Chapter Eleven: The Weight of Stone

The road to Nharira was carved through old earth, the kind that remembered every footstep, every drop of blood. Trees twisted along the path, their roots bulging like veins under cracked skin. No one spoke much — the weight of Liora's confession, Kael's unspoken fears, and the whispers of prophecy hung too heavy.

It was Dendera who finally broke the silence.

"If we're going to Nharira, we pass through my home."

Tafara, balancing a knife on his fingertip, raised an eyebrow. "What, they got a tavern?"

Dendera's slow smile was the closest thing to warmth they'd felt all day. "No. But my father might still remember the old songs."

Kael glanced over. "The songs the elders used to sing before battle?"

Dendera's smile faded into something quieter. "The ones they sang before the lions walked with men."

Even Nyeredzi's spirit-sight flickered at that. Ancient songs weren't just songs. They were keys — to memory, to prophecy, to secrets older than any living tongue.

Elephant's RestThe village was built from stone, not wood — huge blocks fitted together like the bones of giants. Elephant tusks framed the entrance, each one carved with ancestral runes that hummed faintly when Kael passed beneath them. The villagers stopped and stared — not at Kael, but at Dendera.

The Elder's Son had come home.

Dendera's father, Elder Mbano, stood at the center of the village square, arms crossed over his chest like a wall that had learned how to breathe. His hair, thick with white locs, matched the ceremonial paint tracing his face — a map of his life, every scar a story.

"You've come back," Mbano said, voice like rolling thunder.

"Not for long," Dendera answered. "We need the songs."

The old man's eyes narrowed. "The songs are for those who bear the burden."

Dendera stepped aside, and Kael stood in the elder's gaze.

The elder flinched.

"You carry the lion's hunger," Mbano said, not a question.

Kael's throat tightened. "I need to know why."

The elder's gaze swept over the Circle — Nyeredzi's quiet presence, Ranga's restless energy, Tafara's sharp grin hiding sharper fear, and Liora, standing apart, moon-eyes unreadable.

"The songs won't save you," Mbano said softly. "But they might tell you how you got here."

Dendera's Past — The Weight He CarriesThat night, around a fire pit carved into the bones of the earth itself, the elder sang. His voice was cracked stone and breaking waves, and with each word, Dendera's past unraveled.

Dendera had never been just a soldier.

He was born under a blood moon, the night the Chidawo stirred for the first time in a hundred years. The lions roared, the elephants knelt, and the earth itself trembled.

The spirits marked him, not as king — but as shield.

The Bloodbound Circle was not just fate. It was design. Dendera's life had been shaped to stand between Kael and whatever hunted him — even if it meant dying first.

His father's voice wove the truth into the air, binding it to stone and sky.

Kael was chosen because the royal bloodline broke faith with the spirits.

The Chidawo abandoned the crown, seeking a new vessel — one born outside the palace walls.

But where there is a key, there must be a lock — and Dendera was made to be that lock, the immovable wall between Kael and the Bvuri's hunger.

Even if Kael turned on them all — Dendera's soul was bound to stop him.

The song ended, leaving only silence.

Dendera sat quietly, staring at his hands — hands that had held shields, lifted friends, and now carried the weight of a prophecy he never asked for.

Kael placed a hand on his shoulder.

"We move forward together," Kael said softly.

Dendera's voice was steady. "Even if the prophecy says I might have to kill you?"

Kael's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Especially then."

The Next Step — Nharira AwaitsWith the songs echoing in their bones, the Bloodbound Circle left Elephant's Rest — now not just warriors, but pieces of a prophecy older than the kingdom itself.

Dendera walked beside Kael, the shield at the lion's side, knowing that the day might come when he would have to decide — to protect his brother, or stop the king before the Bvuri made him their own.

But for now, they walked together.

One path.

One Circle.

One chance to rewrite fate.