The Weight Of Gold

The village of Ìlú Ejò faded behind Iyi as he followed a narrow path carved through dense palm groves and tangled underbrush. The air was thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of earth and flowering trees. Birds called from the canopy, their songs weaving through the mist that clung low over the ground like a soft blanket.

Ahead, a small clearing opened beneath towering palms, where the sun broke through in golden shards. In the center, a boy sat cross-legged on a low stone pedestal, his dark eyes sharp and unblinking. He wore a crown fashioned from braided reeds and glistening cowrie shells—a makeshift throne for one who seemed both young and impossibly old.

"Welcome, Iyi," the boy said without rising. His voice was calm but carried the weight of command, as if he held the fate of worlds in his hands.

Iyi hesitated. "You know my name?"

The boy smiled, a slow, knowing curl of lips. "Names carry power here. You will learn that soon enough."

He gestured to the ground beside him.

"Sit. We have much to discuss."

Iyi took a cautious step forward and lowered himself onto the earth. The boy's gaze never wavered.

"My name is Adéyẹmí," he said. "The boy who would be king—at least in this place."

He looked to the horizon, where the mist clung thickly.

"This village is ruled by laws older than memory, enforced by spirits and bloodlines. But those laws are fragile, bending beneath the weight of ambition and fear."

Iyi's brow furrowed.

"What does that have to do with me?"

Adéyẹmí's eyes flashed.

"Everything. You carry the mark of the sponge bearer, but you carry also the mark of the king's blood—though you may not know it yet."

Iyi's heart skipped.

"King's blood?"

The boy nodded.

"Your lineage is tangled, but the blood runs deep. The spirits watch you closely."

A silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

"I have seen many who come to this place," Adéyẹmí continued, "all seeking power or escape. Few understand that true power comes with sacrifice and truth."

He rose suddenly, moving with a grace that belied his youth.

"Come. I will show you the price of false crowns."

They walked together to the edge of the clearing, where a small pit smoldered with ash and charred bones.

"This is the altar of kings," Adéyẹmí explained. "Here, the false kings are exposed those who claim power without humility, who betray their people."

He knelt and touched the ash.

"Many have fallen here, consumed by their own greed and lies."

Iyi shuddered.

"Is this why you wear the crown?" he asked.

Adéyẹmí's expression darkened.

"No. I bear it as a reminder. The curse of the crown is heavy. It demands more than blood it demands truth."

He turned to face Iyi, eyes piercing.

"You must decide what kind of king you will be if you are to become one at all."

Iyi swallowed.

The weight of his journey pressed down.

He thought of the three sponges, the trials he had faced, the hunger still whispering.

"Am I worthy?"

Adéyẹmí's smile was both sad and fierce.

"Worthiness is earned, not given. And sometimes, it is lost before it is found."

The boy stepped back into the mist, leaving Iyi alone with the echoes of his words.

Iyi knew the path ahead would not be easy.

The lessons of the cursed prince would stay with him reminders of the cost of false wealth and the price of truth.