An hour later, a weary and battered Korga sat in his hut, a healer tending to the numerous cuts and bruises that covered his body. The high of victory had faded, replaced by the throbbing ache of his wounds. The silence in the hut was broken by the rustle of a curtain as a figure entered. Amani stepped inside, her face a mask of solemnity. She went down on one knee, her eyes downcast. "You called for me, Father?" she asked, her voice a soft, respectful whisper.
Korga's face, though still pained, broke into a satisfied smile. "Rise, my daughter," he said, a new, chilling tone of warmth in his voice. "Because of you, and your great acting, I have finally gotten rid of Thabo."
Amani rose, her expression unchanging as Korga continued. "For too long, his influence over the council prevented me from doing what needed to be done for our people. He was a constant shadow, a stubborn obstacle in my path to true power. But now, it is different. The village will see things my way."
He gestured for her to come closer. "If you continue to support me like this," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "I will make you the junior clan head. You will sit at my right hand, Amani. Together, we will lead this tribe to glory."
Amani nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching the corners of her lips. "I will do whatever you ask, Father." Amani's expression remained placid, her eyes reflecting the dim light of the hut. "And what of Kofi and his family, Father?" she asked, her voice steady and devoid of emotion. "Will they be hunted?"
Korga's smile faltered for a moment, a flash of frustration crossing his face. "I would have loved to kill them," he admitted, his voice a low growl. "I would have loved to make Thabo watch them die before I ended him. It would have been the perfect revenge."
He sighed, a weary but satisfied sound. "But they are gone. They have vanished into the wilderness. If they are smart, they will not return. They will live out their miserable lives as outcasts." He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "They are no longer a concern."
Korga gestured toward the door. "Go and rest, my daughter. You have earned it." His eyes, however, held a new, calculating glint. "Starting tomorrow, we have much to discuss. The future of our village, and your place in it, is now in our hands."
Amani rose, curtsied, and left the hut, the weight of their dark secret settling between them.
Three months had passed since Thabo's death. The sun beat down on a rocky mountain pass, its harsh light glinting off the armor of twelve knights. In front of them, a heavy wooden cart sat precariously, its contents young noble lady the sole reason for their desperate stand. They were surrounded by a monstrous, spiked bear, its fur matted with mud and its teeth bared in a terrifying snarl. The air was thick with the scent of fear and ozone as the beast charged, its claws raking the ground.
A knight on the left, his shield raised, yelled, "Even if only five of us make it out alive, protect the lady in the cart! That's all that matters!"
The battle was a brutal, one-sided affair. The bear was a whirlwind of claws and teeth, each swipe a deadly arc. Three more knights fell, their bodies tossed aside like rag dolls. Now only eight of them remained, their armor dented and their faces streaked with blood and dirt. The young lady in the cart let out a small sob. The end seemed near.
Suddenly, the monstrous bear stopped in its tracks. A low, wet thud echoed through the pass as its massive, spiked head slowly slid from its shoulders and fell to the ground with a sickening thud. The headless body of the beast stood for a moment, swaying like a drunken giant before it collapsed, revealing a lone figure standing behind it, holding a Prana-infused blade.
A moment of stunned silence hung in the air, broken only by the whimpering of the young lady in the cart. Then, a cheer erupted from the knights. They fell to their knees in exhausted relief, thanking the heavens for their salvation. "Hold!" their captain commanded, his voice sharp and wary. He gestured for them to rise and stand ready. "We don't know who saved us. Friend or foe, we must be on guard."
A solitary figure emerged from behind the fallen beast, its back to the group. As it approached, the knights tightened their grip on their weapons. The figure walked with a familiar, deliberate grace. The last rays of the sun caught on a face that was both new and familiar. It was Kofi. He was no longer the frightened boy who had fled his village three weeks ago. His face, though still young, was now hardened, streaked with dirt and a few new scars. His eyes, once wide with fear, were now sharp and focused. He carried a Prana-infused blade, the same kind his father had used, and his stance was that of a seasoned warrior.
