Jujuù

Part 4: Origins

The spirit raised his hand, and before Feji could protest, the forest around him seemed to dissolve. The cool night air shifted to a strange stillness as everything around him blurred. Feji felt weightless, like he was floating through a dream. His arm, which moments before had been burning with pain, no longer hurt. He looked around in panic but then focused on the spirit, who now stood before him, radiating a soft, eerie glow.

"Come," the spirit said, his voice heavy with command. "You must see where it all began."

Suddenly, the landscape sharpened into focus. Feji found himself in a small village, its dirt roads bustling with people. The air was filled with the sounds of bartering and laughter, As Feji watched, the scene shifted. He now saw a frail man sitting outside a worn hut, his shoulders heavy with despair.

"That," the spirit said, pointing to the man, "is Jafar."

Feji's curiosity piqued as he stepped closer. The man looked broken, clutching a small bundle of tattered cloth in his arms. Peeking through the folds was a frail infant, its cries weak and pitiful. Feji's chest tightened as he watched Jafar rock the baby, his lips moving in silent prayer.

"Jafar was a man of simple means," the spirit began. "But life had been cruel to him. His wife died giving birth to their child, and the village offered him no help. His farm failed, his debts mounted, and now his child-his only reason to live-was dying of an illness no healer could cure."

The scene shifted again. Feji now saw Jafar, his chest heaving as he sprinted through a dense forest, sweat dripping from his brow. Each step seemed heavier than the last, but he pushed on, desperation etched into his face.

Finally, Jafar emerged from the thicket and arrived at what appeared to be his destination. Feji squinted to get a clearer look. It was a shrine-its entrance adorned with faded idols and broken phallic symbols. The structure was weathered and worn, as though forgotten by time.

"What is this place?" Feji asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

The spirit, standing beside him, replied in a calm but firm tone, "This is where Jujuù was born."

"Jujuù?" Feji questioned, his brow furrowed.

"That is the power that resides in you," the spirit explained simply.

Feji turned his attention back to the vision. He watched as Jafar, now frantic, rushed into the shrine. The inside was just as dilapidated as the outside, with cobwebs clinging to the corners and the faint smell of decay lingering in the air.

"This shrine," the spirit continued, "once belonged to the old gods. The villagers abandoned them for newer, more favored gods. But their power never left."

"Oh gods," Jafar whispered, tears streaming down his face. "Take everything I have, everything I am, but save my child. Please."

The spirit's voice cut in as Feji watched. "It was rare for the gods to answer, but his plea was so raw, so desperate, that they listened. However, the gods are not merciful; they are transactional."

The air around the shrine grew heavy, and the dim light of the setting sun darkened. A voice echoed through the space, deep and otherworldly.

"Do you accept our terms, mortal?" the voice boomed.

Jafar trembled but nodded. "I will do anything. Anything!"

A small idol appeared on the shrine's altar, glowing faintly. "Touch the stone, and your child shall live," the voice said. "But know this: the atrtifact is cursed. The first of any relation to touch it will bear all the suffering, all the misfortune and darkness, while the next will inherit all the blessings, all the power. This cycle will continue for all who come in contact with this. The burden is yours to bear."