Mangu was not supposed to be quiet that night.
Yet it was.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against the ears, warning the soul that something has already gone wrong.
Akims Mamot James stood alone at the edge of the hill, his phone clenched in his palm, its screen lighting up his face in pale blue flashes. Below him lay the town — dark, scattered, broken into patches of weak lanterns and stubborn shadows.
A message blinked on the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
“You are being watched. This is your last warning.”
He didn’t delete it.
He didn’t reply.
He only raised his eyes to the hills and exhaled slowly, as though he had been expecting this moment all his life.
Because deep down, Akims had always known —
light attracts enemies.
THE FIRST TIME DARKNESS NOTICED HIM
Years earlier, long before threats and midnight messages, Akims was just a boy with dust on his feet and books under his arm.
But even then, darkness had noticed him.
The village elders still remembered the day he embarrassed the council.
A visiting government official had come with promises and rehearsed lies, speaking confidently to a small crowd gathered under the mango trees.
Akims was thirteen.
Quiet.
Observant.
Listening.
When the official finished speaking, silence followed. People clapped politely, unsure what they had really agreed to.
Then a small hand went up.
A boy’s voice cut through the air.
“Sir,” Akims said calmly, “you said the funds were released last year. But the records show otherwise.”
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The official froze.
“Who told you that?” he snapped.
Akims didn’t flinch.
“Your own documents,” he replied. “They’re public.”
That was the day the elders began whispering his name with caution.
And that was the day power marked him.
A MIND THAT REFUSED TO SLEEP
Akims grew fast — not in size, but in depth.
He read everything: Arabic manuscripts, political philosophy, conflict studies, religious texts, histories of fallen nations. He learned how power works, how leaders manipulate fear, how communities collapse when hope is stolen.
But knowledge came with a price.
At night, while other boys slept, Akims lay awake listening to distant gunshots echo through the hills — reminders that leadership failure was not theoretical. It was deadly.
His mother once found him sitting in the dark at midnight.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked gently.
“I’m trying to understand something,” he replied.
“What?”
“How leaders become monsters.”
That answer frightened her more than any nightmare.
THE RETURN THAT SHOOK THE TABLE
When Akims returned years later from his studies, he didn’t announce himself.
He watched.
He observed the decay.
Politicians driving past potholes they created.
Youth leaders selling futures for small envelopes.
Communities divided by men who thrived on chaos.
And then, quietly, he started fixing what he could.
A light here.
Water there.
School fees paid without signatures.
Security support delivered without publicity.
No banners.
No slogans.
But people noticed.
And power panicked.
THE MEETING HE WAS NEVER MEANT TO HEAR ABOUT
Inside a gated compound on the outskirts of town, men sat around a polished table.
No windows.
No phones allowed.
One of them spoke sharply.
“This boy is dangerous.”
Another laughed nervously. “He doesn’t even hold office.”
“That’s the problem,” the first man replied. “People follow him without being forced.”
Silence followed.
Then the oldest man in the room leaned forward.
“Cut him early,” he said coldly. “Before the people realize what they’re seeing.”
The decision was made that night.
Akims would be tested.
Broken if possible.
Erased if necessary.
BACK TO THE HILL
The wind shifted.
Akims’ phone buzzed again.
Another message.
“If you love your life, stop what you are doing.”
This time, he smiled.
Not because he felt brave, but because he felt confirmed.
He typed one sentence, then paused…
deleted it…
and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Some wars are not answered with words.
As he turned to walk away, a sudden flicker caught his eye.
Down in the valley, one by one, newly installed solar lights blinked on — steady, stubborn, defiant.
Akims stopped.
Watched.
And whispered:
“They think power comes from seats and titles.
They don’t understand…
power comes from service.”
Behind him, unseen, a car engine started quietly.
The war had begun
🔥 END OF CHAPTER ONE
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Tales of a great man
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