The small village of Orimiri was buzzing with anticipation as the annual Harvest Festival approached. It was the highlight of the year, a celebration of abundance and unity. Families prepared feasts, children practiced dances, and the elders polished the ceremonial gong that would signal the festival's climax. Everyone, regardless of status or age, was required to attend.

Amaka stood by the village square, her heart racing. This was her first time attending as an adult. At 18, she was no longer a child and was eligible to participate in the Festival’s sacred ritual. Her mother had tied her headscarf tightly and whispered, “Whatever happens, stay brave.”

The square was packed with villagers dressed in bright ankara fabrics. The aroma of roasted yams and fresh palm wine filled the air. At the center stood Chief Obinna, draped in royal blue, his staff of office gleaming in the sunlight. Beside him was the ceremonial pot, an ancient clay vessel covered with intricate carvings and filled with folded palm leaves. All around Amaka, people whispered and shared nervous glances.“Last year was Papa Chike…”

“I wonder who it will be this time”

"The gods have blessed us once more," Chief Obinna declared, his voice commanding silence. “Today, we honor them with gratitude and obedience.”

The crowd murmured their assent, and the ritual began. Each family sent one representative to draw a leaf from the pot. The air was thick with anticipation, the only sound the rustling of the leaves as hands dipped into the vessel.

When it was Amaka’s turn, her palms were slick with sweat. She reached in, her fingers trembling, and pulled out a leaf. For a moment, she hesitated before unfolding it. The air seemed to still.

Her leaf was marked with a single red dot.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Amaka's knees buckled, but she steadied herself. Around her, people averted their eyes, some whispering prayers under their breath. Even Mummy Chigozie who constantly fed her with treats pretended like they had never before crossed paths. Her mother’s wail cut through the silence, raw and piercing.

"The gods have chosen!" Chief Obinna announced solemnly. “Let the ceremony continue.”

Amaka’s heart pounded as two masked guards guided her to the center of the square. She had heard whispers about the Festival’s true nature, but no one ever spoke openly for fear of the chief. Now, she was at its heart.

The crowd formed a circle as the elders brought forth a large stone slab adorned with cowries and feathers. Amaka was laid upon it, her mind racing. She had always thought the stories of human sacrifice were myths, relics of a darker time. But now, as the village chanted, the haunting sound of hundreds, she realized the truth.

"This is for the prosperity of Orimiri," Chief Obinna said, raising a blade high into the air. “And we will do as the gods of the harvest have commanded.”

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the back of the crowd. "Stop this madness!" It was Chidera, the young man who had returned from the city, educated and defiant. “We no longer need to live by these barbaric traditions!”

The villagers froze, torn between fear and curiosity. No one moved to stop him because they all wanted to see how the young boy will end up. 

Nobody questioned the chief.

Chief Obinna’s eyes narrowed. “You challenge the gods?”

Chidera stepped forward, his eyes meeting Amaka's for a few seconds, before focusing on the Chief. All the love they had shared briefly before his departure came rushing back in those seconds. “I challenge your greed. This isn’t for the gods. It’s for control.”

The Chief flashed an evil grin. He had caught the glance between the two. “Is this to be an act of righteousness or an act of love?” He spat.

Chidera stood his ground, glaring defiantly while the blade hovered in the air, inches away from deciding Amaka's fate. 

“Both.”