Book 1: Chapter 10 – A New Era

"Why don't we just leave today?" Jabari asked impatiently, his voice edged with frustration.

Heba remained unruffled. "There are a few things I need to prepare to help manage your sister's condition before we set off," she replied simply. Then, turning toward her guardian mage, she added, "Aten, please escort Inayah and Jabari to their rooms so they can rest until dinner."

"Of course, Your Highness," Aten acknowledged with a respectful nod.

Without another word, Jabari strode to the foot of the bed, crouching slightly as he lifted his sister onto his back.

"I can walk," Inayah began to protest, but the sharp look he shot her silenced any further objections. She knew better than to push him when he was like this.

With his sister resting quietly against him, Jabari followed the mage up the stairs. Their footsteps echoed softly in the grand hallway, a stark contrast to the noisy, uneven paths of the slums they had known all their lives. When they reached the end of the corridor, Aten gestured toward two opposing doors.

"Both these rooms are empty. You're free to choose who sleeps where," he explained.

"I'll stay with my sister for now," Jabari stated firmly.

"As you wish," Aten replied before taking his leave.

"Ja-"

"I'm not ready to talk yet," Jabari cut her off, his tone devoid of warmth.

Carefully, he set Inayah down on the luxurious bed before retreating to a corner of the room, sinking onto the floor. He fixed his gaze on a random spot on the wall, his mind a whirlwind of emotions too tangled to unravel. The plush grey carpet beneath him, the sheer size of the room – larger than the hut they'd lived in for the past five years – none of it mattered.

Inayah, too, barely registered the softness of the mattress. Her thoughts were entirely consumed by the storm raging within her brother. She had never seen him like this – so raw, so untethered. His pain, his anger, the weight of everything they had endured – it was suffocating.

She longed for him to say something, anything. Even if it meant shouting, even if it meant unleashing his fury on her, at least then she would know how to help. But instead, all she got was silence. A crushing, deafening silence.

For the next hour, the siblings remained unmoving, lost in their own thoughts, until Heba's voice carried up the stairs.

"Dinner's ready."

Jabari stirred at last, rising wordlessly before lifting Inayah onto his back once more. As they descended, a rich, tantalising aroma filled the air. The scent curled around Jabari, beckoning him forward. It was unlike anything he had ever smelled before – warm, spiced, utterly irresistible.

Without thinking, he quickened his pace, his feet carrying him toward the source of the mouthwatering fragrance. When they reached the dining room, their eyes widened in unison.

Before them lay a feast – plates upon plates of steaming, glistening food. Roasted meats, fragrant rice, freshly baked bread, and colourful vegetables filled the long table, an overwhelming sight for two children who had spent their lives scraping by on scraps.

Jabari and Inayah stood frozen, staring, their parched lips slightly parted as saliva pooled at the corners. Never in their lives had they seen so much food in one place.

A soft chuckle escaped Heba as she took her seat, amused by their awestruck expressions. "Please, sit and dig in."

"This…

This is for us?" Inayah asked hesitantly, her voice barely above a whisper. She slid off her brother's back, her disbelief plain to see.

"Of course," Heba answered with an inviting smile.

Jabari had to force himself to tear his ravenous gaze away from the feast before them. His instincts screamed at him to lunge forward, to devour whatever he could before it was taken away. But hunger had never dulled his caution. His arm shot out, barring Inayah from moving any closer.

His sharp eyes flickered to Heba and her guards, watching them warily. Trust was a luxury he could not afford.

Heba, noticing the hesitation in Jabari's gaze, let out a quiet sigh. Without a word, she picked up a piece of food from her plate and took a deliberate bite, chewing slowly before swallowing. Then she met his eyes once more.

"See? It's not poisoned," she said calmly. "Is there something else you'd like me to try?"

That was all the reassurance Jabari needed. He exhaled slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Gently, he guided Inayah into a chair before dropping into the seat beside her, though his gaze never left the table.

The cutlery laid out before him might as well have been invisible. Jabari reached forward with his hands, grabbing fistfuls of food and shovelling them into his mouth without hesitation. The moment the first bite hit his tongue, his entire world shifted.

Flavour exploded across his taste buds in a way he had never experienced before. Tender, spiced meat, buttery rice, crisp vegetables – it was overwhelming, intoxicating. His body, conditioned by years of scarcity, demanded more.

