Bianca stepped out of the car, the moss-covered ground squishing softly beneath her heels.

The cool, damp night air carried the scent of river water and pine needles, while the rhythmic beat of traditional drums echoed from the riverside, drawing her in.

She glanced at Malachi beside her, his expression grim, a crumpled piece of paper trembling in his hand.

"Hold up, let me see what it says," he muttered, his voice a rough rasp as he scanned the message, anger twisting his features.

"What is it? What's wrong?" Bianca stepped closer, urgency lacing her tone.

Malachi's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. He crushed the paper in his fist, exhaling sharply.

"You've gotta be kidding me," he snapped, disbelief heavy in his voice.

Bianca instinctively reached for his arm, her touch a silent plea for clarity.

The nearby river, usually soothing, now amplified the tension in the air.

"They want me to spread some nonsense," Malachi spat, pounding his thigh in frustration.

"Uncle Peter, man. Hombre is always trying to mess things up with my dad."

Bianca's heart sank at the mention of Peter.

"What does he want now?" she asked, glancing at the solemn faces gathered by the riverside, listening intently to the ceremony.

"He's claiming my dad was unstable and that he… killed himself," Malachi said, bitterness coating his words.

"That's horrible," Bianca breathed, outrage shaking her voice. "Why would he do that to his brother?"

"Probably to undermine our family's influence within the clan and seize control.

There are rumors circulating about my dad being unfit to lead, and Uncle Peter is fueling the fire," he replied, tossing the crumpled paper out the car window, the sound sharp against the peaceful music.

Bianca squeezed his arm, a mix of anger and sorrow flooding her.

"We can't let him get away with this. Your father's legacy is too important."

Malachi's eyes clouded with doubt. "I know, but I'm not sure I can do it.

People are starting to believe him."

Bianca's resolve hardened. "Screw your uncle.

We're going to uncover the truth and expose Peter's lies.

We'll shame him with the answers he's trying to bury."

A slow smile broke across Malachi's face. "What would I do without you, B?" he asked, gratitude mingling with relief.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

"You'd probably be in jail," she quipped, her playful tone a brief respite from the weight of their situation.

As they approached the assembly, the rhythmic beat of drums and flutes intensified, pulling them closer to the ceremony's heart.

Rows of white-draped chairs hugged the riverbank beneath the moon's silver glow, a pristine white carpet tracing a solemn path to the center where a white tent stood, its fabric billowing gently in the night breeze.

Members from all eight clans filled the chairs, their faces illuminated by lanterns hanging from moss-covered branches.

The air buzzed with anticipation, and soft sniffles echoed, tears streaming down some faces.

These were not just ordinary members; many knew the hidden truths that bound them all.

Teenage girls in flowing white gowns danced gracefully, their movements echoing resilience and unity.

The white carpet glowed underfoot, reflecting lantern light and moonbeams alike, while the haunting music wove through the trees, creating a living tapestry of sound and motion.

The duo wove through the assembly, friendly faces greeted them with nods and murmurs.

Malachi responded warmly, but amidst the laughter, he heard soft sobbing.

A striking woman rose, tears glistening on her polished mahogany skin.

Her short platinum hair framed her features, and the floral-patterned blue dress flowed gracefully around her.

Malachi approached her, and she embraced him tightly, transferring silent strength.

Continuing to the front row, Malachi locked eyes with his brother, Miguel. A genuine smile lit Miguel's face as he extended his hand.

They shared a heartfelt embrace, lingering in the moment.

"Heck took you so long," Miguel murmured, emotion thick in his voice.

He turned to Bianca, his smile warm. "Hey, B," he greeted, gently touching her arm.

"Hey, Miguel," she replied softly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "You holding up okay? We're all here for you."

Miguel nodded gratitude in his smile. "Thanks, B. It means a lot."

"We're in this together," Binca added sincerely. "We'll get through it, I promise."

As they took their seats, a sense of collective strength enveloped them, the community's support palpable as they awaited the next part of the ceremony.

Six of Malachi's uncles entered, carrying a polished casket.

The sight was arresting, the black surface gleaming under the lantern light, intricately carved with a compass rose, an eye-like figure surrounded by delicate patterns.

Malachi froze, breath catching in his throat.

Beside the casket was a picture of his father, smiling warmly in a sunlit garden.

The dancing ceased, and a profound silence filled the room.

Each uncle passed Malachi, exchanging firm daps.

The last uncle patted his shoulder, whispering, "It's gonna be alright, you hear me?" Malachi nodded, heart heavy yet resolute.

A dark-skinned girl with crescent moon-shaped earrings walked to the center of the white tent, dressed in a chic white halter-neck jumpsuit.

Her presence signaled the next part of the ceremony, anticipation filling the air.

The dark-skinned girl with intricately braided hair and crescent moon-shaped earrings stepped forward, commanding the attention of the gathered crowd.

"Good evening, everyone," she said solemnly.

A wave of hushed whispers rippled through the assembly as Miguel leaned in and whispered to Malachi, "When did Catherine get back?" Malachi shrugged, equally surprised.

Catherine then spoke up, her voice carrying a sorrowful lilt.

"I wish this gathering was under better circumstances.

But I am grateful to be here with all of you, to honor the memory of a great man."

She turned and motioned to Malachi. "And now, we will hear the eulogy from Malachi."

Miguel's eyes widened as he turned to his brother.

"When did this happen?" he asked in a hushed tone, his surprise palpable.

Malachi placed a reassuring hand on Miguel's arm, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by composure.

"Today," he murmured, a hint of rueful amusement coloring his tone.

Miguel's eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as if grappling for words.

He turned to Bianca, his face a portrait of astonishment.

Bianca shrugged in response, her expression one of resigned acceptance.

With a deep breath, Malachi rose from his seat and went to the center of the tent.

As he approached the microphone, he felt the eyes of the gathered clansmen upon him, their expressions a mix of sorrow, expectation, and unwavering support.

Malachi paused, letting the rhythm of the drums and the gentle whisper of the river provide a somber backdrop.

Then, with a steady voice, he began to speak.