Son of Idu — The Boy Who Will Ride the Lion

He strode along the paved streets, flanked by white towers and palaces capped with golden domes. Narrow alleyways slithered between buildings of dressed stone, roofs of gold and thatch twisting like serpents through the city.A drum boomed. A horn followed with a deep, throaty “Ahoooooooo!” The sound cut through the air, sharp as a blade. Silence fell. The festivities froze. Children scattered, adults rushed, all drawn toward the source of the call. They had returned.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/file_000000009cb07246b313aac3e7987ba8.png"/>Adeiza, usually obedient to his mother’s bidding, ignored her instructions today. He would not miss this.He wove through the crowd, squeezing between bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. At last, he reached the gates. The massive golden doors of Veronya towered above him, engraved with the heads of five royal-clan animals: the bull and tiger on the right, the owl and peacock on the left, and a lion’s face split across the two halves. The walls behind them rose a hundred meters high, half as thick, sealing the city like a fortress of sunlit stone.Slowly, the gates opened. The lion’s head split in two, revealing the triumphant warriors of Veronya. Months of campaign had ended. The Bialese invaders had been pushed into full retreat. The crowd erupted.<img src="/media/inline_insight_image/file_00000000b46c7246bcac07e0e5ede059.png"/>Before Adeiza, the armies marched. Bruised and battered, clothes in tatters, armor dented, blades chipped. They rode sluggish beasts and limping stallions, yet none of it mattered. Victory shone brighter than any wound. Some had lost limbs, some both arms and legs, but their faces carried unbroken pride.Banners fluttered above them in the wind: the golden lion of the Idu, the bronze bull of the Unoh, the black owl of the Ogugu, the blue peacock of the Inomi, and the brown tiger of the Ezu. Each royal clan maintained its own army, autonomous yet loyal to the Ohinoyi, Veronya’s supreme sovereign. Infantry marched on foot, cavalry on horseback, commanders atop great beasts, their helms crested with clan sigils, armor thick with cotton padding, steel breastplates gleaming over woven aso-oke uniforms.Adeiza’s gaze lingered on the lion army. Its gilded splendor was worn, marred by countless battles, yet it gleamed beneath the setting sun, fierce and unbowed. At the head rode Onizegi, the Soaring Lion of the Idu, once subordinate to Adeiza’s father and commander to his brother. Beneath his lion-helm, a blood-stained cloth wrapped a wound perilously close to claiming his right eye—a scar that would last a lifetime. Yet he smiled behind his drooping beard, riding proudly alongside his sub-commanders.<img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/file_00000000116872468611d9c5c77a9a6d.png"/>Even the lions seemed weary. Five remained, the last of Veronya’s mighty beasts of war. One had belonged to Adeiza’s father, another to his brother. Perhaps one day he, too, would ride such a beast into battle.He remembered waiting at the gates with his mother and little Oieza, hearts pounding, eyes searching the returning soldiers. His mother’s fingers had been bitten raw in silent prayer. They always returned—except when his father came without a leg, and the day his brother never returned at all.

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