The captain, his face still a mixture of relief and suspicion, stepped forward. His eyes, trained to size up a threat in an instant, took in Kofi's bearing—the calm, deliberate way he held his blade, the focused intensity in his gaze. "Identify yourself, stranger," the captain commanded, his voice gruff. "And state your business. You saved us, but we still don't know who you are."
As Kofi turned fully toward them, the setting sun illuminated his features. The captain's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he took in the young man's skin tone. It was a hue he had only seen in stories—a blend of two worlds that were rarely united. "A Mulatto?" the captain muttered under his breath, a term used for the offspring of a Valkyrian(white) and a Berseker(Black). The captain, a man of simple certainties, had never encountered such a mixture in person. He had heard tales of the Berserkers' primal strength and the Valkyrians' cunning. He had also heard of the great Thabo, a renowned Berseker warrior who had married a Valkyrian woman, but he had dismissed it as a myth. Yet, here stood the living proof of such a union.
Kofi's lips curled into a slight smirk. "That's rather rude," he said, his voice a melodic mix of accents as he spoke in fluent Valkyrian. "To demand a person who just saved your lives introduce himself first. I didn't know Valkyrians had no manners."
Captain Owen's face flushed with anger. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he snarled, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. The other knights shifted, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they prepared for a new fight.
"Sir Owen!" a soft voice called from inside the cart. "He's right. He saved our lives, so why should he have to introduce himself first?"
The tension in Owen's shoulders eased, but his gaze remained fixed on Kofi. "My Lady, if you could only see him, you'd understand," he said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "This isn't an ordinary man."
"If that's the case," the voice from the cart insisted, "then I order you to open the door I want to see him for myself."
Owen, his face a mixture of resignation and frustration, complied. He reached for the heavy curtain covering the cart's opening and pulled it aside. A soft, warm light spilled out, revealing a young woman of breathtaking beauty. She had long, vibrant red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and a slender, elegant body wrapped in fine silks. Her eyes, the color of a summer sky, scanned the scene, her gaze lingering on the fallen beast before finally settling on Kofi.
She blinked in confusion. "So... he's a Berserker?" she asked, her voice calm and melodious. "I could have sworn I heard him speaking Valkyrian a moment ago."
Kofi let out a small laugh, a sound that was both genuine and slightly cynical. "What? You're not shocked?"
She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips. "No, but your skin is rather light for a Berserker. Most are the color of rich earth."
"That's because he's a Mulatto, my Lady," Owen interjected, his voice still edged with suspicion. "He's a mix of Valkyrian and Berserker blood." He then went on to explain, his tone matter-of-fact. "A Mulatto is a person born from the union of a Valkyrian and a Berserker. It's a rare and often dangerous combination. They are said to possess the tactical cunning of the Valkyrians and the raw, primal strength of the Berserkers." His eyes flickered to Kofi's Prana-infused blade. "They are often outcasts, caught between two worlds that refuse to accept them."
The young lady from the cart stepped forward, her red hair catching the sunlight like a fiery halo. A gentle smile touched her lips as she extended a hand toward Kofi.
"My apologies for their rudeness," she said, her voice like chimes in the mountain air. "They are... overprotective. I am Alexia Roselié, the fifth child and second daughter of Count Roselié of the Kronos Empire."
Kofi, for the first time since his escape, felt a flicker of surprise. The name Roselié was one he had heard in his father's stories. It was a name of power and influence, tied to one of the most powerful families in the land. The Kronos Empire was a dominant force, its reach extending far beyond the mountains they stood in. He took her hand, the soft skin a stark contrast to his calloused palm. "Kofi," he said, simply. "Just Kofi."
A hint of amusement danced in Alexia's eyes. "Just Kofi," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a new, curious weight. "Thank you, Just Kofi. You saved my life."