The golden wagons of Madame Rosa's troupe gleamed brighter than Naki had imagined. Their tents were stitched with silver thread, their banners painted with royal blues and emerald greens. Compared to the patched fabrics of the Mensah Circus, this place looked like it had been carved from dreams.
Naki stepped down from the caravan, clutching her trunk. Every detail struck her—the neat rows of performers' quarters, the polished instruments gleaming in the sun, the quiet discipline of the workers. Here, even the air smelled different: lavender oil, waxed leather, polished wood.
"This…" she whispered, "this is another world."
A tall woman in crimson, Madame Rosa herself, strode forward with the grace of someone who never stumbled. Her silver hair was coiled tight, her eyes sharp enough to pierce steel.
"You are Nakiya Mensah," Rosa said, her voice carrying authority. "The child they call the Flying Star."
Naki bowed instinctively, but Rosa's gaze did not soften. "The ropes do not care for nicknames. Only skill. Show me you belong here."
Naki swallowed hard. "Yes, Madame."
Her first rehearsal was unlike anything she had known. The tent was vast, higher than the Mensah big top, ropes stretched taut as lightning bolts. Performers swung gracefully, their bodies disciplined, polished, flawless. They moved not like a family, but like soldiers.
Naki climbed the ladder, her heart racing. She tried to steady her breath the way Grandpa Ofori had taught her. But whispers rose below.
"That's the clown girl, isn't it?""From the little caravan circus?""She'll fall before the act even starts."
Their snickers burned her ears. Naki gripped the bar, determined not to let them see her fear.
"Begin!" Rosa's voice cut through the tent.
Naki launched herself forward. The air embraced her, the ropes sang beneath her grip. She twisted once, twice—graceful, alive. For a moment, it felt like home.
But when she landed, a veteran acrobat sneered. "Pretty good—for a clown." Laughter followed, sharp and cruel.
Naki bit her lip, keeping her head high. "I may have been a clown," she said under her breath, "but I'll be a star again."
From across the tent, another figure caught her eye—Ayoa "Sky" Boateng, already balanced on the high rope. His smirk was as sharp as ever.
"Well, well," he called. "Looks like the circus sent me a rival to keep things interesting."
Naki's stomach tightened. She had dreamed of rising here, but already the air was heavy with doubt.
The golden tent was magnificent—but it was also hostile.
And if she wanted to shine on this stage, she would have to fight harder than ever before.