They would say in Oba Ngene village, "He was the greatest hunter that ever lived". His bravery was such that the forest knew his steps, and even the wild trembled at his mere presence.
But for decades, Papa Ekwueme had long silenced the call of the wild and had retired into the dusty confines of the village, his bow and arrow hanging above the hearth like a relic from a war long lost. The children knew him as the quiet and lonely man who carved wooden whistles, fed birds, and told them stories by the moonlight, while the elders remembered him as the legend who tore lions apart. Elephants. Leopards. Serpents twice as long as a canoe. He was a lone hunter who always returned with victory.
The forest remembered him too.
But he had stopped hunting, after Ugochi.....
Until that night when the forest stirred again, and the beasts returned .
Strange beasts had began to plague the village outskirts, animals without names, but soft glowing eyes and deadly footsteps. Chickens and goats disappeared and the villagers were left in fear.
"Something ancient is awakening. And if something is not quickly done, it will become restless and we will cease to live in safety," whispered the priest of Oba Ngene.
Yet no one dared go into the forest to confront the beasts, not even the young warriors, who wore pride as their badge.
Then, one morning, Papa Ekwueme came out of his hut, bow in his hand, quiver strapped, blade sharpened.
The villagers gawked.
"Is this some kind of joke?" asked Kene, the youth leader.
The old man said nothing in reply. Slowly, deliberately, he made his way to the edge of the forest.
Only one voice dared to follow him, the boy who had spent much time hanging about his porch.
"Papa! Where are you going?"
Ekwueme turned, eyes cloudy but unwavering.
"I’m late, Obiora."
"Late for what?"
"I'm late to the game I never finished."
Many years ago, Ekwueme had chased another kind of hunt, a spirit beast that had taken his wife, Ugochi, during a festival in the forest.
She was gathering herbs. A scream tore through the trees.
By the time Ekwueme found her basket and her red scarf on the forest floor, there was no sign of her scent, something terrible had happened. He broke inside, and remained so.
He had not touched a bow in almost forty years.
But now the game had returned.
This time, not just clawing at the outskirts of the village, but also at his soul.
The guilt. The loss. The unfinished journey.
The forest had waited.
Now, so would he no longer.
In his youth, Ekwueme was proud. Strong, and hungry for glory.
It was during one harmattan night that he silently crept into the sacred grove, at the center of "Agbara Nkiti", where wishes were said to be heard by the forest itself. He knelt under the Iroko tree, cut his palm, and let his blood drip into the roots.
“Make me the greatest hunter to ever live. Let the wild bow at my feet. Let my name live beyond my bones.”
A voice from the leaves, ancient as time, replied:
“Done. But when your heart is fullest, the forest will collect its due.”
Ekwueme laughed. “I have no heart to give.”
Time passed. And then came Ugochi. She was light trapped in a woman's skin; laughter, in human form. They were so much in love with each other and in no time, they were married. They would dance beneath that same Iroko tree. She gave him peace. She made his spirit whole.
And so, he forgot the pact.
Until the day she was not.
She had gone into the forest to gather herbs for her midwife bag, humming a song for her beloved. When it was sunset and she did not return, Ekwueme went searching and followed her scent trail to Agbara Nkiti.
All that was left of her, was her red scarf, caught on a thorn. Nothing more.
He screamed into the trees until his throat bled.
But the forest was already silent.
He searched for years, but the forest gave nothing back.
The forest recognized him as soon as he stepped in. It opened its heart, the trees rattled with memories in their roots.
He walked the old roads, past the flowing river where Ugochi used to bathe in, where she used to smile sweetly as she called him my great lion, and splashed him with water.
And at last, he made it to Agbara Nkiti.
The Iroko tree stood as it had always stood—lofty, strong, ancient, and still listening.
He knelt once more.
"My name was carved into the bark of this place," he said, loud enough to shake the leaves. "I was foolish. I made a silly pact. I came to ask... take me, but give her back. Let her rest."
The mists thickened but the forest was silent and still.
As the sun went down, the forest stirred.
Then the creature came.
Its body was translucent, and shimmered with ancient rage, part smoke, part beast, part sadness. The one that guided the Iroko tree.
The creature tilted its head, "You abandoned the hunt, Ekwueme."
"I was young and foolish, I shouldn't have made a pact that would wipe away the whole of my happiness."
He dropped his blade.
"I came to end this, not with blood this time, but with my spirit, my soul, and my body."
"I always knew you would sacrifice yourself one day...for the one you loved."
Then the beast split, and Ugochi stepped forward out of its body. Whole. Beautiful. Her eyes still full of dawn.
He gasped. “My love…?”
“I waited,” she said.
“Forgive me. I didn’t know,” he whispered. “I didn’t understand.”
She took his hands.
“You came back. That is enough. You gave your heart after all.”
“I have nothing left but myself.”
He dropped to his knees. His tears were not from fear—but from a grief finally laid down.
The trees groaned. The ground shuddered faintly.
“And that,” Ugochi said softly, “is more than enough.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and the mist swallowed them both.
The elders say he was taken by the forest.
The children say he walked into legend.
When Obiora found the scarf by the stream the next morning—red, folded, still fragrant—he knew.
No body.
No trace.
Just peace.
He was gone.The greatest hunter of Oba Ngene had finally ended the game.
The beasts were never seen again.
The forest once again fell quiet.
The pact had been fully paid for.
not with an arrow, but with a quiet surrender.
All images are generated with AI.
I am 
