Joyval_Thomas

In the heart of Africa, where the sun blazes like a burning ember and the earth hums with ancient secrets, Amara stood at the edge of the vast savannah. The wind swirled around her, whispering names in a language long forgotten. The land, alive with the scent of rain and earth, called to her—beckoning her to listen, to understand, to remember.

Amara had always known that her destiny was intertwined with the savannah, though the villagers spoke little of it. They lived simple lives, bound by tradition, by routine. But Amara felt a pull, a deep, gnawing hunger for something more—something the land itself seemed to offer, but could not yet reveal.

Her heart raced as she caught a glimpse of the traveler—a man whose presence seemed to silence the very air. Kofi. He came from beyond the hills, from places the village elders whispered about only in the quietest of nights. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held stories that sparked something within her. Amara didn’t know if he was friend or foe, but the spark in his gaze mirrored something she had felt in her bones for years.

The moment he spoke, the world around her shifted. “The winds tell of your name, Amara,” he said, his voice low, like thunder on the horizon. “And the earth… it has been waiting.”

His words were a riddle, yet something inside her stirred. The whispers of the savannah grew louder, and for the first time, she felt she understood them. She was being called to something far greater than the life she had known. But as Kofi’s shadow fell over her, a shiver ran down her spine. There was something dark in the air, something ancient, and not all secrets were meant to be uncovered.

WHISPERS OF THE SAVANNAH

The darkness was not just a force. It was a voice, a hunger, a whisper older than the stars. It did not seek to destroy. No, destruction was too simple. It wanted something far worse—it wanted to reshape, to corrupt, to own.

Amara stood before the shifting mass of shadows, her breath steady but her heart pounding like the drums of war. Kofi remained at her side, but she knew this moment was hers alone. The ground beneath her trembled, the earth whispering warnings in a language only she could understand.

The shadow's form shifted, swirling like smoke, its glowing eyes fixed on her. "You fear me," it said, its voice an eerie blend of countless voices speaking as one. "But you should not."

Amara clenched her fists. "I don't fear you."

A low, amused chuckle rippled through the air. "Ah… but you should." The shadow extended what might have been a hand—long, clawed, barely tangible. "I am not your enemy, Amara. I am your truth."

She took a slow step back. "You're a corruption. A sickness."

"I am balance," it countered. "The world has always been too afraid to accept me. The Guardians feared me, tried to bury me, but I have always been here. The Source and I are the same."

Amara's breath hitched. "That's a lie."

The figure shifted again, growing taller, more defined. Its presence felt heavier, closer. "Is it?"

The winds howled around her, carrying ancient whispers, voices of the past, voices of those who had come before. Amara could hear them—Guardians, warriors, ancestors—all murmuring warnings, prayers, regrets.

The shadow moved closer, its voice like silk. "Let me show you, Amara."

Before she could move, before Kofi could react, the darkness rushed toward her, wrapping around her like a second skin. The world vanished into nothingness.

Amara stood in a different time, a different place. The sky was bruised red, the land cracked and lifeless. In front of her stood a massive temple—black stone, ancient carvings, a place of immense power.

A woman stood at the entrance, adorned in golden armor, her hair braided in intricate loops, her face etched with sorrow. A Guardian.

It was different—less like smoke, more like a being. A man with obsidian skin, his eyes glowing like dying embers. He was beautiful and terrible all at once.

"You don't have to fight me," he told the Guardian, his voice deep, reverberating through the broken earth. "You never did."

The Guardian raised her spear. "I will not let you take the Source."

The man tilted his head. "I do not wish to take it." He stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. "I wish to become it."

The Guardian's grip faltered. "What?"

"The Source does not wish to remain separate. It is both light and dark. You fight against me as though I am an enemy, but I am merely the other half."

And in that hesitation, the darkness struck.

It surged forward, wrapping around the Guardian, consuming her, breaking her, twisting her into something other.

Amara gasped as the vision blurred, her surroundings shattering into a thousand pieces.

Amara stumbled backward, gasping, her hands trembling. The shadowy figure loomed before her, its eyes glowing with knowledge.

Kofi grabbed her arm, steadying her. "What happened? What did it do to you?"

Amara's mind reeled. The darkness was not just evil. It had once been something else—someone else. It had once been a part of the Source, before it was severed, before it was deemed an enemy.

The Guardians had separated the two forces—light and dark—believing they could not coexist. But in doing so, had they created the very evil they sought to destroy?

Amara's breath came in short gasps. If this was true, then the darkness wasn't just an enemy to be fought. It was part of the world itself.

chapter 13: the shadow’s Truth