1205-09-24
"Hide."
Without hesitation, I grab L's arm, pulling him close behind the throne.
The sound of marching echoes outside. I hear the door slam open, and the generals' voices roar in like an incoming storm.
"Stay quiet," I hissed.
Their voices are growing louder now, each word dripping with anger and fear. "What have you done, releasing that prisoner?" one general barks.
"Holding foreign prisoners is a sign of strength!" another argues, his voice laced with fury.
I try to steady my breathing, but the tension in the air is suffocating. My heart pounds faster as their voices rise. They're fighting.
I grip L's arm tighter. His hand is warm, but he stiffens, sensing the same danger. The generals continue shouting, but my father's voice breaks through the chaos, calm but firm.
"Strength is not in chains, but in how we are seen as a nation."
A sharp crackle of frustration fills the room. They're not just angry. They're terrified. I can hear it in their words, in their voices. But my father's voice—his voice is steady.
Still, something feels wrong. The weight of the moment presses down on me.
I look around. I hear it—a sharp cry. My stomach twists.
"Where are these countries you cling to? These rulers who offer their protection?" one of the generals sneers.
"Father!" The word barely escapes my throat.
L begins to cry, the sound muffled by my hand as he squirms.
As the generals leave, I stay still, trying to keep calm and keep L calm. His eyes are full of tears, but I must remain strong. Once the last of the generals disappears, we move to the front of the throne.
I see him then—my father, his eyes lifeless, his hands cold, blood staining the throne. His red eyes stare ahead, empty. I look at L. Tears stream down his face, his black eyes shimmering.
I grab him by the arms, pushing past my fear. I pull him toward the door.
"Kaeo,"
The city is burning. Smoke pours through the cracks, choking the air. Screams fill the streets, distant but deafening. I want to stay with L, keep him safe, but I can't help but glance back at the throne room.
The nightmare drags me back, dragging me through memories of blood and flames. I feel the heat of the fire against my skin, the screams of battle echoing in my ears. I reach for something—someone—but my arms are heavy, as though made of stone.
"Kaeo," the voice calls again.
It's been years since that moment, and the tribes have been in conflict ever since. Some allied, others fought. It was exactly what my father feared, what he warned us of.
The memories still haunt me, even as I wake in my bed, in the hushed calm of Zandu, a shadow of its former glory. I'm the same age my father was, the same height, the same build, yet I regret what I did. I hid. I hid when I should have fought.
Now, it's been years, and my brother has reached the age I was then. Soon, he will be the ruler when I pass.
As I sit up in bed, a voice calls out to me.
"Kaeo!"
I step out of my hut, the sun of the savanna beating down on me, casting its golden light over the land. Outside, L, my younger brother, stands waiting. His small figure, his dark hair ruffled by the wind. The scent of earth and grass fills the air.
"What is it, L?" I grumble, standing in front of him, arms crossed.
"Don't call me that," he retorts with a slight frown. "My name is Loret!"
I raise an eyebrow, amused. "And what have you done to earn that name?" I laugh.
L's gaze drops to the ground as he thinks about it. His voice softens. "It's the name Zahra gave me."
I laugh again, bending down to pat him on the head. "It's a great name," I smile, trying to lift his spirits.
"So, what do you need?" I ask, my tone shifting to curiosity.
L looks up, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Will you run with me to New Momba?" he asks, his voice filled with wonder.
I chuckle, rolling my eyes. "Of course, my brother. Let me prepare."
Loret jumps up and down, hardly able to contain his excitement. "Hurry up, meet me at Addo!" he says before sprinting off.
I return to my hut and slip on my Taji, a red cloak decorated with hundreds of purple dots. As I step outside, I can feel the weight of the fabric, the centuries of tradition woven into it.
I walk through Zandu, our city. Under my father's rule, Zandu thrived. Markets buzzed with traders from across the savanna, and the air was alive with music and laughter. But after the fighting between the tribes, Zandu had to relocate, and now we lie by a lake we call Addo. It's a peaceful place, a place that offers us both refuge and hope. The people go about their business, their faces filled with quiet determination. They look to me for guidance, for strength in these uncertain times.
Addo is vital to us. The lake is a symbol of survival. Women gather water from its clear depths, while children play at its edges, their laughter ringing through the air. Across the lake lies the tribe of New Momba. They're like us, small but strong, and we have come to rely on each other. When one tribe is in need, the other steps in.
A run to New Momba takes about two hours with no breaks—at least, for me and L, who have spent our lives running across the savanna. For others, it would take much longer, their legs not as accustomed to the long stretches of land.
