Jahnie_Kc

BVURI
Written by Jahniekc

In the ancient kingdom of Murenga, five warriors bound by blood and prophecy walk the thin line between spirit and flesh. They are the Bloodbound Circle — hunters, seers, tricksters, and shield-bearers — sworn to guard a world that has long forgotten the cost of survival.

But beneath the earth, something stirs. Something older than gods. Something that remembers their names.

The **Bvuri** — formless, ancient horrors born from the first scream of creation — are awakening. Drawn to Kael, the lion-hearted leader of the Circle, they whisper his fate in languages older than bones. The prophecy calls him savior, but the Bvuri call him something else.  

**A vessel. A key. A sacrifice.**

As forbidden forests whisper, and enemy kingdoms carve their skin with stolen power, the Bloodbound Circle must choose: **stand against the coming darkness, or break beneath the weight of destiny.**

The spirits are watching.  
The earth remembers.  
And the Bvuri are hungry.

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Bvuri

He sat on the edge of the village, staring at the tree line where the mist curled low over the roots, waiting for dawn. His body was still, but inside, the lion paced restlessly. The truth sat in his chest like a second heartbeat—one he didn't ask for.

The first trueborn king. The door. The Bvuri's claim.

Behind him, the Bloodbound Circle slept in uneasy shifts. Or at least, they tried.

Tafara had spent the last hour tossing his dagger into the dirt and digging it back out. Nyeredzi meditated near the fire, the faint shimmer of her spirit-sight twitching at the edges like even **she** couldn't calm her visions. Dendera leaned against his massive shield, eyes closed, but Kael knew he was listening. Always listening.

Ranga? He was high in the trees, moving between branches, restless energy rippling off him like heat.

Sitting by the fire, silent, watching the embers shift. Watching him.

Kael exhaled through his nose. He didn't want to talk to her. Not yet.

He wasn't sure what part of himself would answer.

The elder had told them to leave at first light.

So they packed their things in silence. No jokes, no easy banter, no insults traded between Tafara and Ranga. Just the quiet weight of knowledge pressing down on all of them.

When they reached the village gates, Kael turned to face them. The Circle.

His voice was steady, but every word felt like it dragged across his throat.

Tafara snorted, flicking a speck of dirt off his dagger. "Hard to miss, with all the 'your-blood-is-a-walking-cataclysm' talk."

Kael ignored him. His eyes moved to Dendera. "You still stand with me?"

Dendera didn't hesitate. "I said it once. I'll say it again. Where you go, we go."

Kael looked at Nyeredzi. She gave a slow, knowing nod. "The visions don't change what we are."

Then Ranga. The baboon warrior smirked. "Didn't come this far just to run. Besides," he rolled his shoulders, "if we're going to war, I want a front-row seat."

Kael swallowed the tightness in his throat. The only one left was—

"I'm not sorry," Liora said, before he could even look at her.

"I did what I had to do," she continued. "If I hadn't followed you—hadn't guided you—someone else would have. And they wouldn't have cared if you lived through it."

He wanted to shove her words back in her face, to make her feel the betrayal lodged in his ribs.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

He had been hunted since the day he was born.

"We're not done with this," Kael muttered.

Liora's lips pressed into a thin line. "I know."

And that was it. No more arguments. No more time.

Kael turned away from the village, from the past, from the truth still clawing at the edges of his mind.

The Bloodbound Circle moved as one.

Their next step would take them straight into the heart of the prophecy.**

Chapter Seven: The Weight of the Crown