Only after swallowing his mouthful did he glance at Inayah and nod – a silent confirmation that it was safe.

Inayah wasted no time following her brother's lead as she unceremoniously stuffed her face. She chewed as fast as her jaw would allow, savouring each bite yet unable to slow herself down.

They sampled everything, their hands darting from plate to plate. But Jabari had one rule – every bite had to include meat. Potatoes, rice, vegetables – it didn't matter. If it wasn't wrapped in meat, he refused to eat it.

The contrast at the table was almost comical. On one side, Heba and her guards ate with practiced elegance, their every movement graceful and refined. On the other, Jabari and Inayah devoured their meal with the urgency of those who had known actual starvation, their eating a fusion of survival and enjoyment.

Yet, despite the stark difference, no one seemed out of place. No words were exchanged. Only the sounds of tearing, chewing, and the occasional grunt of satisfaction from the two siblings filled the air.

For the first time in a long while, hunger was not their enemy.

…

At the heart of the Umeme Tribe's main settlement, just outside a grand stone palace, a middle-aged man with dark skin stood with his entourage gathered respectfully behind him. His short, greying hair bore an elegant golden circlet, and his silky black robe was embroidered with ostentatious golden stitching – a deliberate display of status.

Yet, despite his regal appearance, both he and his party stood with their heads bowed, facing a lone figure dressed in a simple, sleeveless white robe.

Had Jabari been present, he might not have recognised the Chief or his attendants, but there was one person he would never be able to forget.

The young man before them radiated an almost primal presence. His reddish-brown skin glistened under the sun, his thick black mane of hair resembling that of a lion. His massive, sinewy arms, like sculpted logs, hinted at an overwhelming strength, but it was his eyes – wild, arrogant, and dripping with disdain – that commanded true attention. Those eyes looked upon the world as though everything in it was beneath him.

"Thank you, young master Simian. Your assistance in this matter is greatly appreciated," Chief Bakara said humbly, his voice steady despite the tension in the air.

Simian scoffed. "If you want to thank someone, thank your son. He's the one who sent me to protect you, 'Chief. '" The way he emphasised the title made it sound almost mocking.

Bakara, however, remained composed, choosing to ignore the blatant disrespect. "Please pass on my gratitude to Oluwa and tell him that his father misses him dearly."

"Whatever," Simian grunted, already turning to leave.

"Are you certain you wish to depart so soon?" Bakara asked, his tone carefully neutral. "I could inquire once more to see if the Princess would be willing to join us for dinner..."

"I'll pass," Simian interrupted, not even bothering to look back. "I have no interest in playing politics. I'll leave that to Prince Oluwa and the old farts of my Kamara Tribe."

With that, he strode off, his massive frame cutting through the courtyard like a force of nature, making it abundantly clear he had no desire for further conversation.

The moment he was out of earshot, one of Bakara's armoured men let out an indignant huff. "How dare he behave so arrogantly?!" he spat, fury twisting his features.

Chief Bakara exhaled heavily, his gaze fixed on the ground as if weighing something far heavier than mere words. "Those from the Big Six see us the same way we see those from the slums – like trash," he said bitterly. "Even though my son is the most gifted youth in all of Ulo and the crowned prince of the Kamara Tribe, our Umeme Tribe is still just an ordinary tribe. To them, I am nothing. My title means nothing."

Though his voice remained calm, his tightly clenched fists and the flicker of resentment in his deep brown eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"Sir, even if that's the case, shouldn't we have tried harder to convince him to stay?" an older man asked anxiously. The memory of the recent assassination attempt still haunted him. "We don't know if more assassins will be sent."

"There's no need," Bakara said, his tone unshaken. "I can handle a killer of that level myself."

"Then why did Prince Oluwa send that young man here?" another retainer asked, giving voice to the lingering confusion in the group.

Bakara closed his eyes for a moment before exhaling slowly. "On the surface, it looks like Oluwa sent the little Lion King to protect me," he said, his voice measured. "But I know my son better than anyone. If his only goal was to ensure my safety, he had plenty of warriors stronger than Simian to choose from, warriors far less important to the Kamara Tribe."

