Wura
Before the arrival of trains, the journey between Sinji and Koéa was an ordeal. Whole days spent jolting in cramped horse-drawn carriages along dusty, overcrowded roads. Comfort was a distant memory, yet from the haze of fatigue sometimes sprang unexpected meetings. Unforgettable ones.
Now the train cut across a wide plain, its tall grasses still marked by the recent drought. Wura recognized the place. It was here she had met Hézo for the first time — a vivid memory still etched in the light of the landscape.
I wonder what became of him… Hézo.
Three hours later, the train slowed and then stopped. A longer pause than usual. Wura guessed why: the border. The Buluku Bridge. It was more than a bridge; it was a threshold, the line between two worlds, two kingdoms.
Here, identity checks were strict. Each kingdom wanted to know who set foot on its soil. For the Ko like Wura, the process was quick. For the Sin, you had to show papers, a pass, a ticket to the other bank.
When the engine hummed again, the train moved on and crossed the Buluku Bridge. Beneath it, a yawning chasm split the land like an open wound. Legend said the gorge had been carved by the gods during the Great Division. A neutral place, void of magic.
On the other side, Koéa's hills spread out, majestic and thick with deep green. Dense forests flanked the roads like a silent army. The train was now only three hours from Kébéra.
Across from Wura, Sésune turned the pages of a newspaper with slow fingers. Her long black hair, shaded with a dark purple, was carefully twisted into a sculptural bun. Her lips, made up to match the purple of her strands, gave her an unsettling impassivity.
Sésune carried a cold, almost intimidating beauty. A beauty that might topple many hearts, yet kept them at a distance.
Though they had lived together nearly three years, Sésune still held much mystery for Wura. An antique dealer who traveled often, she had slowed her life to take Wura in. She made it her duty to care for Wura so she would lack nothing — so she might, if only slightly, feel like she had a family again. For that, Wura would always be grateful.
***
Kébéra's royal palace loomed over the city with its tall tiers. Even from a distance, it imposed its silhouette like an immutable truth. A quiet force, planted there by centuries.
From the station, Wura immediately felt the difference. The air here was softer, less heavy. Nothing like the taut nerves of Edo. In Koéa, everything felt more… human. Open faces, easy smiles. A city that breathed.
Sésune hailed a horse-drawn taxi.
As the carriage moved toward the town center, Wura rediscovered the colors of her childhood. The cobbled streets buzzed with life: merchants bent over their stalls, women balancing baskets on their heads, children chasing hoops and shouting with joy. Familiar faces. Forgotten sounds.
She inhaled deeply, the smell of sun-warmed sandstone, of flowers, fruit, life. So this was coming home.
Buildings in Kébéra rarely rose beyond two or three stories, except for the royal palace to the northeast. The city spread wide, protected by stone walls marking family compounds. On each wall, a symbol — identity carved in rock.
Guided by Sésune, the carriage dropped them before a cluster of thatched-roof apartments. Inside, everything spoke of care and taste: a sofa, a low table on a raffia rug, a small kitchen, a simple bedroom with an adjoining bath.
— You'll settle here. Do you like it? Sésune asked.
Wura did not answer at once.
Sésune's voice tightened as she continued.
— Did you really mean what you told me? You want to rid yourself of your Loa? You must think this through, Wura. It's irreversible.
The girl lowered her eyes. Her gaze clouded, but her tone was steady.
— He's done enough harm. I've made my decision. Once I'm at the Academy, I'll do it. It's the only way for me to have a normal life.
Sésune stepped closer and cupped Wura's face in her warm hands.
— You know you risk your life, don't you? I'm not your mother, I have no right… But I beg you, don't rush headlong. Think about what you might lose. About those who might lose you.
Tears sprang to Sésune's eyes, and Wura felt she had just broken her heart.
They held each other for a long time.
Wura remembered then, it was never her who left. It was always the others.
Kenya, the first friend. He had offered his hand when everyone else shunned her. And one day he was gone. Without a word, as if their bond had never existed.
Then Nissi, Kenya's little sister. Their friendship had formed fast and deep. But the day they left for Sinji, Nissi simply turned her back before the carriage even started.
Later, there had been Hézo. They had lived like brother and sister for a few stolen months in Edo. But he too disappeared.
Finally Ciel. And now Sésune.
One by one, the figures of her heart turned away, leaving her always alone.
Wura clenched her fists. She refused to be overwhelmed. But she wished so much that things were different.
And in a flash of pain she surprised herself thinking:
If only I could gouge out those eyes of doom.
— You'll write to me often, won't you? Sésune asked softly, already standing, already distant.
— I promise, Wura replied with a pale smile.
Then she settled in, alone.