When I reach Addo, I see L waiting for me by the lake. He's stretching, his black sandals digging into the earth, his Taji—a red cloak with blue dots—flapping in the breeze. There are far fewer dots than mine
"Do you think you'll beat me this time?" I tease him, a grin tugging at my lips.
"I'm prepared this time," L replies confidently, getting into a running stance.
"Oh yeah? How did you prepare, Loret?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"I have plans," he answers, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Three... two... one!" We shout in unison, and with that, we're off.
We ran through the savanna, the golden grasses brushing against our legs as we moved in rhythm. Addo shimmered on our left.. The sun beat down, but the air was thick with the energy of the chase. My feet hit the ground hard, but my breath never faltered, not yet. We kept our pace steady, the distance between us slowly shrinking.
Basking in the heat of the savanna, were two dragons. One was a Savanna Dragon, its scales a muted greenish-sand color, blending seamlessly with the landscape. The other was a Wind Dragon, its pure silver form almost glowing against the horizon. They were lying on their sides, stretching their massive wings out lazily as they played with each other
I slowed slightly, glancing at Loret, who was running beside me.
"When you're running alone, make sure to watch out for dragons," I said, keeping my voice low but firm.
Loret shot me a puzzled look, his brow furrowing. "Why?" He said, "Dragons never attack unless provoked."
I smiled, "You're lucky enough to have never seen one attack."
As we approached New Momba, I could see it in the distance—a small village surrounded by a simple wooden gate. The heat of the savanna air clung to me, making the run harder than it had been before, but I pushed forward.
I watched him close the gap between us. I kept my pace steady, watching as he slowed, breathing harder now. His stamina didn't last as long as mine, and I caught up, running alongside him for the final stretch.
The gate of New Momba came into view, a small structure made of weathered wood and stone. Loret reached it first, his breath ragged as he stood at the entrance, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. I wasn't far behind, my chest rising and falling with each strained breath.
"You made it first," I said, feeling the burn in my legs.
We stood there for a moment, catching our breath, when I heard a voice from beyond the gate. Two figures emerged, a girl and a boy, both about Loret's age.
"You finally beat him," the boy, Krain, said, grinning widely.
Loret smiled back, sweat dripping down his forehead. "Yeah. Only took twelve years."
The girl, Zahra, stepped forward, a soft smile on her face. "I'm happy for you, Loret," she said, her eyes bright with pride.
I watched the exchange, feeling a brief pang of something ? These were the moments I cherished. My little brother was growing up, just as I had once done. And while I was now the leader of our tribe, I knew that his ambitions were stronger than mine. We both wanted to protect this land, our people, and each other.
I turned to head back to Zandu, but before I could take a step, I felt a sudden pressure on my back. I looked down to see Loret, his arms wrapped tightly around me in a hug.
"Make it back safe," he said softly, his voice full of warmth.
"Of course I will, Loret," I replied, placing a hand on his.
As I broke free from his embrace, I glanced back toward New Momba.
But for now, I had a tribe to return to—a home that needed me.
I looked out across the savanna, knowing that we had more work ahead of us. The future wasn't set, but with my brother by my side and my people in my heart, I had faith that we could make it through whatever lay ahead.
As I walked back towards Zandu, the savanna stretched out before me, the vast landscape rolling in endless waves of golden grass.
It wasn't a productive day—not by the standards of what we needed. Sure, we had made the run, we had enjoyed the moment, but our tribe was still struggling. Food was running low. Our hunting grounds weren't yielding as much as they used to, and the resources in Zandu were dwindling. The crops were weak, and the supply of game wasn't what it once was. I couldn't help but think about it as I jogged back, the quiet weight of responsibility pressing down on me.
I had hoped for a better outcome when I took over my father's role as leader. I had dreams of rebuilding. I had dreams of alliances. I had dreams of peace. The other tribes fought, hunger clawed at the people of Ghar.
Tomorrow, I thought, tomorrow I would go hunting. We couldn't afford to wait for better luck. I needed to hunt with the same intensity my father had shown, the same ruthless focus
I passed the savanna dragons on my way back—greenish, sand-colored creatures with long, sinuous bodies. It watched me curiously as I moved past them. I slowed slightly, glancing at the creature.
"Let's hope it doesn't attack," I muttered.
I looked around, but the silver wind dragon was gone. The path to Zandu felt longer now, the quiet of the savanna pressing in around me. Alone, with only my thoughts, I realized how much had changed since my father's death. The ambition that had once burned in my heart was now tempered by the understanding of leadership
As I reached the outskirts of Zandu, the last traces of sunlight slipped beneath the horizon. The city loomed ahead, silent and still. The people of Zandu needed me to be strong.
They needed me to act.