As I stepped inside, my senses were immediately captivated by the richness of the cultural heritage that permeated the space. The air hung heavy with the scent of herbs and incense, a comforting aroma that spoke of ancient rituals and healing practices.
To my left, a native pot sat proudly on a small pedestal. It was crafted from coarse red clay, its surface unglazed, the texture rough and earthy. The pot seemed ancient, as if it had witnessed centuries of history, its presence a silent testament to the enduring traditions of the Bini people.
My gaze traveled to the walls, which were adorned with vivid depictions of old Benin wars, stories etched in clay and pigment. The battles against Arhuanrhuan, the legendary giant, and Esigie, the conquering king, unfolded before my eyes, a testament to the courage and resilience of my ancestors. The artwork was both powerful and poignant, capturing the brutality of war and the unwavering spirit of those who fought to defend their homeland.
Lost in admiration, I noticed a simple wooden bench situated near the center of the room. With a sigh of contentment, I made my way towards it, eager to rest my weary legs. Zara, ever the companion, followed close behind, settling down beside me. Koji, true to his protective nature, remained stationed outside the door, his eyes scanning the surroundings, alert for any potential threats.
Zara sat a little too close for comfort. She leaned in and whispered into my ear but I was too pulled into the skin creeping aura.
The moment her breath touched my ear, a wave of unexpected energy washed over me, a sensation that sent shivers down my spine. It was a strange, almost invasive feeling, as if someone were probing my mind, searching for something hidden deep within. It was like a pull, in the other direction, this time I was here to heal. I had forgotten where I was and what I was doing. The Chief was here.
Before I could decipher the meaning of the whispered words or react to the unsettling sensation, the room shifted, the atmosphere growing thick with an almost palpable tension. I realized with a jolt that I wasn't here for idle conversation. I was here for healing, for a confrontation with the secrets that had been buried deep within my soul.
The healer was a figure of imposing presence, a man who seemed to embody the ancient power of the Yami-Ebhi. He was dressed in the traditional attire of a Bini chief, his garments flowing around him like liquid shadow. His hands were encased in thick, black gloves, their texture smooth and unyielding. His head was shaved in a distinctive C-shape, leaving a bald expanse that accentuated the sharp angles of his face.
With a deliberate grace, he lowered himself onto a chair that had been placed before me, his movements precise and measured. He sat in silence for a moment, his eyes closed, as if gathering his strength, preparing himself for the task ahead. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the stillness of the room.
"My Yami-Ebhi named is Truth for pain," he said, his voice deep and resonant.
His words were cryptic, their meaning obscure. I frowned, struggling to comprehend the significance of his statement. Before I could ask for clarification, he continued, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel as though he could see into my very soul.
"I ask my patients questions about their affected body parts or any info I would like to get from them," he explained, "and they can only reply with the truth. If they lie, the pain will intensify, and their body will begin to self-destruct."
A chill ran down my spine. This was no ordinary healing session. This was a trial by fire,a gauntlet of truth that would test my very being.
"This power," the healer continued, "is not only for healing. When used against an enemy, it drains all evidence of Yami-Ebhi, leaving them vulnerable, stripped bare of their defenses. In extreme cases, it can even steal their life energy."
His words hung in the air, a chilling reminder of the power that resided within him, a power that could heal or destroy, depending on the truth of my answers.
He leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. "What is your name?" he asked, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl.
I hesitated for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing my mind. But I knew that I had no choice. I had to answer with the truth, or face the consequences.
"Okonogi Yoru," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.
The moment the words left my lips, a searing pain erupted within me. It was as if a thousand needles were piercing my flesh, each one injecting a venomous poison into my veins. The pain was all-consuming, obliterating everything else, leaving me gasping for breath, my body convulsing in agony.
I cried out, a raw, primal scream that tore through the silence of the room. My vision blurred, the walls spinning around me. I felt as if I were being ripped apart from the inside out, my very essence dissolving into a sea of pain.
The healer remained impassive, his expression unchanged. "Something is wrong with that name," he said, his voice calm and detached, as if he were discussing the weather.
He paused, allowing the pain to subside slightly before repeating the question. "What is your name?"
I gritted my teeth, fighting back the tears that streamed down my face. The pain was still excruciating, but I knew that I couldn't give in. I had to resist, to endure, to find the strength within myself to speak the truth.
"Okonogi Yoru," I repeated, my voice trembling with pain.
The agony intensified, a wave of fire washing over me, threatening to consume me entirely. I cried out again, a desperate plea for mercy, but the healer remained unmoved.
And then, a memory surfaced, a whisper from my grandmother, a tale of my lineage, of a hidden name that held the key to my identity. It was a name that I had been told to keep secret, a name that was meant to remain buried in the past. But in this moment, I knew that it was the only thing that could save me.
With a surge of adrenaline, I forced myself to speak, to utter the words that had been locked away for so long. "Okonogie Yoru Raziel," I gasped, my voice raw and broken.
The effect was instantaneous. The pain vanished, replaced by a wave of relief so profound that it left me weak and trembling. The air in the room crackled with energy, the atmosphere growing heavy and tense. The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic beating of my heart.
Zara gasped, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief. Even Koji, who had been stationed outside the door, could sense the shift in the atmosphere. He burst into the room, his face etched with concern.
"What happened?" he demanded, his gaze darting between me and the healer. "Are you alright?"
I nodded weakly, unable to speak, my mind still reeling from the experience.
Koji's eyes fell on the healer, his expression hardening. "What did you do to him?" he growled.
"I did nothing," the healer replied calmly. "I merely asked him to speak the truth. And he did."
Koji stared at him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What does that name mean?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "Why did it cause him so much pain?"
The healer hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "That name," he said, "is a name of power. It is a name that has been whispered in hushed tones for centuries, a name that is associated with both great good and unspeakable evil."
He paused, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made me shiver. "You are a Raziel," he said, his voice filled with awe and reverence. "A descendant of the ancient ones, a bearer of a legacy that spans generations."
Koji stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief.
"The Okonogie?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
I nodded slowly, my mind still struggling to process the information. I was an Okonogie, a descendant of a powerful lineage, a bearer of a name that could inspire both fear and respect.
Suddenly, a voice echoed through the room, a chilling whisper that seemed to emanate from the very walls themselves.
"Gotcha."