Kingdom of Kemetwa — Heart of the Southern World
The sun rose slowly over the golden plains of Kemetwa, casting its light upon a land of deep red earth and mighty rivers. Birds in dazzling colors glided between ancient baobabs, and the roaring waterfalls echoed like the breath of the gods.
The capital, Zandara, shimmered beneath the warmth of the morning light. At its center stood the Ivory Citadel, carved from pale stone, lined with golden-inlaid columns and draped in indigo banners that fluttered like silk flames.
Inside the citadel, the scent of burning incense blended with the cool air that flowed through the open courtyards. In the distance, ceremonial drums thundered, signaling the beginning of the royal council.
Queen Nalya stood on the highest balcony of the citadel.
Tall and commanding, she wore a deep emerald green robe, woven with golden threads that formed intricate patterns of lions, crashing waves, and celestial stars. Her dark skin shimmered under the sunlight, and her long braided hair, styled in a regal crown, was adorned with copper rings and obsidian beads. Her neck and wrists bore the weight of heirloom jewels — layered necklaces of amber, gold, and carved ivory.
She was more than a queen.
She was the soul of Kemetwa.
Below, the palace courtyard filled with her people — warriors, ministers, servants, and elders — all bowed low as the royal horn announced her presence.
Nalya raised one hand, the sun catching the sacred symbols etched into her golden rings. Silence fell across the courtyard like a curtain.
Her voice, calm but resolute, carried the weight of a thousand battles:
"Rise, people of Kemetwa. Today is a day of peace… and of vigilance."
She turned her gaze to her generals. Among them stood General Enar, a veteran of countless wars, his face lined with age and loyalty.
"Has the prisoner spoken?" she asked.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Enar replied, stepping forward. "He claims to come from across the great oceans. From a kingdom called… Goryeo."
Nalya narrowed her eyes. That name again — Goryeo. She had heard whispers of it before, like a northern wind brushing against the edge of the continent.
"And what does he want?"
"He says… their emperor seeks to explore our lands. To see whether they can be… shared."
A murmur of disbelief spread through the council. Some gasped in anger. Others exchanged uneasy glances. Nalya remained still.
"No empire shares what was never theirs," she said coldly.
She descended the white marble steps from the throne, her bare feet meeting the cool stone floor. At her approach, the royal guards struck the ground with the butts of their spears in rhythmic salute.
She passed through the Inner Garden, a sacred space teeming with the wild beauty of the continent. Trees from every corner of the realm stood tall in living harmony — towering fig trees, healing acacias, and golden palms. At the heart of the garden lay a shallow pool, the Ancestor Basin, its waters always still, always clear. Floating at its center was an eternal flame — the Fire of the Ancients.
Nalya knelt before it.
"The East is awakening," she whispered. "May the ancestors guide me."
The flame flickered violently. Ripples stirred the surface of the water. And then, for a single breath of time, she saw a vision:
A man draped in red silk, his eyes locked onto hers, standing alone in a foreign wind.
She gasped and opened her eyes.
For the first time in many years… a strange feeling stirred in her chest.
It wasn't fear.
It was curiosity.