THE CRY OF A WOMAN

The drums had been beating since sunset.

Adanna stood at the edge of the village square, her bare feet pressing into the warm earth as she watched the elders argue. The air smelled of roasted yams and woodsmoke, but beneath it lurked something sharper-fear.

"They're coming closer," whispered Kemi, her younger sister's fingers digging into Adanna's arm. "The traders said King Durojaiye's men burned Oyo village last moon."

Adanna squeezed her sister's hand. "They wouldn't dare cross into our lands. The river-"

A horn cut through the night.

Then the screaming started.

Adanna saw them first-torches moving like fireflies through the palm trees, then the glint of steel. The village erupted into chaos. Women grabbed children, men reached for farming tools, but the soldiers were already among them.

"Run!" Adanna shoved Kemi toward the forest, but a hand clamped around her braids, yanking her backward. She smelled sour wine and sweat as a bearded face leered down at her.

"Pretty thing," the soldier chuckled, his breath hot on her face. "The king will reward me well for-"

Adanna bit down hard on his wrist until she tasted blood. His scream was cut short as she grabbed the knife from his belt and plunged it into his thigh.

But there were too many.

She saw her father cut down trying to defend their hut. Saw her mother dragged by her hair toward the burning granary. Heard Kemi's shriek as a soldier threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

Adanna ran until her lungs burned, until the smoke and screams faded behind her. She collapsed at the base of the sacred baobab tree, her body shaking, her hands stained with blood-both hers and the soldier's.

That's when the vow took root in her heart, as deep and unshakable as the ancient tree above her.

She would find her sister.

She would make them pay.

Or die trying.