The entire town was overtaken by the news of the return of this famous man, well known for his kindness and compassion toward the people. Everywhere one went, talk of his coming back filled the air. Hearts and faces of the people were divided into three groups, each with their own feelings about his return. Some were overwhelmed with joy and happiness, celebrating his arrival. Another group, however, was filled with fear and sorrow, especially those who had believed he was gone from this world forever. The last group could not settle on one feeling; their hearts were torn between whether to rejoice at his return or dread it.
Journalists, along with radio and television staff, had already filled the airport. The place was heavily guarded with soldiers, police, and his bodyguards clad in black, their faces hidden behind dark glasses without the slightest smile.
At 8:10 p.m., his plane landed. He offered thanks to God for bringing him safely back to his homeland—this land full of wonders and mysteries—after one year and six months since he last breathed its air. He praised God again for granting him life, health, and a second chance after surviving what many thought was his end. Truly, God alone deserved gratitude.
As he emerged from the plane, he stood at the door dressed in a brown suit that blended with his well-polished skin. His appearance belied his age, hiding the fact that he was already past forty. His face radiated calmness, dignity, and authority that captured anyone who looked at him. He paused at the top of the stairs, gazing over the airport grounds. Memories flooded his mind with every passing moment, stirring deep pain and anger. He vowed silently within his heart. Gathering courage and composure, he descended step by step.
His bodyguards quickly surrounded him. One among them, Zaki, bowed respectfully and said, “Welcome back, King.” The King placed his hand on Zaki’s shoulder and replied, “Thanks, Zaki. I hope I met you all well.”
Zaki responded, “Alhamdulillah,” before leading the way. Their synchronized steps and majestic style fascinated everyone watching.
Then the King saw the overwhelming crowd of journalists. He halted, signaling with two fingers for his guards to stop. His commanding presence made it clear why he was called “King.” Immediately, Zaki understood and ordered the guards to split into two groups—one at the front, the other behind. Approaching the King, Zaki sensed trouble. With just one glance from the King’s piercing eyes, he understood the King wanted an explanation.
“Sorry, King,” Zaki said, “I honestly don’t know how they found out about your return.” The King only shook his head and continued walking.
When they reached the cars prepared for him, a journalist’s daring question froze him in his tracks:
“What do you say about the accusation that you used sorcery to kill your parents, your wife, and your two young children?”
After about thirty seconds, he turned to see who had asked. It was a beautiful young female journalist wearing a baby hijab, a top with palazzo trousers, and her work ID card around her neck. Worry lined her face. Everyone stared at her in shock. He only gave her a meaningful smile without uttering a word, then entered his car. His guards followed.
The crowd began to scatter, each journalist murmuring, none daring to repeat the question. The young journalist, Fahima Aliyu, collapsed in tears. Suddenly, her phone vibrated. The caller ID read “Private Number.” She picked up quickly.
“Well done, babe. Your work is excellent.”
The line went dead. She stared at the phone, confused, until a security officer interrupted her thoughts, urging her to leave. She walked to her small parked car, disturbed and restless. Another call came in—this time from her boss.
“Fahima Aliyu, meet me in my office now.”
He hung up without waiting for her reply.
At the office, her boss didn’t even respond to her greeting. Angrily, he said:
“Do you realize what you’ve done? I’ve always tolerated your foolishness, but not this time. You’ve endangered more than just yourself. Fix the mess you’ve created, or else… Don’t think I won’t end you. Rubbish! Get out of my office now.”
Tears streamed down Fahima’s face as she left, devastated that her boss had called her work foolishness.
She drove home recklessly, trembling with confusion. She rushed into the bathroom, tossed her hijab aside, flung her phone on the bed, and entered the shower fully clothed.
Shadows Behind the Return
Meanwhile, the King and his guards drove to his house outside the city. It was a modest but elegant home: a spacious parlor, two bedrooms, and a kitchen downstairs, with an upstairs parlor and a bedroom. The King went directly upstairs, Zaki following while the other guards stayed downstairs. The King threw off his jacket, loosened his tie, and asked, “What’s our schedule for tomorrow?”
Zaki replied, “I thought you might want to rest first before we proceed.”
The King shook his head. “No, Zaki. We have no time to waste. My heart and body will not rest until my mission is fulfilled. Tomorrow morning, I want to visit Baba. And bring me Fahima Aliyu.”
Zaki bowed. “Okay, King. May God guide us.”
The King patted his shoulder, saying, “Thank you, Zaki. You truly are a lion.”
Zaki smiled faintly: “You’re the real Lion King. I’ll protect you with my last breath.”
At the Government House, 10:45 p.m., His Excellency—the head of state—paced nervously in his vast bedroom, dressed in soft blue-black sleepwear. His mind was restless, clouded with worry. Just when he had enjoyed peace, ruling in comfort, believing the King gone forever, suddenly the King had returned. No, he couldn’t accept it.
Lost in thought, he felt a pair of arms embrace him from behind. Irritated, he tried to push them away.
“Relax, my excellency,” said Zee. “I know what troubles you, but it’s not a big deal. Let’s chill now.”
He snapped angrily: “Please, Zee, leave me alone. All you care about is sex. I’m not in the mood.”
He stormed out, leaving her standing in a red, silky nightdress that highlighted her glowing skin.
Bitterly, she whispered:
“This time, my wish will be fulfilled through you. Welcome back, my King.” She gave a wicked smile.
Elsewhere, in a dark room, a woman screamed in agony, rolling on the floor with nothing on her body. Strange worms gnawed at her from behind, releasing fluid. She begged God for death as the unbearable torment consumed her.
