Chapter Ten: The Path of the Forsaken

The forest thinned as the Bloodbound Circle moved beyond the river, their bodies heavy with exhaustion but their minds sharper than ever. They had survived — barely — but survival wasn't enough anymore.

The Vhuramu weren't just soldiers.

They were worshippers.

And Kael wasn't just their target.

He was their lost king.

The fire crackled weakly as they camped under the hollow shade of twisted trees, branches curled like claws against the sky. No one spoke for a long time — even Tafara's jokes felt like they would shatter something too fragile to touch.

Finally, Dendera broke the silence.

"If the Vhuramu believe you're their king… how do we stop an entire army that would die just to put you on the throne?"

Kael's jaw clenched. "We don't fight them head-on."

Tafara leaned back on a fallen log, chewing absently on a root. "Good, because I like living."

Nyeredzi's spirit-sight flickered in her eyes, faint silver lines tracing paths only she could see. "There's something we're missing. Why would the Chidawo — the First Lion Spirit — choose you, Kael? The royal line still exists. The king still breathes."

Kael's stomach twisted at the mention of the Chidawo. He could still feel its presence, not just in his chest, but in his bones, in the way his senses stretched too far, hearing whispers even now.

Liora sat apart from the group, her back against a tree, her fingers tracing her bowstring in silence. She hadn't said much since the river — and Kael hadn't asked.

But now, he couldn't avoid it.

"You knew," Kael said, voice low. "Didn't you?"

Liora's gaze lifted, her moon-eyes reflecting the firelight. "I knew they were looking for you. I didn't know why."

Tafara snorted. "You've been following us since Mhandara Village. If you didn't know, why spy on us?"

Liora's fingers tightened around her bow. "Because my village sent me to. They knew something was waking in Murenga — something tied to the Bloodbound Circle. I was supposed to make sure you lived long enough to figure out what."

Kael's throat felt dry. "And now?"

Liora's expression was unreadable. "Now I follow you because if you fall, we all do."

The weight of her words settled over the Circle, heavier than any armor. They weren't just soldiers anymore — they were pieces of something larger, something ancient.

And Kael was the center.

"We need answers," Kael said finally. "Real ones. Not prophecy fragments and whispers in the dark."

Dendera nodded. "There's only one place that might still hold them."

Nyeredzi's eyes flickered brighter. "The Ruins of Nharira."

Even the fire seemed to shrink at the name.

Ranga whistled low. "That's death."

"No," Kael said quietly. "That's where we find out why the Chidawo chose me — and how we break the army sworn to put me on a throne I never wanted."

Tafara's grin was sharp. "Well, if we're going to die, at least it'll be interesting."

The path to Nharira would take them deeper into the old kingdom, into lands swallowed by time and forgotten wars. It was where the first lions walked — and where the Chidawo's spirit was said to have been born.

If the truth existed anywhere, it was there.

The Bloodbound Circle stood, weapons in hand, ready to step off the edge of history — into a story that had been waiting for them since the first stone was laid in Murenga.

Kael took the first step, the whispers in his bones now guiding him, not to a throne — but to a choice.

Because if the Chidawo chose him…

It meant the bloodline had already failed.

And only Kael — Blood of Bvuri, Spirit of the First King, Last of the Trueborn — could decide whether Murenga's next king would be man, beast, or something far worse.