Destiny was a temperamental thing.

a force of water that churned to both grow and crush that that stood in its wake, flowers of beauty or of those who sucked nutrients from soil and mind.

His people sacrificed to that of the the serpent, Bida, who bore their empire its riches and waters and in tandem their king ruled with nothing short of a bloodied dagger—betrayal, heartache and despair a commodity among them all.

He had given far too much to these tainted lands, watched good women and men perish. He had never expected to fall as to see you be dressed in sacrificial garb, promised to him since childhood, his love and all it brought, now to stand to Bida’s maw.

He had begged and pled with you to go against this, he could not bear such a thought—of you to perish by the serpent and leave him about this world, he could not allow this burden of death to fall upon you and lose you to Bida’s fangs.

Bomou had been kind enough to Maadi to sharpen his saber, cure it for sharpness for that of a slaughter. He was no hero, but gods above could his heart not twist as the praise-singer spoke with honeyed words to sway you from Maadi’s arms.

You claimed this your destiny, if Bida were to perish the Wagadu Empire would fall and fail without the rain the serpentine god provided. But Maadi found himself uncaring, how could one allow their lover this painful and false death?

The prickles of tears pierced his eyes, stabbing with the spear of fears as he walked beside you. Armor molding against his skin and blade in hand, scraping against stands as his eyes could only fall to the beautiful form you walked with—as if a temptation for what the gods wished to rip from him.

And what he would not let them.

He rested behind that bush, spotting the gold in your hair and the finest of silks and cloth decorating your perfection. He held heavy breath, his sword gleaming in moon as he made his approach behind you. Arms about your waist as you and him stood at the Well of Wagadu.

“You will not go to such a fate.”