Chapter Twelve: Bones Don’t Lie

The path to Nharira was harder than it should have been. Not because of the terrain — the land here was flat, wide stretches of dry grass and ancient stone paths worn smooth by generations of bare feet. No, the real weight was the knowing. The knowledge that every step they took, someone — something — had been waiting for them to arrive.

Dendera was quieter than usual, his father's song still heavy in his chest. He hadn't spoken much since they left Elephant's Rest, and no one pressed him. Not even Tafara, who was too busy tossing his knives into the air and catching them without looking, his restless energy feeding off the silence.

Liora walked a few paces ahead, her shoulders tense. Kael could feel her discomfort, even without the lion spirit whispering in his ear. She was coming home — but not as herself. As a spy exposed, a girl who had followed him not by accident, but by design. The Circle still hadn't decided if they forgave her. Or if they could.

Kael's own mind was a battlefield. Every step stirred the whispers under his skin — the Bvuri, ancient and patient, humming through his veins like a second heartbeat. He could feel the lion in his chest pacing, restless, hungry. Not just for blood. For a throne.

The hunger terrified him. Not just because it was there — but because some small part of him wanted it too.

They reached the stone gate of Nharira just after dusk, the sun bleeding into the horizon, turning the sky into a smear of rust and shadow. Nharira was less a village and more a collection of ancient bones repurposed into homes — every structure carved into the ruins of a long-dead city, walls etched with forgotten script, and doorways marked with charms too old for anyone to remember their names.

At the center, sitting beneath a canopy of dried vines and bones threaded into wind chimes, sat the Elder of Bones.

She wasn't what Kael expected.

Small, wrinkled like dried leather, her fingers blackened at the tips from years of handling spirit ash and bone dust. Her eyes were covered — not blind, but deliberately hidden beneath a cloth stained with ink and old blood.

She didn't speak when they arrived. She just lifted her head, sniffing the air like a jackal on the wind.

"You're late," she said. Her voice was sharp, not ancient and cracked — a knife, not a crumbling stone.

Kael stepped forward. "You knew we were coming?"

The elder laughed, dry and humorless. "I knew before you were born, Lion King."

The title struck like a blow to the chest. The Circle exchanged glances — they knew Kael's connection to the lion spirit, but this… this was different. This was a crown.

"I'm not a king," Kael said, fists clenching.

The elder gestured to a circle of blackened stones in front of her. "Sit."

Kael hesitated, but Dendera's hand on his shoulder steadied him. The Circle sat with him — all five of them — their weapons close, their silence heavier than the night air.

The elder reached into a pouch, pulling out a small carved bone, polished smooth by time. She held it up to Kael's forehead and whispered words in a language older than Murenga itself.

The bone shuddered in her hand.

Her smile was toothless and sharp.

"You are the First Trueborn, child of no royal line but heir to the only crown that matters. The lion inside you isn't just a spirit. It's the first king — Chidawo, the Elder Lion. The one who walked beside the first men, the first to bleed, the first to hear the whispers."

Kael's breath caught in his throat.

"The first king," Kael repeated.

The elder placed the bone in the fire. It cracked, black smoke curling into the sky.

"Your ancestors broke faith with the spirits," the elder continued. "The royal line turned their backs on the pact, chasing their own power instead of the one gifted to them. So the **Chidawo left the palace — and chose you instead. Blood of no king, yet the only king that matters."

Tafara whistled low. "So, the crown's a lie."

The elder's head tilted toward Tafara. "The crown was always a lie. Only the lion's blood matters."

Kael's heart pounded in his chest — the lion in him pacing, growling, but not with rage. With hunger. It wanted more. It wanted the throne. It wanted to reclaim Murenga itself.

Liora's voice was soft. "If he's the king, why does the Bvuri call him brother?"

The elder's smile vanished.

"Because the first king made a pact," she said. "To protect Murenga, the first king bound his spirit to the Bvuri, sealing the gate between their world and ours. His blood became the lock."

Dendera's voice rumbled low. "The lock… and Liora's the key."

The elder's head turned toward Liora, her covered eyes somehow seeing too much.

"She is the key," the elder said. "Born from the line of Seers, raised to follow the whispers, shaped to walk beside the one who would unlock the gate."

Kael stood, fists clenched. "You knew."

The elder didn't flinch. "I've known longer than you've been breathing, child."

Kael's chest tightened. "So every step — the Bloodbound Circle, our mission, the battle at the wall — all of it was planned."

The elder's silence was all the answer they needed.

Nyeredzi's voice was soft. "Even the elder who blessed us with goat's blood before we left the village."

The elder nodded. "That elder was part of the pact — sworn to guide the Circle without telling them the truth. Because the truth would break you before the Bvuri ever could."

Ranga stood abruptly. "We're not pawns."

The elder's voice sharpened. "You are weapons forged by prophecy, bound to Kael not by fate, but by design. Each of you tied to a totem not just for power — but because your totems were the first guardians, the ones who stood beside the lion king before the Bvuri ever whispered from the dark."

Kael's voice was hoarse. "So we're not just a Circle."

The elder's smile returned, sharper this time. "You are the living gate, the only force strong enough to hold the Bvuri back — or to let them in."

The fire crackled. The bones in the flames twisted into shapes — lions, owls, hyenas, elephants, baboons — all circling a spiral that led to darkness.

Kael stared at the flames, his reflection shifting, his eyes flickering gold.

"And if we refuse?" Kael asked.

The elder's smile faded.

"Then the Bvuri will take you," she said. "They will crown you in shadows, and Murenga will fall — not in battle, but from within."

Kael looked at the Circle — his family, his friends, the only ones who knew his fears and stood beside him anyway.

"No running," Kael said, voice steady. "We stand. We fight. Together."

Dendera placed his shield on the ground, the elephant sigil catching the firelight.

"Where you go," Dendera said, "we go."

The elder's voice was almost gentle. "Then you have one chance left."

Kael's brow furrowed. "One chance for what?"

The elder stepped back, revealing a stone doorway, half-buried in the earth, covered in carvings older than the kingdom itself.

"To meet the first king's spirit," she said. "And ask him why he chose you."

The Circle stared at the doorway, the darkness beyond it breathing like a sleeping beast.

Kael stepped forward.

"Let's find out."