Description
Return of the King
The entire town was overtaken by the news of the return of this famous man, well known for his kindness and compassion toward the people. Everywhere one went, talk of his coming back filled the air. Hearts and faces of the people were divided into three groups, each with their own feelings about his return. Some were overwhelmed with joy and happiness, celebrating his arrival. Another group, however, was filled with fear and sorrow, especially those who had believed he was gone from this world forever. The last group could not settle on one feeling; their hearts were torn between whether to rejoice at his return or dread it.
Journalists, along with radio and television staff, had already filled the airport. The place was heavily guarded with soldiers, police, and his bodyguards clad in black, their faces hidden behind dark glasses without the slightest smile.
At 8:10 p.m., his plane landed. He offered thanks to God for bringing him safely back to his homeland—this land full of wonders and mysteries—after one year and six months since he last breathed its air. He praised God again for granting him life, health, and a second chance after surviving what many thought was his end. Truly, God alone deserved gratitude.
As he emerged from the plane, he stood at the door dressed in a brown suit that blended with his well-polished skin. His appearance belied his age, hiding the fact that he was already past forty. His face radiated calmness, dignity, and authority that captured anyone who looked at him. He paused at the top of the stairs, gazing over the airport grounds. Memories flooded his mind with every passing moment, stirring deep pain and anger. He vowed silently within his heart. Gathering courage and composure, he descended step by step.
His bodyguards quickly surrounded him. One among them, Zaki, bowed respectfully and said, “Welcome back, King.” The King placed his hand on Zaki’s shoulder and replied, “Thanks, Zaki. I hope I met you all well.”
Zaki responded, “Alhamdulillah,” before leading the way. Their synchronized steps and majestic style fascinated everyone watching.
Then the King saw the overwhelming crowd of journalists. He halted, signaling with two fingers for his guards to stop. His commanding presence made it clear why he was called “King.” Immediately, Zaki understood and ordered the guards to split into two groups—one at the front, the other behind. Approaching the King, Zaki sensed trouble. With just one glance from the King’s piercing eyes, he understood the King wanted an explanation.
“Sorry, King,” Zaki said, “I honestly don’t know how they found out about your return.” The King only shook his head and continued walking.
When they reached the cars prepared for him, a journalist’s daring question froze him in his tracks:
“What do you say about the accusation that you used sorcery to kill your parents, your wife, and your two young children?”
After about thirty seconds, he turned to see who had asked. It was a beautiful young female journalist wearing a baby hijab, a top with palazzo trousers, and her work ID card around her neck. Worry lined her face. Everyone stared at her in shock. He only gave her a meaningful smile without uttering a word, then entered his car. His guards followed.
The crowd began to scatter, each journalist murmuring, none daring to repeat the question. The young journalist, Fahima Aliyu, collapsed in tears. Suddenly, her phone vibrated. The caller ID read “Private Number.” She picked up quickly.
“Well done, babe. Your work is excellent.”
The line went dead. She stared at the phone, confused, until a security officer interrupted her thoughts, urging her to leave. She walked to her small parked car, disturbed and restless. Another call came in—this time from her boss.
“Fahima Aliyu, meet me in my office now.”
He hung up without waiting for her reply.
At the office, her boss didn’t even respond to her greeting. Angrily, he said:
“Do you realize what you’ve done? I’ve always tolerated your foolishness, but not this time. You’ve endangered more than just yourself. Fix the mess you’ve created, or else… Don’t think I won’t end you. Rubbish! Get out of my office now.”
Tears streamed down Fahima’s face as she left, devastated that her boss had called her work foolishness.
She drove home recklessly, trembling with confusion. She rushed into the bathroom, tossed her hijab aside, flung her phone on the bed, and entered the shower fully clothed.
Shadows Behind the Return
Meanwhile, the King and his guards drove to his house outside the city. It was a modest but elegant home: a spacious parlor, two bedrooms, and a kitchen downstairs, with an upstairs parlor and a bedroom. The King went directly upstairs, Zaki following while the other guards stayed downstairs. The King threw off his jacket, loosened his tie, and asked, “What’s our schedule for tomorrow?”
Zaki replied, “I thought you might want to rest first before we proceed.”
The King shook his head. “No, Zaki. We have no time to waste. My heart and body will not rest until my mission is fulfilled. Tomorrow morning, I want to visit Baba. And bring me Fahima Aliyu.”
Zaki bowed. “Okay, King. May God guide us.”
The King patted his shoulder, saying, “Thank you, Zaki. You truly are a lion.”
Zaki smiled faintly: “You’re the real Lion King. I’ll protect you with my last breath.”
At the Government House, 10:45 p.m., His Excellency—the head of state—paced nervously in his vast bedroom, dressed in soft blue-black sleepwear. His mind was restless, clouded with worry. Just when he had enjoyed peace, ruling in comfort, believing the King gone forever, suddenly the King had returned. No, he couldn’t accept it.
Lost in thought, he felt a pair of arms embrace him from behind. Irritated, he tried to push them away.
“Relax, my excellency,” said Zee. “I know what troubles you, but it’s not a big deal. Let’s chill now.”
He snapped angrily: “Please, Zee, leave me alone. All you care about is sex. I’m not in the mood.”
He stormed out, leaving her standing in a red, silky nightdress that highlighted her glowing skin.
Bitterly, she whispered:
“This time, my wish will be fulfilled through you. Welcome back, my King.” She gave a wicked smile.
Elsewhere, in a dark room, a woman screamed in agony, rolling on the floor with nothing on her body. Strange worms gnawed at her from behind, releasing fluid. She begged God for death as the unbearable torment consumed her.