The night air over Mogadishu was warm, carrying the faint scent of spices from the harbor. Kafi lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling of his chamber, listening to the distant waves of the Indian Ocean. Though he had always been curious and ambitious, tonight something felt different—like a spark had ignited deep in his mind.
Images flashed before him: bustling ports, maps of trade routes, formations of soldiers, and councils of power. His heart raced. He sat up, gripping the edge of his bed.
No… this can't be real, he thought. Or… maybe it is.
He shook his head and tried to calm himself. Kafi had learned long ago that the world is not kind to those who show their full mind too early. His secret would remain buried—for now.
"Kafi! Breakfast before the sun climbs too high!" his mother, Amina, called from the kitchen.
"I'm coming, mother!" he said, hopping out of bed. His small feet padded across the polished wood, passing the shelves filled with scrolls, coins, and small trinkets from faraway lands. Each object reminded him of his father's power and the empire he would one day inherit—but he did not speak of the knowledge that surged within him.
At the head of the table sat Sultan Jama, his father, reading a scroll. "Today, Kafi, you will accompany me to the council," he said. "It is time you learn how our empire is guided. One day, these decisions will rest on your shoulders."
Kafi nodded politely. "Yes, father," he said, hiding the storm of memories that made him feel older than his eleven years.
Outside, the market thrummed with life. Merchants called out their wares, camels groaned under heavy loads, and fishermen hauled nets glistening with fish. Kafi's cousin, Amir, ran to meet him.
"Kafi! Did you see the merchants from Zeila? Spices, ivory, and silk! Maybe we can trade some today," Amir said, eyes sparkling with excitement.
Kafi smiled faintly. "Yes… maybe," he said, careful not to reveal that he already knew the best trade routes, the value of each commodity, and which merchants would yield the most profit.
Amir frowned. "You're acting strange today. Are you thinking about your lessons again?"
"Just… observing," Kafi replied. His mind replayed memories that were not his own, strategies of leadership, and the mistakes he could avoid. No one can know. Not yet. Not until I am ready.
In the council hall, elders debated trade disputes, water rights, and foreign ships. Soldiers reported from the borders, scribes jotted notes on parchment, and merchants petitioned for favors. Kafi's father guided him through the room, whispering explanations of each motion.
Kafi nodded along, asking questions that seemed typical for a boy his age. But inside, he was analyzing every weakness, every opportunity, every pattern he had seen before—knowledge from a life he would never reveal.
Later, in the quiet of the palace gardens, Kafi watched the birds flit through flowering trees. Amir skipped beside him, chattering about the morning market.
"You're awfully quiet today," Amir said.
"I'm just… thinking," Kafi replied, hiding the truth behind a faint smile. One day, I will show them what I know. One day, the empire will see my vision. But not yet. Not while I am still a boy.
That night, Kafi sat alone in his study, maps spread before him, coins and scrolls at his side. He traced trade routes, imagined defensive strategies, and planned ways to unite the clans, all while keeping the secret buried deep in his mind.
The world outside slept, unaware of the mind reborn within their young heir. Kafi was no longer just a boy—he was a strategist, a visionary, and a secret force that would one day shape the future of the Ajuuran Empire.