A heavy silence settled over the group as realisation dawned.

"Oluwa sent Simian here to open my eyes." Bakara's voice, though quiet, carried the weight of his understanding. "If a young man who has yet to even reach twenty can already rival me – the strongest warrior of our tribe – then that means we are far too weak to stand tall in Ulo. That is why we must work harder than ever before, not just to protect ourselves but to ensure we do not bring shame to my son's name."

Determination flared in his eyes as he turned to face his people. "Even though we cannot control the number of Mages born among us, we can increase the number of our Beast-Warriors. From this moment forward, I decree that no youth of our tribe will be permitted to enter this year's trials. For the next twelve months, the tribe's other Beast-Warriors and I will personally oversee the training of every aspiring trialist."

Murmurs of agreement spread through the gathered warriors, their initial shock giving way to an electric surge of excitement. Determination filled their expressions.

This was the beginning of something new.

As the group stirred with purpose, Bakara turned his attention away from them, his gaze settling on a figure standing just behind his right shoulder. Unlike the others, this man was cloaked in a hooded robe, his features partially obscured.

But Bakara did not look at him as he did the rest of his followers. No, in his eyes, there was something else entirely – deep respect.

"Tobias, have we heard back from Hadiza yet? How did the aptitude test go for the children of the slums?"

Though Bakara wasn't expecting much, he still held onto the hope that they might uncover another mage. The power of mages was unparalleled – so much so that every tribe regarded them as living weapons, a force of destruction and prestige.

It was this very reason that the Chief regarded Tobias with such deep respect. Tobias wasn't just the tribe's only mage – he was living proof of what the slums could produce. Over two decades ago, he had been just another boy from the outskirts, yet he had passed the test and risen beyond his origins. Now, he held a position second only to the Chief himself, and by marrying Bakara's younger sister, he had been fully embraced as a true Umeme.

"You'll be pleased to know that a fourteen-year-old girl passed the test," Tobias reported, his tone calm and measured. "She has an aptitude for the fire element."

A stunned silence filled the space before it exploded into excitement. Eyes widened, voices rose in elation, and then-

"HAHAHA!" Bakara's booming laughter rang out. "This is excellent news! The heavens truly favour my Umeme Tribe! And another from the slums, no less." His expression turned thoughtful as realisation struck. "Perhaps it's time I reconsider the tribe's laws regarding slum-born children…

From now on, all children – whether from the slums or the main settlement – will be tested together each year."

His decree sent ripples through the gathered crowd, though this time, the murmurs were not of excitement but unease.

"Chief, are you certain we sh-"

"Both of our tribe's mages have come from the slums," Bakara interrupted, his voice firm. "And both times, we discovered them far too late. Tobias was fifteen. This girl is fourteen. Imagine how much stronger Tobias would be now if he had been trained five years earlier. And that girl – if she had begun at ten, she would already be nearing graduation from the academy." His gaze swept over the hesitant faces before him. "I understand this will cause unrest, but a few hours of discomfort each year is a small price to pay for the future of our tribe."

His unwavering conviction left no room for dispute.

"Go now," he commanded. "Spread my decree."

At once, the gathered followers dispersed, leaving only Tobias and Bakara.

"Was there something else?" the Chief asked, turning to his brother-in-law.

"It's about Princess Heba."

Bakara frowned. "What is it? Please don't tell me Hadiza did something to offend her."

"It's nothing like that," Tobias reassured him. "Hadiza mentioned that aside from the girl who passed, something else happened..."

The Chief listened intently as Tobias relayed his report, his expression unreadable. When Tobias finished, Bakara remained silent for a long moment, staring into the distance as he processed the information.

"You're certain that girl isn't a mage?"

"I'm sure," Tobias replied. "When she placed her hand on the crystal the first time, it must have given a false reading. Rare, but not unheard of."

Bakara exhaled, his lips pressing into a thin line. "I've heard whispers of the Princess' soft heart. This wouldn't be the first time she's shown pity to a slum child..." His voice turned cold. "Ignore it. We cannot afford to entangle ourselves in that woman's affairs – certainly not over a couple of insignificant brats."

"I understand," Tobias said quietly before taking his leave, disappearing into the night.

Bakara remained where he was, tilting his head to the sky. A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips.