The morning sun filtered through the tall iroko trees, casting dappled patterns across the dusty path. Shango moved carefully, each step measured, his senses alert. The events of the past days still echoed in his mind—his small victories, the subtle warnings from elders, and the strange whispers that seemed to drift from nowhere.
He had heard of the Whispering Grove, a place elders spoke of in hushed tones, where the forest itself seemed alive, carrying messages for those who knew how to listen. Today, Shango felt drawn toward it, as if an unseen force nudged him forward.
His foster father had warned him, "Shango, the forest is no ordinary place. It speaks, yes—but it does not always tell the truth. Tread carefully, and trust your heart."
Shango nodded, recalling the lessons he had learned: patience, courage, and the balance between curiosity and caution. He tightened the strap of his bag and continued along the winding path, the rhythmic chirping of birds and rustle of leaves seeming to greet him.
As he approached the grove, the air thickened, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else—something electric, almost like energy humming under the roots. Shango slowed, his eyes scanning the shadows. Shapes moved—glimpses of small animals, maybe, or illusions playing tricks on his mind.
A soft voice brushed against his thoughts, almost like the wind speaking his name. "Shango… Shango…"
He froze. The voice was faint, melodic, and… familiar. It pulled him deeper into the grove, urging him to step past the ordinary and into something he had only felt in dreams. His heart beat faster, but he reminded himself: fear and excitement often walked the same path.
Ahead, the trees opened into a small clearing. Sunlight pooled like liquid gold, and at its center stood a circle of ancient stones, covered in moss and carvings that pulsed faintly. Shango approached, drawn by a force he could neither name nor resist.
As he touched the nearest stone, a sudden surge of images flooded his mind—visions of past events, faces of unknown people, and symbols that seemed older than the land itself. His knees weakened, but he held firm, gripping the stone, trying to understand.
Then, just as quickly as it came, the surge receded. The grove fell silent again, leaving Shango with a single, lingering question: Was this a message… or a warning?
---
The moon rose high, spilling silver light over the grove. Shango slipped quietly through the trees, feeling the grove pulse under his feet. His first trial had taught him courage—but now the forest demanded more: wisdom, patience, and understanding of the unseen.
From the shadows, a figure emerged: small, cloaked in green, eyes glinting like polished amber. "Do not be afraid, Shango," it said. "I am Ejiro, guardian of this grove. I have been waiting for you."
Shango blinked. "Waiting… for me? Why?"
Ejiro's gaze softened. "This grove chooses those with hearts that can hear its voice. You have potential—a spark that can awaken what has long been asleep. But it is not an easy path. Many are lost, seduced by fear or arrogance."
Shango's fists clenched. "I don't want to be lost. I want to protect the people I care about."
The guardian nodded. "Then you must learn to listen—not just to the grove, but to yourself. Your journey begins tonight, under the moon's first silver light. Prepare, Shango, for you will not return unchanged."
---
The first test was waiting. The grove shifted, and mist curled thick around the stones. A shadow-mirror formed—larger, darker, with fiery eyes, a twisted version of Shango himself.
"This is your fear," Ejiro's voice echoed. "Confront it, or it will consume you."
The shadow-mirror lunged. Shango dodged instinctively, remembering Ejiro's words. "I see you," he said firmly, "but you do not define me."
The dark figure faltered. Heart pounding, Shango realized the lesson: courage alone was not enough—he must acknowledge his fear and rise above it. Slowly, the shadow dissolved into mist, leaving him trembling but unbroken.
"Your first trial is done," Ejiro said, smiling faintly. "Many fail, but you have begun to hear the true voice of the grove."
---
Shango's journey, however, was far from over. As he explored deeper, a rustle from behind the vines made him freeze. From the shadows emerged Adanna, cloaked in deep blue, eyes glinting with intelligence and mischief.
"You are far from ordinary, Shango," she said. "The grove has chosen you—but others, outside these woods, have already noticed. Forces will come, testing your courage, your wisdom, and your heart."
Shango's pulse quickened. "Forces…? What do they want from me?"
Adanna smiled faintly. "You will learn soon enough. Strength is not just courage—it is restraint, wisdom, and knowing when to act. Fail in these, and the consequences are dire."
Before he could ask more, she stepped back into the shadows, vanishing like a whisper on the wind.
---
Shango returned to the circle of stones, kneeling to place his hands on the cool moss. "I will face whatever comes," he whispered, "I will not falter. I will understand my path."
The stones pulsed softly under his touch, and the whispering wind seemed to answer: Your journey has truly begun, Shango… and the world is watching.
The first trial had ended, but the grove had many secrets yet to reveal, and the challenges awaiting him were only beginning.