The Weight Of Gold

The dust from the river that forgets still clung to Iyi's palms, a fading warmth that felt like a heartbeat gone quiet. He stood alone in the shattered mirror village, the fractured reflections behind him whispering secrets he wasn't ready to hear.

His breath came slow and steady. The weight of false gold had lifted, but a new burden pressed deeper one that wasn't visible or heavy, but hollow and relentless.

Ahead, the path twisted again, leading him toward a narrow bridge spanning a river that gleamed like molten glass.

Across the bridge, a sign carved from ancient wood read simply:

THREE SPONGES REMAIN

Iyi's mind flickered to the three sponges the mysterious tokens Agba Oye had left him, each soaked with the weight of a secret and the promise of a trial.

He adjusted his steps and crossed the bridge, the surface shimmering underfoot like a living thing. With every step, the river whispered, carrying voices of those who had come before.

"Remember. Give. Become."

The far side opened into a village bathed in soft twilight, where sponges hung from lines between the huts, drying slowly in a breeze that smelled of salt and memory.

Villagers moved among the homes, their faces calm but their eyes deep pools of ancient sorrow.

A woman approached, carrying a basket woven from reeds and light. Her hair was streaked with silver and her hands were strong.

"You carry the mark of the sponge bearer," she said softly. "But do you carry their weight?"

Iyi nodded.

"Then come. The trials await."

She led him to a clearing where three large sponges rested on pedestals, each glowing faintly.

"These are the sponges of giving, truth, and surrender," she explained. "Each holds a burden. Each demands a price."

Iyi studied them, feeling their pull.

The first sponge pulsed with warmth.

The second shimmered with clarity.

The third was dark, almost silent.

"You must choose one," the woman said. "To cleanse your spirit, you must soak the sponge and carry its weight."

Iyi's heart thundered.

He reached toward the first sponge the one of giving.

It was soft and warm under his touch.

He lifted it, feeling it soak through his fingers like water through cloth.

Immediately, visions flooded him: faces he had helped and hurt, moments when kindness had faltered under hunger's shadow.

He stumbled but held on.

The woman watched quietly.

"Feel their weight. Your own, too."

Iyi closed his eyes.

The sponge pulsed stronger.

He remembered his mother's tired smile, the boy he scammed, the friends who had turned away.

He whispered, "I give this."

The sponge soaked deeper into his palm, growing heavier.

He staggered, but did not fall.

"You have begun," the woman said.

Then Iyi turned to the second sponge the sponge of truth.

It felt cold and sharp.

As he touched it, his mind cleared.

He saw the lies he told himself the stories of innocence, of luck, of survival.

He saw the faces he hid from the ones he blamed, the ones he betrayed.

Tears filled his eyes.

"I will carry this truth," he said.

The sponge wrapped around his heart like chains.

Heavy, but real.

The woman nodded.

Finally, the third sponge awaited the sponge of surrender.

Iyi hesitated.

It was dark and silent.

When he touched it, he felt the weight of all his fears the hunger for more, the clutching of false hope, the refusal to let go.

His breath caught.

He wanted to pull away.

But he didn't.

He pressed the sponge to his chest.

It absorbed the last pieces of resistance.

He felt his spirit fracture, then stretch, then fold into something new.

The woman stepped close.

"You have chosen wisely."

The villagers gathered, their faces glowing softly.

The sponges on the pedestals dimmed.

"You carry the burden of all three now," she said. "The path forward is narrow and steep."

Iyi looked up at the sky.

The stars had returned.

But they no longer shone with certainty.

They shimmered with challenge.

He swallowed hard.

Three sponges remained.

And he would carry them all.