The ashes from the beast had not yet settled when the whispers began.
All around the village square, people pointed with trembling fingers, their voices low but sharp. Mothers pulled their children close. Men who had once clapped Sola on the shoulder now avoided his eyes. Women who had shared firewood with Adunni glanced away as if her very presence could curse them.
"They brought this," someone muttered.
"The oath cursed them," another voice answered.
"What if the spirits take the rest of us next?"
The words cut deeper than the beast's claws.
Sola, still on his knees, felt the weight of every gaze. Not one hand reached to help him stand. Not one voice spoke in his defense. Adunni and Femi pulled closer to him, their eyes scanning the crowd, but the distance between them and the others was already growing wider.
Elder Ojo raised his staff, demanding silence. The crowd hushed, though their fear still hung heavy in the air.
"You saw what happened," the old man declared. "The spirits chose them, not you. Do not blame them for what you cannot understand."
But the murmurs did not cease. The villagers' fear had already planted its roots.
Later that night, the oath-bearers gathered in the abandoned shrine at the forest's edge. Its walls were cracked, moss climbing its stones, but the roof still stood, offering them a place away from prying eyes. The air smelled of dust and old prayers.
Sola sat by the broken altar, his chest still sore from the beast's blow. Adunni paced the floor, her arms folded tight. Femi leaned against the wall, silent, staring at the shadows.
"They hate us now," Adunni said finally, her voice trembling with both anger and sorrow. "Did you see their eyes? They think we are the curse."
"We are cursed," Kunle muttered from the corner. He had come too, though his face was pale, his hands restless. "We bleed in dreams. We fight shadows. Now spirits rise from the ground to kill us. What else would you call it?"
Sola clenched his fists. "It's not a curse. It's a chain. One we chose."
Adunni stopped pacing. "And where does that chain lead, Sola? How many more trials before it strangles us?"
The silence that followed was heavier than the night itself.
Finally, Femi spoke, his voice rough. "Chains or not, we can't turn back. You heard the elder. We swore. And if we break it—"
He didn't finish. He didn't need to. They all knew the stories. Oath-breakers were said to suffer deaths so terrible the earth itself refused to take their bones.
Adunni sat heavily on the altar's edge. "Then we are trapped. Between death and the spirits."
For the first time, Sola looked at each of them—the fear etched into their faces, the exhaustion in their eyes. He realized the oath was no longer just a secret among them. It was shaping them, pulling them apart as much as it was binding them together.
Days passed, but the village did not return to peace.
The harvest feast had ended in terror, and though no more beasts appeared, unease lingered like smoke after fire. Some villagers refused to let the oath-bearers touch their food or water. Children whispered songs of warning when Sola walked by. Even the hunters kept their distance, their spears clutched a little tighter whenever Adunni approached.
One evening, as Sola carried firewood to his mother's hut, a group of men blocked his path. Their leader, Adewale, a broad-shouldered farmer, spat at the ground near Sola's feet.
"You should leave," Adewale said coldly. "Take your kind and go before more spirits come."
Sola's hands tightened on the bundle of wood. "We swore for the village. To protect it."
Adewale sneered. "Protect? Since your oath, the dead rise from shadows. Since your oath, children wake screaming at night. You brought this on us. Protection? No. You are poison."
Others muttered agreement, their eyes hard, their bodies tense.
Sola felt his throat tighten. For a moment, he considered dropping the wood, turning back, saying nothing. But something inside him—the same fire that had driven the spear into the beast's chest—rose again.
He stepped forward, meeting Adewale's gaze.
"We will not run. Whatever the spirits bring, we will face it. If you are afraid, then step aside."
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Adewale cursed under his breath and shoved past, his followers scattering with him. But their looks said it all: this was only the beginning.
That night, the oath-bearers returned to the shrine. Fear had drawn them closer together.
Adunni lit a small fire in the center, the flames casting long shadows on the cracked walls. "The village won't stand with us," she said. "So we stand with each other."
Femi nodded. "If the trials are meant to break us, then unity is our only weapon."
Sola looked at them both, then at Kunle, who lingered at the edge of the light, his face uncertain. "Unity," Sola repeated softly.
For a moment, something shifted in the air. The fire flickered blue, and the old carvings on the shrine's walls glowed faintly, as though listening. The oath-bearers exchanged glances, their hearts pounding.
The oath was watching.
But far from the shrine, in the heart of the forest, another presence stirred.
A figure cloaked in shadow moved among the trees, its steps silent, its eyes burning faint red. It carried no weapon, yet the air around it trembled as though reality itself bent to its will.
It stopped before a tree scarred with ancient marks—the same marks Elder Ojo's staff bore. The figure traced them with a hand, its voice low and filled with venom.
"They think the oath is theirs," it whispered. "But it was mine first. And I will take it back."
The shadows d
eepened, swallowing the figure whole.
The forest grew colder.
And the third trial waited.
But ,the villagers have Just discover a missing boy from the village , who's have the power to save this
Let see what will happen in the next chapter