WebNovels

Chapter 30 - Chapter 7 – The Fractured Tent

The Mensah Circus no longer felt like home—it felt like a battlefield draped in silk.

Rumors of Ayoa's defection to Prince Malik's Royal Sky Circus spread like wildfire. Performers whispered about divided loyalties, patrons began comparing acts, and even the new lion trainers muttered that the "real future" was with the palace.

The golden tents that once symbolized pride now shimmered with quiet tension.

Naki threw herself into rehearsal, her hands blistered from the ropes. The more the world tried to divide her troupe, the more she practiced, determined to hold them together by will alone.

"Again," she said, breathless. "From the leap."

Kwesi frowned. "Naki, you've run that stunt six times. You're going to collapse."

She spun toward him, voice sharp. "If I collapse, at least it'll be trying to keep this place alive."

Before he could answer, shouts erupted outside. The flap burst open—Ama and Kojo stumbled in, faces pale.

"It's Sky!" Ama gasped. "He's outside—with the Royal Sky Circus!"

Naki froze.

She rushed out to see Ayoa standing across the field, his troupe behind him, banners of silver and sapphire fluttering in the wind. Prince Malik himself was not present, but his royal crest was emblazoned across their uniforms—a lion with wings.

Sky looked the same, yet different—his confidence sharper, his eyes colder.

"I came to make peace," he said, raising a hand. "Not war."

Kwesi's voice roared louder than his fire. "Peace? You steal half our crew and dare to show your face here?"

Some of the Mensah performers murmured in agreement; others looked away guiltily.

Sky's jaw tightened. "They came willingly. They want progress—resources, travel, recognition. You can't cage ambition, Kwesi."

Kwesi stepped forward, torch blazing in his grip. "You can burn for it, though."

The flames licked dangerously close to Sky's sleeve. Performers scattered as Naki dashed between them.

"Stop it!" she cried, pushing Kwesi back. "This isn't the way!"

Kwesi's eyes blazed. "He's the reason Ma's losing sponsors! He's the reason half our family's gone!"

Naki's voice broke. "He's not the reason. Pride is."

Kwesi stared at her, the torch shaking in his hand. Slowly, he lowered it, the fire dimming.

Sky exhaled. "I didn't come to fight you, Naki. The prince is hosting a Royal Jubilee performance. Both troupes have been invited. The world will watch."

He hesitated, then added softly, "You should be there. So the stars can settle this under the same sky."

With that, he turned and left, his troupe following like shadows.

That night, silence blanketed the Mensah camp. The only sound was the creak of ropes swaying in the night wind.

Efua sat by the dying fire, staring into the embers. "You've done everything you can, Naki. But perhaps the tent cannot hold so many dreams."

Naki's hands curled into fists. "Then I'll rebuild it until it can."

She looked toward the horizon, where the faint silver banners of the Royal Sky Circus fluttered under the moonlight.

The world had drawn its lines. The next time she and Ayoa met, it wouldn't be as friends or rivals—it would be as equals in a war of art.

And the tent that once united them would now decide who truly deserved to fly.

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