Oba Eweka, the king, towers on his ivory throne, his expression carved in stone. Beside him kneels Osahon, the rainmaker, his robes tattered and skin gleaming with fear. The crowd murmurs, anxious and resentful, as the promise of rain withers day by day. "You have failed us, Osahon. My people starve while you chant empty words. Tell me, where is the rain you swore would come?" "Great Oba, the spirits are silent. I have pleaded, I have bled for the rain, yet the sky remains sealed. Punish me if you must, but know that some things are beyond even the rainmaker's reach."

Osahon[/@ch_2] to the center, his wrists bound in palm fiber, as the crowd watches in tense silence.] The drumbeats echo like thunder as Oba Eweka raises his staff, eyes dark with fury. A hush falls over the kingdom as the king delivers the verdict, his voice carrying across the trembling earth. "Let this failure serve as a warning. No man is greater than the will of the king. For your impotence, you shall pay with your life."

Villagers rush outside in awe and terror, arms outstretched to catch the miraculous rain. But soon, shrieks fill the air as each who stands in the rain collapses to their knees, clutching their heads, eyes wide with horror. Ivie, a young mother, staggers through the alleyways, blood rain streaking her cheeks. Behind her eyes, visions of abandoned children and broken promises flicker, relentless and consuming. The entire kingdom is gripped by silent agony as the rain exposes every hidden sin.

Oba Eweka paces his throne room, haunted by the echo of Osahon's last gaze. Shadows twist and writhe, whispering accusations. The king wipes sweat from his brow, but his hands are stained red, and the rain outside grows heavier. "Is this the justice I sought? Or am I now cursed by my own hand?"

Survivors wander the ruins, eyes hollow, unable to speak of what they saw in the storm. The elders gather, placing a single carved mask on the ashes—a token for Osahon, the rainmaker wronged by pride and fear. "Let us remember this curse, so that we honor the balance between power and mercy," whispers Ivie, voice trembling.

The people gather, heads bowed, as a new day begins. The lesson lingers in the silence: the true curse was not the rain, but the darkness within themselves, and the hope that forgiveness might someday break the cycle.