The Spiritual Revelation
The sun had barely begun to rise when the village gathered in the ama (village square). The air was cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and burning herbs prepared by the dibịa (spiritual healer, diviner).
The villagers whispered among themselves, their eyes flickering between curiosity and doubt.
Obinna stood at the center, bare-chested, his body marked with sacred nzu (white chalk) in swirling patterns.
He resisted the urge to fidget. The entire village was watching him, judging him, waiting for the spirits to decide his fate.
Among the women stood his sister, Adanna. She hadn't said much since the night before, but the way she stared at him, told him everything.
She was worried.
The ndị ichie (elders) sat in a semicircle, their expressions unreadable.
Some had already decided—he was an aru (abomination), a man who had defied death. Others were waiting, letting the spirits speak before passing judgment.
The chief dibịa stepped forward, tapping his staff against the earth. His voice was deep, steady.
"Today, we stand before the gods and the ancestors to ask: Who is Obinna? Is he truly one of us, or has something unnatural taken his place?"
A series of murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some of the young warriors who had fought beside him exchanged uneasy glances.
They had seen him fall. They had also seen him rise.
The dibịa turned to him.
"You will undergo the Nchọpụta Mmụọ (Spiritual Revelation). The spirits will judge you. If you are truly Obinna, your chi will reveal itself. If you are something else, the land will reject you."
Obinna inhaled deeply, then nodded. There was no turning back now.
He knelt before the ofo (staff of authority and justice), the sacred symbol of truth.
The dibịa began to chant, his voice rhythmic and steady. The other spiritual men joined in, their words weaving a sound that felt ancient, powerful.
Obinna wasn't sure if it was just the atmosphere or something deeper, but the air itself felt heavier, like it was pressing down on him.
A bowl of sacred edo (kolanut) was placed before him, each piece split open. A small calabash of ogwu mmiri (ritual water) was poured over his hands, washing away any lingering doubts.
A part of him still thought this was just an elaborate tradition, something done for the sake of ceremony. But another part—the part that had felt something shift last night—wasn't so sure anymore.
Then—
A tug.
His breath hitched.
What was that?
Before he could process it—
A second tug.
Then—
Darkness.
His chest tightened.
Panic rushed through him.
He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.
His body—was it still there?
He tried to reach for something, anything, but there was nothing. No ground beneath him. No air to fill his lungs.
"Am I dead again?"
No.
Another tug.
Unlike the first two, this one wasn't pulling him away—it was bringing him back.
Warmth flooded through him like the first rays of sunlight after a storm. It was subtle at first, then all at once, filling every part of him.
Obinna felt the urge to cry but couldn't. He couldn't even make a sound.
And then—
[DING!]
A crisp, clear chime echoed in his mind.
His eyes flew open.
His senses, still raw from the ritual, sharpened at the sound.
Then—
[Ala Nchi System Activated.] (Land of Dominion System)
[User: Obinna]
[Analyzing soul imprint…]
[Analysis complete. Welcome, Chosen One.]
Obinna froze.
That wasn't Igbo. It wasn't English either. But somehow, he understood it perfectly, like the words weren't just being spoken but directly absorbed into his mind.
[Congratulations. You have successfully undergone Nchọpụta Mmụọ. The ancestors have acknowledged you, and the path to dominion has begun.]
The words sent a shiver down his spine.
"Wait, what?"
The system continued, unfazed by his confusion.
[Core Function Unlocked: Nkwado Ndigbo – "Support of the Ancestors."]
[Description: You are now attuned to the wisdom of the ancestors. Their guidance will manifest in moments of great need, offering insight beyond mortal comprehension.]
A warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading outward like an unseen embrace.
His mind felt…sharper. His awareness stretched beyond himself. He could feel something lingering at the edge of his thoughts—whispers, knowledge that wasn't his but was waiting to be understood.
His fingers curled into the soil. This was real.
And the system wasn't done.
[Future Core Functions are locked. Progress through the path of unification to unlock further abilities.]
Obinna blinked.
"Did I just… unlock a system?"
He had read enough fiction in his past life to recognize what this was. A Golden Finger. A cheat. The kind of thing protagonists got to help them grow stronger, achieve a goal and build empires.
His heartbeat quickened as another message appeared.
[Directive: Unite at least three Igbo villages under one leadership without force to unlock the next function: Igbo Ama – "A Nation That Knows Itself."]
Obinna stared at the message.
Three villages. Without force.
A slow exhale left his lips.
"So I basically have to become a peacemaker, huh?"
He wanted to laugh. If someone had told him a year ago that he'd be standing in an 18th-century Igbo village with a system telling him to unite his people, he would have called them crazy.
But here he was.
Obinna clenched his fist, feeling the weight of this moment.
The world around him gradually came back into focus. The rhythmic chanting of the dibịa, the murmurs of the crowd, the distant crackle of firewood burning.
Yet, something had changed.
