Adaeze's Revelation

The air in the elders' chamber hung thick and heavy, not just with the scent of dried herbs and aged wood, but with the palpable weight of unspoken fears. Adaeze, no older than ten summers, stood before them, her small frame trembling slightly, not from fright, but from the enormity of the message she carried. Her voice, though young, resonated with a clarity that silenced the murmurs of doubt already beginning to stir.

“The Serpent King,” she began, her gaze sweeping across the faces of the elders, some etched with the wisdom of years, others with the stubbornness of tradition, “he spoke to me in a dream. He said the river… the sacred river has been choked. By greed.”

A ripple of unease passed through the room. The drought had gripped Oba for months, a relentless vise tightening around their necks. Prayers had gone unanswered, sacrifices had been made in vain. Now, this child spoke of dreams and a serpent king.