By morning, the village buzzed with uneasy whispers.
Two fishermen had gone missing at dawn.
Their canoes were found drifting near the bend of the river, nets still neatly folded inside. No signs of struggle. No blood. Just absence.
At the village square, people gathered around Baba Sadiq, the oldest man in Aderemi. His back was bent like a question mark, but his eyes were sharp—too sharp for a man of his age.
"The river has awakened," he said, his voice low but steady.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"That's just superstition," someone scoffed.
Baba Sadiq lifted his walking stick and struck the ground once. The sound echoed unnaturally loud.
"Superstition does not take men who know the river as their own shadow," he replied. "This river is older than this village. Older than our names."
Tunde felt his throat tighten. He stepped forward. "Baba… I heard it last night. The river."
Every head turned toward him.
Baba Sadiq studied the boy for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly. "Then it has chosen you to listen."
The crowd fell silent.
"No one must go near the river after sunset," Baba Sadiq continued. "And if you hear your name called from the water—do not answer."
Tunde's heart pounded. Because deep inside, he knew one terrifying truth.
He had already answered in his dream.