Silence.
That was all I heard at first. The kind that presses on your chest and hums through your bones. I thought I was dead. My body lay cold on the damp ground, my breath almost gone, my pulse faint as ash.
Then, a sound—soft, fragile. The flutter of wings.
Light seeped through the dark behind my eyes, warm and steady, brushing against me like a hand I almost remembered. I tried to move, but couldn't. I was floating somewhere between sleep and memory, and the only thing that tethered me was that sound.
"Wake," a voice whispered—not from the outside, but inside my head. It was
neither man nor woman, neither old nor young. Just a presence, vast and tender.
The light grew stronger. The air gave way. When I opened my eyes, the bird hovered above my chest. Its feathers glowed faint gold, rippling with every heartbeat I'd forgotten I had.
My lungs convulsed. Air rushed in. I gasped, coughing hard, my body jerking upright as the forest filled my ears again—the rustle of leaves, the whispers of the wind, the distant echo of something familiar.
The bird landed beside me, its small eyes glinting. For a moment, I swore I saw recognition there, like it knew me far longer than I knew myself.
Then—footsteps.
"Amira!"
Her voice cracked through the stillness. I turned sharply, my vision still blurred from the light. And there she was—Nala, stumbling from between two crooked trees, mud streaked on her face, her breath ragged. When she saw me, she froze. Then she ran.
I barely had time to open my arms before she crashed into me, clinging so tightly I could barely breathe. Her body shook with silent sobs, her hands gripping my shoulders as though I might vanish again.
"I thought you were gone," she said between gasps. "By the spirits, I thought you were gone."
I smiled faintly, resting my forehead against hers. "You think I'd leave you to deal with all this alone?"
Her laugh broke through her tears. She shook her head. "You're impossible."
I blinked, the world steadying again. My chest hurt, but I could breathe.
Really breathe. I managed a weak smile. "You came back."
Her laugh cracked with relief. "I told you I would."
We stayed that way for a moment—two broken pieces finally finding their shape again. Then I pulled back, glancing at the cage she carried. Inside fluttered a bird—like mine, yet different, its feathers tinged with a faint blue light.
"Where did you get that?" I asked softly.
She looked down at it, eyes full of wonder. "From the children. The ones who were trapped here. They gave it to me before they vanished."
I frowned, confused. "The children? You mean… those evil spirits?"
Nala nodded. "Yes. They were lost souls that needed rest. They asked me to guide them out. I didn't know the way, but when I touched the ground, something inside me burned bright.
Like a fire lit in the dark, it was as though I had forgotten but now, I remember.
The way, the sounds, the pulse of the earth, even the hearts of the spirits Amira, I could see it, clearer than ever. I showed them the way and they gave me this to show their gratitude."
I was about to speak when a flutter of wings caught my eye. My own bird had taken flight again, circling once before landing neatly inside my small metal cage that had fallen earlier. It stood still, waiting—like it was asking me to close the door.
Nala's eyes widened. "It waited for you."
I swallowed, a strange calm washing over me. Slowly, I lifted the cage and locked it shut. The moment the clasp clicked, a faint hum rippled through the air, and both birds sang together—a hauntingly beautiful harmony that faded into the rustle of leaves.
Nala shivered. "These birds… they're not ordinary."
"No," I said quietly. "They're not."
She smiled faintly. "Then we're done here."
The forest had fallen quiet now, as though listening. The path ahead stretched out between the trees, silvered by a pale light. I rose to my feet, brushing dirt from my skin. "We should move. Before it gets dark again."
Nala glanced up. "You know the way?"
I looked around and sighed. "Honestly? No. Everything looks the same."
Her lips curved into a small, confident smile. "Then it's a good thing one of us does. Come—I'll lead."
"You're sure?"
"I feel as though I have walked through this forest more than a hundred times" she admitted, her gaze drifting to the forest canopy. "It is strange, Amira. To know these things when this is the first time we both have stepped foot in this forest"
Her words lingered in my mind as we began to walk. The forest seemed less menacing now, the air lighter, yet every shadow still held whispers. The birds chirped softly in their cages, their glow faint but comforting.
"Amira," Nala said after a while, her voice low. "When I coming to you… I thought you had died. I felt it. Your pain, your breath fading. It was like I was inside your body."
I stopped walking, turning to her. "You felt it?"
She nodded. "Yes. I felt it all—the snake, the light, the heat… I don't understand why this is happening to me but I do not reject it either, it feels like a part of me buried deep within has just come alive"
I touched her shoulder. "We'll figure
it out. When we've eaten. And slept."
She nodded, though her eyes still shimmered with worry.
She hesitated. "Something changed in you, didn't it?"
I glanced down, flexing my fingers. The memory of that towering image, the
voice, its power—burning, wild, alive— still tingled beneath my skin. "I don't know what happened. But he said I called to him."
Nala frowned. "Who??"
"The god of war"
Silence descended like heavy dew upon us. It was only a matter of time, I knew choosing the path of a warrior would lead me to such an encounter, it was written in my destiny. But… I didn't know it would happen this early.
I said softly. "I worry for you, this new gift of yours sounds terrifying"
She didn't answer, and for a while, we just walked. But my thoughts wouldn't
rest. We had never been to this place before. And yet, there was something in the forest that had awoken something inside us. Nala is able to see the dread and intent of spirits, she can even guide them and feel things an ordinary human should not.
Maybe it is because she wasn't truly from Uzazzu? The thought stirred unease in me. How then can we explain this sudden change, this sudden remembrance.
We would have to ask. Grandmother Or Nala's mother.
By the time the trees began to thin, the sky had deepened into violet. We'd been walking for hours, but at last—the gates appeared. Stone and steel, carved with old symbols that glowed faintly in the moonlight.
Two sentries straightened as we approached. Then came the voice—low,
commanding.
"Open it."
The gates groaned, light spilling from torches beyond. The Madawaki stood
there, his armor catching the glow like burnished gold. His eyes—usually sharp
and steady—softened when they found us. For a brief heartbeat, relief flashed across his face before he masked it with sternness.
"You're alive," he said, voice thick with disbelief.
I bowed slightly, my body aching from exhaustion. "We are."
He took a step closer, eyes scanning us as though to make sure we were real.
Then his tone broke—just slightly. "Get them something to eat."
Men hurried past him, but I caught the way his jaw tightened, the way he looked at me longer than necessary. There was something there—concern, maybe.
Or fear. I couldn't tell which.
Inside the camp, familiar faces turned—Musa, Danladi, Zainabu. Relief and
confusion mingled in their eyes.
Danladi was first to speak. "We came back on the second day," he said. "Musa
came today. I tried to look for you, Amira, but the forest—" he shook his head.
"Too thick. Supplies ran out."
"It's fine," Nala said softly. "We made it."
They exchanged glances, and then Musa added, "Zainabu was the first to return. Day one. But since this morning, no one else came back. The count's dropped to eighteen."
I looked around—so many missing faces. My stomach sank.
"The Madawaki has been restless," Musa went on quietly. "Pacing all day. Which
was unlike him."
"Maybe he was worried?" Danladi sighed.
"Worried?" I asked, half a smile tugging at my lips. "About us?"
Nala shrugged, eyes darting toward the command tent. She whispered "Maybe.
Or maybe because if you hadn't returned, Idris would've killed him himself."
I let out a hearty laugh.
But when I turned to look again, the Madawaki was still watching me from
across the courtyard—his gaze steady, unreadable. And in it, beneath the armor
and authority, I saw something that didn't belong to duty.
Something that looked a lot like care.