The sun was just beginning to climb when Iyi stood at the base of the ancient hill outside the village. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of wild herbs and morning dew. Before him lay three stones—weathered, worn, and arranged in a triangle, each one carved with intricate symbols that glimmered faintly in the early light.
The villagers called them Àṣàrà, the Three Stones of Judgment. No one remembered who placed them there or when; only that every soul seeking true wisdom must come before them to make a choice—one that would shape their path forever.
Iyi approached slowly, his heart beating like the drum rhythms that had been echoing through his bones. He thought of the sponge, the burnt coin, and the gift from the beggar, each a part of the tangled web of his journey.
The first stone was dark and smooth, cool to the touch. Its carvings resembled waves curling in and out like the river's embrace. The villagers called it the Stone of Letting Go—the path of surrender, of relinquishing attachments, even to one's deepest desires.
The second was rough and jagged, a fiery red hue under the sun. Its symbols looked like flames flickering upward. This was the Stone of Trial—a path demanding sacrifice, struggle, and confrontation with one's own shadows.
The third was pale as moonlight, almost translucent, seeming to glow with an inner light. Its patterns were delicate, like vines winding toward the sky. It was the Stone of Vision—the path of clarity, insight, and embracing truth beyond illusion.
Iyi's fingers hovered over the stones. He knew the choice was not simple. To take one was to accept the consequences tied to it—no turning back.
He remembered the past—the hunger that had driven him, the lies that had chained him, the spirits that had whispered and tested him. He thought of the faces in the village, the hands that offered gifts, and the voices of ancestors calling through the Forest of Echoes.
His breath slowed. He closed his eyes.
Which stone will carry me forward? the question echoed silently.
His fingers found the cool surface of the first stone. The urge to let go, to release, was tempting. He thought of the weight he carried—the shame, the scars, the memories of broken promises. Could surrender free him from all this?
But deep inside, he felt a flicker of resistance. Surrender was peace, yes, but it was also finality.
His hand slid to the second stone. The heat radiated through his skin like embers. To face trial was to invite pain, uncertainty, and fire. It was the road of the warrior, the path of sacrifice.
He felt the sting of old wounds rising—a bitter memory of when greed had burned bridges and scorched souls. Yet there was power in trial. Power in fire that refines rather than consumes.
Lastly, his hand moved to the third stone. The soft glow felt like a breath of wind through his soul. Vision—the promise of seeing clearly, beyond illusion and fear.
He thought of the mirror that had once lied to him, the reflection that refused to meet his eyes, and the voice from the charcoal that whispered truths no one dared to speak.
Could he choose clarity? Could he bear the weight of truth?
Iyi pressed his palm firmly to the third stone.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
The pale stone pulsed, warm and alive beneath his touch.
A light bloomed from the carvings, weaving ribbons of silver and blue into the air. The trees around him whispered in ancient tongues. The sponge at his side vibrated in harmony, glowing with a soft, steady light.
Suddenly, a voice echoed—not from the air, but from within.
"You have chosen the path of vision."
Iyi's eyes flew open. Standing before him was a figure cloaked in shifting shadows, neither fully human nor spirit.
"The path is not easy. To see truth is to face both light and darkness. You will be tested by illusions, haunted by echoes of your past, and challenged to surrender what you thought you knew."
Iyi nodded.
"I am ready."
The figure smiled—a smile both sad and hopeful.
"Then rise, Ọmọ Iyi. The journey continues."
As the light from the stone faded, the morning sun broke through the canopy, casting golden beams on the path ahead.
Iyi stood taller, feeling the pulse of the sponge in his pocket, the weight of the coin on his chest, and the fire of purpose burning quietly in his soul.
The Three Stones were behind him now, but their lessons would never leave.