Chapter 11: Whispers in the Dust

The plaza lay silent, dust settling like Old Brass's ash over the shattered stone, its cracks spiderwebbing outward from where Kente had fallen. His unconscious form radiated a raw, untamed aura, a storm of juju that pulsed through the exam dimension, bending the air into faint ripples. The capital's screens flickered outside, their harsh glow dimming as the crowd murmured, Zaria's silver eyes wide with worry from the stands. Within the sealed realm, Sturmguards' armor clinked softly, their runes glowing a steady blue-white, oblivious to the power Kente unleashed.

Chioma crouched beside him, her claws hovering inches from his chest, gold eyes narrowed with concern. "He's breathing," she growled, her voice low and steady, cutting through the hum. "But that aura… what was that?"

Tamara knelt nearby, his shell flickering weakly, crumbs dusting his tunic as his trembling hands brushed the ground. "I don't know," he whispered, voice quivering. "Never seen anything like it. Thought the Harvesters got him."

Prophet Mirror stood back, his hawk illusion circling above, its wings shimmering before dissolving into the haze. "Something's woken in him," he said, voice calm but edged with curiosity. "But it's not juju I recognize."

Kente's body remained still, his patched tunic torn at the shoulder, the tan fabric streaked with Old Brass dust and blood from the Harvester's strike. His tag lay against his chest, warm and pulsing, its swirl glowing faintly through the fabric. The bead at his ribs quivered, a subtle vibration stirring beneath his skin, tied to something ancient and lost.

Inside his mind, darkness stretched endless, a void thicker than Old Brass's night. Kente blinked awake, sprawled on a surface that felt like cold stone but shimmered like water under moonlight. No plaza, no spires, just black—deep and heavy, pressing against his lungs. Above, a faint shimmer rippled, like clouds catching light, but no stars, no sky. His chest ached, the tag and bead silent now, yet their weight anchored him here, a tether to a place he didn't understand.

"Where am I?" he murmured, his voice echoing, swallowed quick by the dark.

A sharp laugh cut through—high-pitched, mocking, light as a child's giggle but biting as a blade. "Finally, huh? Took you long enough, loser!" Footsteps pattered closer, quick and sharp, and a figure emerged: a girl, maybe ten, sharp-eyed and glowing faint like a lantern's flicker in fog. Her skin shimmered dark, hair twisted into tight braids adorned with tiny beads that clinked softly as she moved. She wore a tunic patched with tribal patterns, arms crossed, glaring down at him with a mix of scorn and curiosity.

Kente pushed himself up, wincing as his ribs twinged. "Who are you?"

She huffed, jabbing a finger at his chest. "I'm Nia, idiot. Been stuck in here waiting for you to wake up. You're slow as dirt."

"Stuck in where?" Kente's brow furrowed, hand brushing where the bead sat, its warmth a quiet hum under his skin.

"This," Nia said, gesturing wide, her voice clipped and precise. "Your spiritual core. Where we live—me and that noisy brat over there." She nodded toward the dark, where another figure slouched, smirking.

A deeper laugh rolled out, wild and bright, bouncing off the void's edges. "Oi, princess, don't hog the spotlight!" A boy stepped forward, same age, wild-haired with reddish-brown curls tangled with charms and bones. His eyes glowed a sharp blue-white, matching the runes Kente knew too well from his dreams. Bandages wrapped his wrists, bracelets jangling, and his patched hoodie hung loose, striped armband frayed at the edges. A blue eye symbol gleamed on his forehead, pulsing faintly.

"And you?" Kente stood, fists clenching as the boy circled him, too casual for the weight of this place.

"Jomo," he said, grin widening. "The loud one, apparently. Been bouncing around in here same as her, waiting for you to stop tripping over your own boots."

"Waiting?" Kente's mind spun, the tag at his chest warming, the bead at his ribs quivering. "You're… inside me?"

"Yup," Jomo chuckled, sprawling back on the dark floor, hands behind his head. "We're your idols—sentient ones, not those dead juju heads everyone else drags around. I'm the wild one, thanks to some mess TheSun cooked up. She's the stuck-up one—reincarnation of some priestess, I guess."

Nia glared, stomping over to shove Jomo's shoulder. "I'm not stuck-up! And you're a glitch, not an idol. This space is mine—Umvelina's line doesn't share with trash like you."

"Umvelina?" Kente's voice cracked, memories flickering: gold robes, fire, a girl's glare he couldn't place. "Who's that?"

Nia paused, her sharp eyes narrowing. "Don't know," she admitted, voice dropping low. "Just… a name I feel, deep down. Like it's carved into me, but I can't see the shape."

"Same," Jomo said, shrugging, his grin fading. "Some juju shoved us here, but we're blind to who. Doesn't matter—I'm the power, you're the pilot."

Kente paced, the void humming beneath his boots, a vibration that skipped steps, bending reality faint. "So you're alive in here, but you don't know where you came from?"

"Exactly," Nia said, crossing her arms again. "We found ourselves in you—trapped, waiting. You're slow, but we're here now. And those Harvesters? They're sniffing for me—or him. Probably both."

"Sniffing?" Kente stopped, the tag pulsing hotter, Zuri's echo rising: red eyes, a boy's laugh in the orphanage dark, swallowed by fire and Harvesters' shadows. "What do they want?"

"Dunno," Jomo said, sitting up, his eyes glinting. "Power, maybe? They felt us in that race—cold, sharp. Want what's in you bad."

Nia stepped closer, her gaze softening for a moment. "We felt them too—trying to pull us out. That's why we pushed you back there, in the plaza. You felt it, didn't you? That aura?"

Kente nodded, rubbing his chest where the Harvester's strike had hit. "Yeah. Nearly broke me."

"Almost broke us too," Jomo muttered, kicking at the dark floor. "You're lucky we're tough."

"Lucky?" Nia spun on him, jabbing his chest again. "You nearly got us killed with your stupid brawling!"

"Better than your sulking!" Jomo shot back, leaping to his feet. They lunged at each other, braids and charms clashing as they rolled across the void, trading insults—her sharp jabs, his wild taunts—until Kente grabbed them both by the scruff of their tunics, yanking them apart.

"Enough!" he roared, voice echoing loud. "If you're stuck with me, stop fighting and help me understand. What's next?"

They froze, glaring at him, then at each other. Nia sighed, brushing her braids back, beads clinking soft. "Fine. We're here—sentient, stuck, and arguing. You're in charge, but we vote. Two votes to move you—mine, his. You'll have to deal with the noise."

Jomo grinned, dangling limp in Kente's grip. "Yeah, loser. Get used to it. We're not going anywhere."

Kente released them, stepping back as the void shimmered, a pull tugging at his core. "Time's up," Nia said, her voice fading. "Back to the real world. Stay sharp—we'll be watching."

Jomo's laugh lingered as the dark swallowed them. "Don't trip over your boots out there!"

Kente's eyes fluttered open, the plaza's dust stinging his lungs. Chioma loomed over him, claws inches from his chest, gold eyes sharp with worry. "You alive?" she growled, voice low.

"Yeah," he rasped, sitting up slow, dust coating his tunic. Tamara blinked at him, shell flickering faint, while Prophet's hawk circled tight above, dissolving into mist. The tag pulsed once, the bead quivered, and two voices chuckled faintly in his skull—Nia's sharp bite, Jomo's wild cackle.

"Great," Kente muttered, staggering to his feet, ribs aching. "Just what I needed—brats in my head."