Child of god | book 1 ✅

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Silence was beheaded and in its place was confusion. Through the rain-droplets in Ala-ọnwụ and thousands of yards higher than it, the floors of the gods' prisons shook and the bars rattled. There was present at that time, the type of chaos that appeared to have no source. Wardens ran away from their units, the cell at the center of the prison their main focus. Feet tapped and boots thumped. Murmurs filled the hallways and anyone who could not murmur, strained their ears. Prisoners stared, eyes wide and mouth agape as Kwento slowly disappeared, body turning to mist, formless and then, leaving not an hair behind. The witnesses from surrounding cells were the ones who later explained and demonstrated what happened to the panting wardens who had appeared a minute late.

That type of thing had only happened once in history and the many stares at the center cell were because many people believed the first time it had happened to be a myth.

The altruistic god, bare chested and in pants, saw himself in his former room in the god's domain. It was dusty and should have been as he had left it, if it was not for the rumpled mattress and the familiar scent in the air, which although was faint, could not have ever been in his room before the drunken incident. He could never forget her scent, the scent of watermelon and nuts. It belonged to Chimma, the goddess of dreams and awareness, his lover, Mma as he would call her in the heights of amateur passion. So she had missed him enough to sneak into his room.

He took some steps in the direction of his closet, missing his wealthy and glamorous lifestyle. Flamboyant dresses stared at him as he pulled open the closet doors and when he walked in, he came out dressed in only a wrapper tied across his chest and on his shoulder.

"Finally," he said, swirling around with his hands up, "I'm back!"

But before he could fully turn, he heard a knock on the door and a guardian, dressed in boots and wrapper tied round his waist, informed him with such a deep, frosty, formal voice, "god of the innocent, Onye ndu requires your presence. "

Kwento exhaled, looked at the sky and then using their numbers to think of a valid response. "I would be there," he said. Then, when the guardian had exited the room, Kwento turned around and with a long stare at his bed and the staff of office beside it, he left to go grace Onye ndu his presence.

"Onye ndu," Kwento said when he was just three foot from his throne. Bowing, he said, "You summoned me."

"Yes I did," Onye ndu said with a tilt of his head and fingers tapping his muscular thighs. He was actually slouched in his throne, feet placed on a well cushioned footrest. The black outline of his eyes shone and the rings on his ears dangled. Among the hardness of his eyes, Kwento could see perfectly, an hint of resolution or probably sympathy. Why sympathy? "I just wanted to confirm some things," the leader of the gods said.

The silence in the room elapsed and an invisible wire in space became taut. You would think that the throne room should be empty at a time like this, but no, there were just some gods who took their nosiness as humans into their immortal life.

"You remember the reason why you were imprisoned in the first place, don't you?" Kwento asked.

Idi ọcha inhaled, then quietly exhaled. Now was not the time to dwell on the past but he must, if he wanted his freedom to be granted to him, truly, he must renounce crime.

"Yes I do," he said, head lowered in shame. That night when he was arrested was a day he would never forget, ever. Not in this lifetime if there was ever going to be another.

"And you promise not to repeat it?" Onye ndu's voice was intrusive but inquiring. It filled the whole space of the throne room and resided in Kwento's head.