Chapter 06

Chapter 06

The Four in the Shadows

The invitation did not come as a letter.

It came as a test.

Obrimpong noticed it the moment he stepped out of Master Crox’s academy one evening—a man leaning against a streetlight that hadn’t been working for years. The man looked ordinary, dressed in faded jeans and a plain shirt, yet something about him felt… quiet. Not peaceful. Hidden.

“You’re late,” the man said.

“I didn’t agree to anything,” Obrimpong replied, instinctively shifting his stance.

The man smiled. “Good. That means you’re ready.”

Before Obrimpong could ask another question, the streetlight flickered on.

And the world folded.

When Obrimpong opened his eyes, the air was cooler. Thicker. Trees towered above him, their branches twisting together like ancient fingers. Wooden structures blended into the forest, almost invisible unless you knew where to look.

“This place…” Obrimpong whispered.

“Welcome,” the man said, now standing beside him, “to the Ahenemma Academy.”

“The academy of what?” Obrimpong asked.

The man’s eyes glinted. “Spirits. Shadows. And the things history chose to forget.”

Obrimpong thinking this must be some new kind of marital arts academy. Something from one of Master Crox’s friends.

The training hall was already occupied.

Three children stood apart from each other, each radiating a different kind of energy.

The first boy leaned against a pillar, arms folded, eyes half-lidded like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“That’s Mawuli Kuro,” the guide said quietly. “Nonchalant. Brilliant. Dangerous when he feels like it.”

Mawuli glanced at Obrimpong, nodded once, then went back to staring at nothing.

The second boy was doing push-ups—badly—while counting out loud.

“Two hundred and seven! Two hundred and—wait—did I skip one?”

“That’s Kojo ‘Laughing Blade’ Mensimah,” the guide continued. “Talks too much. Thinks too fast. Somehow survives.”

Kojo popped up and grinned. “New guy! You the famous rescue boy? Please tell me you’re not quiet—I hate awkward teams.”

Before Obrimpong could answer, a sharp voice cut in.

“Shut up.”

The girl stood near the weapons rack, arms crossed, eyes narrowed permanently as if the world had personally offended her.

“That,” the guide said carefully, “is Adwoa Nyamekye.”

Adwoa’s gaze locked onto Obrimpong. “If you slow us down, I’ll leave you behind.”

Kojo gasped dramatically. “See? Anger issues. Very scary.”

She ignored him.

A bell rang. Deep. Old.

The forest itself seemed to listen.

A figure stepped into the hall—tall, wrapped in layered black cloth, face partially concealed. His presence crushed the air, yet his voice was calm.

“I am Master Koo Osebɔ—the head leopard,” he said. “Head instructor of Ahenemma Academy.”

Obrimpong felt it then—the same feeling he’d felt facing the masked kidnapper, multiplied tenfold.

“You are not heroes,” Osebɔ continued. “You are not chosen ones. You are students.”

Mawuli Mawulined.

Osebɔ appeared in front of him instantly.

Mawuli blinked. “Oh. You’re fast.”

“Lesson one,” Osebɔ said, returning to the center of the room. “Disrespect will not save you.”

Kojo raised his hand. “Sir, quick question—are we allowed to scream while training?”

Adwoa kicked his leg. Hard.

Life at the academy followed no normal timetable.

Mornings began before sunrise with shadow conditioning—running through the forest while suppressing sound and presence. Classes alternated between strategy, history, and combat. Failure wasn’t punished. Repetition was.

Obrimpong struggled at first.

Mawuli mastered techniques with minimal effort, his movements smooth and lazy. Kojo failed often but adapted quickly, turning mistakes into distractions. Adwoa trained like she was fighting the world itself, every strike heavy with intent.

“You hesitate,” Adwoa told Obrimpong during sparring, knocking him flat. “Decide faster.”

Mawuli offered his own advice later. “Thinking too much gets you killed. Try not thinking.”

Kojo grinned. “Or think loudly and confuse the enemy. Works for me.”

Despite everything, Obrimpong improved.

At night, they sat together on the academy roof, the forest stretching endlessly below.

“Why are you angry all the time?” Kojo asked Adwoa.

“Because people disappear,” she replied. “And nobody notices.”

Mawuli finally spoke. “This place exists so someone does.”

Obrimpong looked at his hands—stronger now, steadier.

He understood.

They weren’t friends yet.

They were something else.

The Four.

And somewhere beyond the trees, an old masked master watched from the shadows, smiling beneath his veil.

A new game had begun.