His senses felt sharper—too sharp.
The cool air no longer simply brushed against his skin; he could feel every shift in the breeze, every subtle movement of those around him.
The murmuring voices in the background were suddenly clear, as though he stood among each individual whisper.
He turned his gaze towards the ndị ichie (elders), observing their reactions. Some still wore their unreadable expressions, but he knew—felt—the doubt hidden in their minds.
Obinna exhaled slowly in amazement , but just then the system's words continued in his mind.
[You are now attuned to the wisdom of the ancestors. Their guidance will manifest in moments of great need, offering insight beyond mortal comprehension.]
Was this what it meant? Could he hear the thoughts of people now? Was this wisdom, or something else entirely?
Telepathy perhaps?
No, it can't be, I can't pinpoint who's talking…thinking.
The chief dibịa stepped forward, his dark eyes studying Obinna with an intensity that felt like it could strip him bare.
"You live," he said at last, tapping his staff against the ground. "And yet, you fell."
His words carried weight but Obinna instinctively knew. They were meant to test him, to see if the spirits within him—if any—would react.
Obinna met his gaze and, for a moment, considered his response. Truth was power. But so was perception.
"I fell," he admitted. His voice was strong, steady. "But I was not abandoned."
A murmur ran through the crowd. Some nodded; others stiffened.
The dibịa raised his chin slightly. "And who do you claim saved you?"
This was the true test.
Lie, and he could be called a fraud.
Speak vaguely, and he would invite fear.
Speak the truth… and risk being deemed unnatural.
He took a slow breath.
"I did not die."
It wasn't a lie. It wasn't the whole truth either.
"I was taken. And I was shown."
The murmuring intensified. Even the ndị ichie, who had remained still, now exchanged glances.
"Shown what?" the dibịa pressed.
Obinna looked to the sky for a brief moment before meeting the elder's gaze once more.
"That our people will perish if we do not stand together."
Silence.
The dibịa's grip on his staff tightened. "Explain."
"I saw what will come," Obinna said, letting the certainty in his voice silence the murmurs around him. "Foreigners, men not of this land, will set foot on our soil. They will bring gifts with one hand and chains with the other."
Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers. There was nothing the Igbos detested more than their freedom.
Some of the older men exchanged glances. Worried ones.
The women clutched their wrappers, whispering among themselves.
The warriors who had once stood confidently shifted slightly and Obinna, seeing this, couldn't blame them.
He has basically proven that he was Obinna so his words now held weight.
Only the dibịa remained unmoved.
"And what do you propose, Obinna, son of our land?"
Obinna straightened his spine. {I must fulfill the system's first directive.} He thought.
"We must stand as one," he said. "Village must not fight village. Igbo must not fight Igbo. We must unite before those who come from across the great waters divide us."
More whispers. Some nods. Some frowns.
Then, from the circle of ndị ichie, a voice rose.
"And why should we listen to you?"
Obinna turned his head towards the speaker, a tall, broad-shouldered elder with a face carved by years of battle and wisdom.
"You are a warrior," the man continued, eyes narrowing. "But what do you know of leadership? Of unity? You speak of peace, but you were the first to raise a blade against our enemies. You speak of uniting the clans, yet you nearly split them apart with your rebellion!"
A sharp energy filled the air and Obinna understood.
A challenge.
Obinna could immediately feel the weight of the people's stares, their breath held in anticipation of his response.
He met the elder's gaze, his mind clearer than ever.
"I fought because our people were being weakened from within," he said. "I fought because we needed strength." He took a step forward. "But I now see that strength alone is not enough."
He turned his gaze to the villagers.
"How many times have we been weakened by our own divisions?" His voice rose, carrying across the ama. "How many times have we fought each other while outsiders watched and laughed?"
Some of the warriors lowered their gazes.
"If we do not change, we will be swallowed by the tide of history. We will become names only remembered in foreign tongues. Forgotten by our descendants. Erased from the earth."
The silence that followed was different.
Heavier.
This was the truth. Obinna knew that much.
The elder who had challenged him stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled through his nose.
"And how do you propose we stand together?"
Obinna straightened his shoulders, his voice steady as he addressed the gathered clans.
"We begin here," he said, sweeping his gaze across the assembled elders and warriors. "With us. The clans of this village. We do not have to think alike in all things. But we must agree on one truth—we are stronger together than apart."
A heavy silence followed.
Then—
Thud.
The chief dibịa struck his staff against the earth. His deep voice carried across the square.
"The spirits have spoken." His gaze moved deliberately over the seated elders. "Will we listen?"
The ndị ichie exchanged glances. Some nodded, the weight of wisdom guiding their decision, others hesitated, their pride warring with reason, but none raised their voices in opposition.
The dibịa gave a slow, knowing nod.
"Then let us see, Obinna, if your words hold truth."
Obinna exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
This was not a victory. Not yet.
But it was the first step.
And the first step was always the hardest.