Chapter 14: Whispers Beyond the Dust

Kente's POV

The capital's streets stretched quiet under bright, steady clouds, their light spilling over cracked cobblestones where Kente walked, boots scuffing the dust that clung to his patched tunic—tan fabric streaked with orange and blue, frayed at the edges from too many days in Old Brass. A quiet warmth pulsed against his chest, Zuri's pendant humming softly, a faint echo of that grin from the orphanage. Deep in his ribs, a gentle tremble stirred, Umvelina's daughter's presence weaving a hum into the air, bending it into faint, shimmering ripples he could feel but not see.

Kente's hands twisted the hem of his sleeve, nerves bubbling up as he headed back to the training yard, the spires' blue-green glow pulsing in the distance. His heart thudded, heavy with worry for Zuri, locked in the capital's prison, red eyes shadowed by Harvester chains. He pictured Zuri pacing, muttering, those cold eyes hiding the boy who'd shared bread and crafted their pendants to stay connected, fearing Kente's juju—the corrupt idol inside—would destroy him. Kente's chest ached, a tight knot he couldn't shake, tears prickling his eyes as he blinked them back, kicking a pebble that skittered across the cobblestones, dust puffing up behind it.

"Hey, Kente, you're quiet again," Tamara said, voice shaky but kind, trailing behind, his shell flickering faint as crumbs fell from his tunic. He clutched a scavenged stick, fingertips brushing its rough edge. "Miss Wolo promised to help Zuri, right? We'll get him out soon. Don't worry so much."

Chioma walked beside, gold eyes steady, hands relaxed but ready, fingers brushing the stone wall. "She will," she said, voice soft but sure, like a big sister's whisper. "She's Old Brass deep down. But you've been stressing, Kente. What's on your mind?"

Kente sighed, hands dropping to his sides, the pendant's hum steadying his breath. "Zuri," he mumbled, voice low, cracking a little. "He's stuck in there, Chioma. Locked up after those Harvesters attacked. I keep seeing him—red eyes, cold, muttering like he's lost. He did so much for me back in the orphanage, scavenging trinkets, making these pendants so we'd never lose each other. He thought my juju would kill me, tried to stop it, and now he's paying for it. I can't leave him like that."

Her eyes softened, gold melting into shadow, and she touched his arm, fingers warm against the fabric. "He's not gone, Kente," she said, voice gentle, like a quiet promise in the dust. "Old Brass doesn't forget its own. We'll wait for Miss Wolo, but we'll be ready."

Tamara nodded, shell flickering brighter, hands clutching his stick, voice shaky but warm. "Yeah, Zuri's still our friend—I know he is. He's tough, like us. We'll figure it out together."

Prophet Mirror trailed behind, cloak rustling softly against the stone, his dark eyes scanning the spires, hands still at his sides. "Miss Wolo's hum is moving," he said, voice calm and low, words steady like Old Brass's quiet nights. "The Priestess's power could free Zuri, but the capital's scared of Harvester ties. And Kaelon—he's watching, ruthless, like a hawk with too many plans. We need to be patient."

Kente nodded, but his chest tightened, tears threatening again. He kicked another pebble, watching it bounce, dust rising slow. "I trust Miss Wolo," he whispered, voice steadying, hope flickering like a candle in Old Brass's dark. "But Kaelon—he's bad news, isn't he? What if he grabs Zuri first?"

Chioma's POV

Chioma's gold eyes narrowed as she watched Kente shuffle ahead, boots kicking dust, hands twisting that sleeve like it held all his worries. The capital's streets buzzed faint under the clouds, their light spilling over cracked stone, but her heart thudded, heavy with the weight of Old Brass's grit. She brushed her fingers against the wall, feeling its juju hum—a steady rhythm tying her to home, to Kente, to Zuri's shadow in that prison.

She glanced at Tamara, his shell flickering dim, crumbs tumbling as he clutched his stick, eyes wide with worry. "He's breaking, Tam," she murmured, voice soft but firm, hands steady at her sides. "Zuri's got him bad. I hate seeing him like this—quiet, scared, kicking rocks like a kid."

Tamara's hands shook, voice shaky but warm. "I know, Chioma. Zuri's our friend too—I saw him, by the gates, muttering, red eyes looking so sad. I want to help, but I don't know how. Kente's hurting, and I feel useless."

Chioma's fingers flexed, brushing the stone harder, its hum grounding her. "We'll stick with him," she said, voice gentle but sure, like a big sister's promise. "Old Brass doesn't leave its own. Miss Wolo's on it, but Kente's pushing too hard. We need to watch him—and Kaelon. That guy's trouble, Prophet says."

