There was something about waking up to the sun blazing as a wet nurse that you had known your whole life smiled next to your bed watching you struggle to awake.
"You?" The little cousin had questioned. His voice a little rusty from the amount of sleep.
"You have been sleeping for more than ten hours." The woman was at her middle age at best. Her round face supported her chubby cheeks and she had a mocking smile that always rested so easily.
"Ten hours?" The boy had questioned, seeming confused and somehow his heart was wavering with anxiety. In which he had no explanation for.
"But you cannot," his sentence was disrupted by her mother who walked through his chambers chanting about how lazy he truly was.
"Any boy your age should be practising spear training by now." His mother had lectured as she went to sit next to him on the bed.
"Look at you, your eyes are swollen from sleep," She giggled lightly adoring her lazy boy who had developed a talent of sleeping for more than ten hours.
Something about looking at his mother's beaming eyes made him somewhat sad. Her eyes were shinning, a few strands of dreadlocks were resting beautifully on her face. She looked quite ordinarily happy.
"This morning, I was talking to your father about you. He plans to send you to the royal palace under the supervision of your first aunt." She explained as she gestured for a near maid to bring food for her only precious son.
"The palace is a good place to sharpen you, but aren't you still a little boy to start harsh training?" She questioned, but in a sense of no need for answering. She was rumbling, as usual, as she always did.
"Father?" The boy questioned. Warning church bells had already been ringing in his mind the moment he opened his eyes and found the middle aged woman smiling at him with a mocking grin.
He wanted to question their existence. Because, deep in his mind something told him it was against the heaven's rule for this to occur to him. Their existence, they were a bad omen to him.
But just as he watched him mother rumble like that. His eyes started to become a little glossy. Tears started building up in his eyes, as he kept staring at his mother's defined face.
She was as beautiful as the last time he had seen her. Full lips, big eyes, high cheekbones, and a very defined jawline.
It had taken a moment for his mother to notice he had started crying. "Niko, we aren't sending you to the palace until you are at least thirteen, hush now," his mother had comforted him.
Niko had thrown himself at his mother's chest, wetting her clothes with his tears. His chambers had been filled with his weeps as he remained on his mother's chest, laying so carefully as if afraid she might disappear.
"I missed you," he had cried out. "What are you talking about boy? You saw me hours ago when we had dinner together," She had laughed lightly, amused by her son throwing tantrums.
"Don't leave again," he had carried on to cry.
The Madam had removed Niko from the embrace and caressed his face lovingly with concern. "Child, the last thing I'd ever do would be to leave you willingly," she had told him, as a path of a sad smile started being evident on her face.
******
It had been during a meeting with the royal council when a guard had stumbled through the doors with fear draining the colour from his face.
"Speak," the Duke had commanded.
"We, we, we are under attack," he had stumbled over his words, whilst his tongue seemed to waver around his mouth without much control. His hands were shaking, and sweat had been building up from his forehead.
"Is it Lwazi's Army?" the King had questioned, expecting that maybe he had already ascended into being the heavenly general.
"I wish it was so," the guard had fearfully said as he raised his head to meet the eyes of the King.
"The army comes from the sea," he had explained. "We await your orders your majesty," he had cried aloud hoping they would be saved soon. Whispers had overtook the courtroom. As everyone's face was filled with fear and regret.
"Well," a voice had come from the door, only to show a noble figure walking through.
"I am not one to timely remind people of what I told them would come if they carried on to go against heaven's rules." The Queen had said arrogantly, with a glimpse of sadness clouding her usually bold voice.
"Nala," the king could only mouth her name. It seemed, he could not find the words afterwards.
"I guess I'll have to trouble myself and bring an end to this difficulty," she had bowed her head minimally as she showed respect to the royal council above her.
Sadness had been hanging over Nala's heart ever since she had went through the gates to fight off the dead. She had not expected to see so many familiar faces. She had already cut off her childhood friend's head who had died with illness ten years ago. Had later came across her late Mother, who's eyes were filled with hatred and restlessness.
She had never met her mother before. She had died giving birth to her. But she had always been told of how much she looked like her. Her father would always mention her gentle eyes and her loving breeze. She had seen her every painting. Her eyes were as gentle as her father always said. But, if all that was said was truly true? How could she be so confounded and vile?
The Queen could already see her hands hesitating to cut her head off. It must have been because she was her mother after all. Or because her face held a familiarity of Ania's face. She had tried to come with reasons as to why she could not bring herself to kill this woman who was filled with such range to take her life. But, her heart was so silent and somehow, strangely at peace.
The Queen was already thinking of throwing her blade away. After all, they deserved this end. Maybe it would be better if they died this way.
Her hesitation had led to her mother's blade nearly being shoved through her chest. But thankfully, she had held the blade by her hands. Blood started to ooze from her fingers, dropping to the ground. She almost did not feel as much pain, as only agony kept overtaking her heart.
"Mother," she had called out silently, hoping she could recognise her.
However, her eyes seemed to be clouded with hate, almost inhuman, monstrous and demonic. Her mother was quite stronger than her, she kept shoving the blade further to the chest. With this going on, the Queen suddenly wondered how much she could keep this going on before she died. Her daughter was mountains away from her, Her son and nephew's where abouts still unknown.
Then there was Alarick Lwazi. Her chest felt heavier thinking about him.
*****