The first time Efe met Osahon, he was twelve years old, a wiry kid with a quick temper and a knack for getting into trouble. He had just finished another fight—this time with three older boys who thought it was funny to mock his family's struggles. His lip was split, and his knuckles were raw, but he had given as good as he got.
As he sat by the roadside nursing his wounds, a shadow loomed over him. He looked up to see a boy about his age, tall and lanky with an easygoing grin. His clothes were patched in places, a sign of a family that wasn't much better off than Efe's.
"You fight like a cornered dog," the boy said, amusement dancing in his eyes.
Efe scowled. "And you talk like you're looking for trouble."
The boy laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax, I'm not here to fight. I'm Osahon. I saw what you did back there. Pretty impressive, considering you were outnumbered."
Efe studied him warily before mumbling, "Efe."
"Well, Efe," Osahon said, plopping down beside him, "if you're going to keep picking fights, you might as well learn how to win them properly."
That was the beginning. From that day on, Osahon became an almost constant presence in Efe's life. They bonded over shared hardships, from skipping meals to dodging bullies. Osahon had a way of making even the bleakest situations feel manageable, his humor and optimism a balm to Efe's often fiery temper.
But their friendship wasn't just about survival. Osahon pushed Efe to dream bigger, to see beyond the confines of their struggles. When Efe's father passed away, it was Osahon who sat with him through the long, silent nights, offering a shoulder to lean on without asking for anything in return.
Years passed, and their bond only grew stronger. They found solace in the small victories—winning a fight, sneaking into a festival without paying, or stealing moments of laughter despite the weight of their circumstances. Efe often wondered what life would have been like if he hadn't met Osahon that day. Would he have become even more reckless? Would he have lost himself entirely to the harshness of the streets? He never voiced these thoughts, but deep down, he knew the answer.
One particular night stood out among the countless memories they shared. They were sixteen, sitting atop an abandoned bus on the outskirts of the city, watching the stars flicker like embers in the sky. The world felt quiet, just for a moment, as if it had paused to grant them a brief respite from their struggles.
"Do you ever wonder if we're meant for more?" Osahon asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Efe glanced at him. "More? Like what?"
Osahon stretched out his arms as if reaching for the heavens. "I don't know. Something bigger. Something beyond fighting and scraping by. Sometimes I feel like... like we're supposed to be part of something greater."
Efe scoffed. "You sound like one of those old men at the shrine. Talking about destiny and all that nonsense."
Osahon chuckled. "Maybe. But think about it. Why do we survive when so many don't? Why do we always find a way, no matter how bad things get? It can't just be luck."
Efe shrugged, staring at the stars. "Maybe we just refuse to give up."
Osahon nodded, but there was something unreadable in his expression, a quiet certainty that made Efe uneasy. Looking back, he would realize that was the moment Osahon had already begun to change, to awaken to something beyond the life they had known.
It wasn't until their eighteenth year that Efe noticed the first signs. Osahon had disappeared for nearly a week, something he had never done before. When he returned, there was a new intensity in his eyes, a confidence that hadn't been there before.
"Where have you been?" Efe demanded, frustration masking the worry he felt.
Osahon hesitated for a moment before replying, "Just... figuring things out."
Efe wasn't convinced, but he let it go. It wasn't until later that he saw the mark—the faint glow on Osahon's forearm, barely noticeable at first. When he questioned it, Osahon brushed it off, saying it was nothing. But Efe knew better.
Their friendship remained, but something had shifted. Osahon started disappearing more often, sometimes returning with bruises and cuts that he wouldn't explain. Efe pretended not to notice, but deep down, he feared that whatever had changed in Osahon was leading him down a path he couldn't follow.
Then came the night that changed everything.
A gang had cornered a group of children near the old market, demanding payment for "protection." It was the kind of situation Efe couldn't ignore, but this time, he wasn't alone. Osahon was there too, standing at his side as they faced off against the thugs.
"This is a bad idea," Efe muttered, eyeing the armed men.
Osahon smirked. "Since when has that ever stopped us?"
The fight was brutal, but something was different. Osahon moved with an unnatural grace, his strikes more precise, his reflexes almost inhuman. Efe barely had time to process it before one of the men lunged at him, a blade flashing in the dim light. He braced for impact—but it never came.
Instead, Osahon moved faster than Efe had ever seen, intercepting the attack with his bare hands. For a moment, the blade hovered inches from his skin, but then, impossibly, it stopped. The metal itself seemed to resist, as if some unseen force had intervened.
Efe stared, breathless. "What... what was that?"
Osahon exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers. "It's... complicated."
Efe wasn't sure what frightened him more—the thugs they had just defeated, or the realization that his best friend was no longer the same boy he had grown up with.
That night, as they sat in silence beneath the familiar stars, Efe finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him for months.
"Osahon... what are you?"
Osahon didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost reverent. "I don't know yet. But I intend to find out."
Efe knew then that their paths were diverging. No matter how strong their bond, Osahon was walking a road that Efe couldn't yet understand. But one thing was certain—this was only the beginning.