Tamara nodded, shell flickering brighter, hands clutching his stick tighter. "Yeah, Kaelon's creepy—like he's always staring. But Zuri's tough. He'll hold on, right?"

Chioma's heart squeezed, but she forced a smile, gold eyes steady. "He's Old Brass, Tam. He'll fight. We just need to be ready."

Prophet's POV

Prophet Mirror's cloak brushed the stone softly as he trailed behind, dark eyes scanning the spires, their blue-green glow pulsing faint against the clouds. The capital's hum pressed against him, cold and sharp, a vibration tying him to Old Brass's dust but twisted by the capital's weight. His hands stayed still, fingers tracing the cloak's frayed edges, feeling its juju hum—a quiet rhythm he'd known since Falther's lessons.

He watched Kente shuffle ahead, boots kicking dust, hands fidgeting, and his heart ached, steady but heavy. Zuri's prison hum lingered in the spires' pulse, cold and sharp, bending souls like Harvesters' claws. Prophet's hawk illusion circled above, dissolving into mist, its hum whispering truths he couldn't share yet—Kaelon's hum, sharper, colder, plotting in the shadows, and Miss Wolo's hum, stalled, the Priestess silent, scared of Harvester ties.

"Kente's pushing too hard," he murmured to himself, voice calm and low, hands still. "Zuri's chain hums fragile—Harvesters bend it, Kaelon watches. We need patience, not haste."

His gaze flicked to Chioma and Tamara, their voices soft ahead, and he felt the weight of Old Brass's grit—Kente's tears, Zuri's pain, the capital's danger. He'd wait, watch, guide—his juju hum bending reality slow, tying them to a fight they couldn't see yet.

Miss Wolo's POV

Miss Wolo stood in her rune-lit quarters, black stone walls etched with juju symbols glowing blue-green under flickering torches. Her lava eyes glowed molten, crescent ornament pulsing bright on her tunic, hair tied back with a leather band. The capital's hum pressed against her, cold and sharp, but her volcano juju pulsed faint, bending the air with Old Brass's fire.

She paced, hands steady on the stone table, feeling its hum tie her to the Priestess's legacy, to Kente's plea hours ago. "Zuri's tied to Harvesters," she murmured, voice low and careful, lava flickering. "The capital's on edge—afraid they'll strike again. Freeing him's risky, but Kente's eyes… they're Old Brass, begging like mine once did."

Her mother's hum echoed in her mind, the Priestess's voice silent but heavy, scared of Harvester ties. Miss Wolo's heart squeezed, volcano juju trembling—Kente's tears, Zuri's chains, the spires' cold weight. She'd promised to talk, but Kaelon's hum loomed, sharper, colder, plotting in the shadows. "I'll reach out," she whispered, voice steady but soft. "But Kaelon—he'll move first if I don't act fast."

She turned to the window, spires pulsing bright, and felt Old Brass's dust calling—Kente's hope, Zuri's fight, her duty pulling her toward a path she hadn't seen.

Harvester/Zuri's POV

In the capital's prison, darkness pressed against Zuri, cold and heavy, chains clinking around his wrists, red eyes dull under the faint rune-light. His patched tunic, gray and torn, clung to his frame, dust from Old Brass lingering on his pale skin, Harvester-touched and trembling. The pendant Kente had mirrored swung cold at his throat, its hum sharp and jagged, bending his soul under the Harvester leader's grip.

Zuri paced, muttering, hands shaking as memories flooded—mud-brick walls, damp straw, Kente's laugh in the orphanage dark, crafting their pendants to stay connected. "Kente…" he whispered, voice hoarse, breaking, tears prickling his eyes. He'd joined the Harvesters to save Kente, fearing that corrupt idol would kill him, but their lies crushed him—"Slave eternal," the leader had sneered, twisting his soul with blood-hum.

A ripple shook his chains—a cold, sharp hum, not juju he knew. A Harvester, pale skin glowing faint, red eyes glinting, stood before him, its form wavering—jerky, hesitant, its hum unsteady. "Zuri," it hissed, voice slick and cold, but breaking, shifting to his own hoarse cry, "help… me…" Its fingers flexed, but the movement faltered, like it was fighting itself, Zuri's soul pushing through.

He staggered back, chains clinking, tears falling, voice cracking. "Kente, I'm sorry," he whispered, pendant pulsing wild, hum breaking the Harvester's grip. "I'm still here—fighting." The Harvester's form shattered—dust and light exploding, runes flickering faint on the stone, his pendant hum fading cold, leaving him alone, chained, but alive.