisted in rage as he tried to overpower me, the glint of desperation shining in his eyes. He swung again, but his movements were sluggish, weighed down by the smoke he had inhaled.

I dodged, using every ounce of strength left to sidestep his strike, and with a swift, brutal motion, I drove the machete down, impaling him to the ground. His gasp was sharp, his eyes widening in shock as he gripped the blade's handle, hands slick with blood.

"This is for Rimi. And, you're right," I whispered, my breath labored. "Belief cost them their lives. But it's that same belief that'll end you."

His mouth opened, gasping as blood bubbled to his lips. His gaze flickered, the defiance faltering as he began to realize his end had come. "You... think this will change anything?" he choked out, a hint of panic slipping into his tone. "Others... will rise. You can't kill an idea."

"Maybe not," I said, my voice like gravel, "but I can kill the man behind it."

He tried to speak again, but his voice trailed off into a strangled gurgle, his strength fading. His grip on the machete slackened, his body sagging into the mud as his eyes clouded over, staring blankly into the rising dawn.

The first rays of light touched the riverbank as I staggered back, watching the Onowu's life ebb away, leaving nothing but silence and the heavy weight of what we'd lost.

It was finally over. The usurpation was over. Nne Ogwu, wise and powerful, would find a way to free the Igwe from his imprisonment, restoring balance to our land. Mairo was safe, far from the chaos and bloodshed of the night. I let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle into my bones.

As I crumbled to the ground, sinking into the cold, damp earth, I was grateful for the dawning of a new day. The first light broke over the horizon, soft and golden, washing away the darkness that had clung to us. It cast long shadows over the riverbank, illuminating the aftermath—the fallen, the blood-streaked ground, the silence of what we had endured.

For the first time in so long, I felt a flicker of peace. The struggle, the sacrifices... it was not for nothing. We had fought, bled, and broken, yet here, in this fragile moment, I realized that hope remained.

My eyes drifted closed as the warmth of the sun kissed my skin. It was a new beginning—not just for me, but for everyone who had dared to hope, to stand, and to dream of a land free from tyranny.

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