The Lost king

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POV: MOREMI

The sun dips below the hills, casting golden-orange light on the sacred grounds. The wind carries the scent of burning sage and wild jasmine. All around, people gather in a circle of silence — rebels, villagers, children, kings.

But in the center, I stand alone before the altar of the spirits, my ceremonial robe flowing, the sigils of the old priestesses glowing faintly on my skin.

I place the carved stone mask of Akinmule upon the altar — the symbol of a warrior who turned his blade against tyranny… and died not for redemption, but for love.

MOREMI (softly)

Akinmule… son of war… brother to none…

You found your family among the broken.

And gave your life to protect what was once denied to you.

(beat)

I never told you... I forgave you.

But maybe you knew.

I pour the sacred oil across the stones. It ignites with a blue flame, swirling up into the air, carrying his name to the ancestors.

The people behind me bow their heads.

Drums begin slowly. Voices hum.

A prayer becomes a song.

The wind shifts.

And in it, I swear… I feel him.

Smiling.

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POV: ADEOLA

Just beyond the shrine, beneath the Tree of Kings, I kneel.

Before me are three stones, each engraved with a name:

King Abiola Ayo

Queen Labisi Ayo

Babatunde the Brave

I have no memories of my parents beyond shadow and fire. No lullabies. No goodbyes.

But I carry them. In my blood. In my spine. In the decisions I make.

And Babatunde…

The man who raised a child with no name, taught me honor, even in silence.

Who died not knowing the truth… but knowing he had a son.

I touch the stones.

ADEOLA (whispers)

I am here because of you.

I place my crown at the foot of the stones. For just this moment, I am not a king.

I am a son. A student. A child of legacy.

And I weep. Not for pain.

But because they can finally rest.

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ACROSS THE KINGDOMS – MONTAGE

In Ibadi, murals are painted of fallen rebels and Bayo's late family.

In Ondolu, a statue of Chief Alade is erected, and Yemi lights the first lantern.

Villagers in Irebi and Owulo burn offerings by the riverbanks.

Children in Ayo wear white robes, singing the songs of the old world… now revived.

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FINAL POV: MOREMI (V.O.)

> They gave us breath when we had none.

They stood between us and the darkness.

And now… we stand because of them.

> We weep.

We sing.

We dance not to forget…

But to remember.

> Because hope… is not born in silence.

It is sung into being.