Dada had made his decision.
He was going to Irele.
There was still time, he reasoned with himself. Time enough to hunt the other two princes later. They would not be difficult—not like the first prince. The first prince was alert, unpredictable. Killing him would take patience. Care.
The others, he believed, would fall easily.
I still have months, he told himself. Months before their mission ends.
With that thought steadying him, he continued his journey toward Irele. He had not yet reached its borders; he was still deep within the heart of the central kingdom. And that was when the noise began to rise around him.
Music.
Laughter.
Drums beating in excited rhythms.
His brows twisted slightly as the sound grew louder. Color flooded the streets ahead—bright fabrics, painted faces, long white garments drifting like spirits through the air. The scent of food and burning incense mixed together, heavy and sweet. Children ran past him, balloons bobbing above their heads. Dancers spun and leapt, bells ringing at their ankles.
The Eyo festival.
His steps slowed without him meaning to.
This was the second time he had ever witnessed it.
The first had been five years ago—ten years after he lost his memory and woke up in the emperor's palace with no past and no name of his own. He had secretly accompanied the Emperor's in case of any possible harm.
That day, too, the streets had looked like this.
Alive. Overflowing. Happy.
He had hated it.
He hated it now.
The noise pressed against his head like a weight. The laughter felt sharp in his ears. Everywhere he looked, people were smiling—openly, freely, as though the world had never known pain.
Dada did not understand such people.
He never had.
He had always been gloomy, even as a boy in the palace. Silent. Observant. He did not laugh easily, did not smile without reason. He did not like crowds or conversations or unnecessary closeness. People made him uneasy.
So he kept his distance.
He lived in solitude. Trained alone. Ate alone. Slept alone.
He never kept people close—not because he did not want to, but because he did not know how. Bonds felt dangerous. Attachments felt like weaknesses waiting to be exploited.
All he had ever done was breathe, train, and kill
.
Kill for the emperor.
Kill without question.
Kill without emotion.
That had been his life for as long as he could remember.
As he walked through the edge of the festival, people brushed past him without noticing. Their excitement slid off him like rain on stone. He did not join their dances. He did not stop to watch. His hand rested instinctively near the hilt of his sword, a habit carved into his body through years of discipline.
A child laughed nearby, chasing another through the crowd.
The sound struck something deep in his chest.
For a brief, unwelcome moment, an image flashed through his mind—small feet running, a voice calling for mother, a wooden bird clutched tightly in small hands.
His steps faltered.
Dada clenched his jaw and forced himself forward.
Focus, he told himself.
This festival meant nothing to him. These people meant nothing. Their joy did not concern him. He had a destination. A mission. A purpose.
Suddenly, a kid bumped into him.
Dada looked down as the boy looked up at him, his face wet with tears. Dada's eyes twitched.
None of my business, was what came to his mind, and he began to move away.
But before he could, the kid grabbed his hand.
"Help me," the boy said in a shaky voice. "I'm lost."
Dada glanced back at the child, ready to chase him away—but stopped when his lips parted halfway.
Recognition struck him.
"You—?" he called out.
The kid did not seem to recognize him and continued, "Please help me. I was with uncle when I got lost."
Uncle?
Does he mean the first prince? He had left the kid with the prince. Had the prince really taken the boy in, only to lose him a few days later?
Talk about a responsible man, Dada thought dryly.
But why this? he wondered.
Why had their paths crossed again?
"Hey, you," he started. "Weren't you with the first pr—"
He stopped himself instantly.
Was he really about to reveal the first prince's identity in the middle of a festival?
"Uhm," he cleared his throat. "Where is the man that was with you a few weeks ago?"
"Man—ah!" the boy suddenly exclaimed. "It's you! You're the man he left us with that day!"
Dada coughed lightly at that.
"Where is he?" he asked, his voice low. "The man I left you with?"
"I…I don't know," the boy replied.
'I guess the first prince doesn't live up to his name. He abandoned the kid' Dada thought coldly.
"And the old man?" he asked.
He was getting tired of the conversation. He had two missions ahead of him. He had no time to babysit.
"He… he…" the boy's voice began to break, and Dada could already guess the rest.
Before the boy could finish, a voice broke through the noise of the festival.
"Oh my God! Ayo! I've been searching all over for you!"
Dada watched as a man half-yelled, rushing toward the boy—Ayo.
Joy. That was what the name meant.
The man pulled Ayo into a tight hug while Dada stood where he was, watching quietly. He could not see the man's full face yet, but he was certain of one thing—
This was not the first prince.
"I told you to stay put," the man said breathlessly.
Ayo pouted. "I'm sorry. Bu—but the man that abandoned me before found me," he added, pointing at Dada.
"Uh?" the man said, confused. "Abandoned you? What do you mean?"
Dada wondered who the man was.
Did the prince leave the boy with someone else?
The thought barely settled before he dismissed it.
He couldn't care less.
Turning away, Dada decided to leave. He had taken barely two steps when the man spoke again.
"Thank you so much," he said sincerely. "I would have been in a lot of trouble if I hadn't found him."
Dada stopped.
No—his body refused to take another step.
Why?
Why?? he asked himself.
That voice.
Smooth. Soft. Demure. Endearing.
He had never heard a voice like that before—one that felt so full, so warm, so strangely familiar. His body began to turn on its own, against his will.
Only then did he realize the truth.
He wanted—no, needed—to see the face of the person who owned that voice.
Dada turned fully.
And there he was.
A man smiling softly at him, gratitude clear on his face. His expression was gentle, open. He looked so handso—
No.
Cute.
That was the word.
Dada's mind sparked for half a second.
This face…
It was familiar.
He had seen him before.
Somewhere—
Where—
Another spark.
Half a second.
His jaw dropped.
What?
What the hell??