Dawn stretched over Niani like a prayer one fears to finish.The palace drums had fallen silent since the previous night, and that silence weighed heavier than an army on the march.From the north, a dry wind slid across the ochre rooftops, carrying with it the scent of iron… and ashes.
At the top of the palace, beneath columns carved with lions and long spears, Faama Naré Maghan watched the plains.His red mantle rose and fell with the wind like a living banner.Around him, advisers, griots, and Donso warriors had gathered inside the Great Council Hall.
Voices clashed, thick with tension.
" The scouts confirm the attacks, Faama. Sosso troops have raided the roads of Tabon. If we stay silent, they will think we tremble. "
Another replied, grave and low:" Soumaoro does not seek victory. He seeks our fear. He advances slowly… to savour our silence. "
Words collided.Fear lurked behind each one.
Then, amid the turmoil, Balla plucked three strings of his ngoni.Three simple, clear notes.The Council fell silent at once.
An old jeli with a grey beard stepped forward, leaning on a staff adorned with a bronze mask.His voice trembled only slightly.
" I saw the shadows of the past dance in the forge flames. When the lion rises without roaring, the Mandé will cease devouring itself. But before the light… will come the ashes. "
A chill crossed the room.
The Faama did not move, but his gaze shifted toward a side door.There, in the dim light, stood Djata — silent, hidden.He was not meant to be present, yet he watched. He listened.He understood without understanding fully, like a fire one senses before seeing.
Balla murmured, almost to himself:" Destiny is a flame. Those who flee it… burn first. "
Later, in the long corridors of the palace, the rumour had already spread.They said the Faama was preparing to send his son to the kingdom of Do, the land of the Donso hunters.
Officially: to learn Nyama.Unofficially: to keep him away from the coming storm.
In the upper courtyard, Sogolon waited.The wind lifted the folds of her veil, making the beads on her forehead chime softly.Djata stopped a few steps away.He already knew.
" You are leaving, " she said simply. It was not a question.He nodded. " The Faama says Do will teach me to understand Nyama. "
Sogolon approached and placed a hand on his cheek." It is not Do that will teach you. It is the road. The fire you carry will burn no matter where you walk. "
She removed from her wrist a copper talisman woven with red threads." Take it. It has known blood and speech. It will remind you who you are. "
Djata tightened his grip on the object." And if I don't have the strength you believe I have? "
She smiled gently." A man does not flee his destiny. He learns to walk in its shadow until the light comes from him. "
" And if the light never comes? "
" Then become the one who lights the path for others… even in the dark. "
The silence that followed weighed more than a vow.
At dusk, under the great baobab, Balla waited.His ngoni rested against the trunk.The enormous roots plunged into the ground like ancient promises.
" The wind told me you're leaving, " he whispered. " It's true. The Faama wants me to learn. "
" Then I'll come with you. A hero without a witness is only a forgotten dream. "
Djata gave a faint smile." And if my story ends before yours? "Balla plucked a string. A clear note rose into the warm air." Then I'll sing it until even the stones remember. "
The branches rustled as if blessing their words.
Balla placed a hand on his ngoni." I tune my song to your steps, Soundjata Keïta. If you fall, my voice will lift you. "" Then let the Mandé be our witness. "
Their eyes met.A promise passed between them — stronger than iron.
That night, Niani did not sleep.
The forges stayed alight, torches danced atop the rooftops, and the drums beat slowly, as if trying to hold back time itself.
Some said the Faama's son was leaving to seek the secret of Nyama.Others whispered he was fleeing the war.
No one was entirely wrong.
In her chamber, Sogolon prayed in a low voice.Her words were invisible threads cast toward the future.
" Let the earth welcome him.Let the Nyama recognise him.Let shame leave his name. "
On the palace terrace, Naré Maghan stared at the horizon.Far away, a red glow simmered behind the hills.A village of Tabon was still burning.
" The ashes, " he murmured.
" The old jeli was right. "
In the lower courtyard, two silhouettes waited.
Manding Bory stood with arms crossed, his hard gaze hiding concern.Beside him, Nana Triban wore a light tunic fit for travel.Her eyes shone like two blades in the dim light.
" You're leaving without us, Djata? " she asked softly.
" I will return. And I want Niani to be standing when I do. "
Bory pressed his palm to Djata's." Then bring back a Nyama worthy of the Mandé. "
Djata answered calmly: " And you — keep our home alive. "
Their hands separated, but the vow stayed suspended between them, stronger than time.
That night, Djata barely slept.He watched the flame of a lamp tremble on the wall, wondering whether it was fear or the wind.
He was not afraid of the journey.What he feared… was not being ready when the world finally called him by his true name.
At dawn, Niani's great gates opened.
A small procession formed: a few guards, a cart of offerings, Balla, and Djata on horseback, draped in a cloak marked with the motifs of the Mandé.
The people lined the roads in silence.There were no cheers.No songs.Only the wind passing through cloth and hair — a final farewell.
An old man whispered: " The Mandé changes… when its children change. "
Djata did not answer.But he felt the thread — that invisible current of Nyama — vibrate beneath his skin, stronger with each step of the horse.
Beside him, Balla murmured a slow melody.
" Do you hear it? "
" Hear what? "
" The world. It's waiting for your first note. "
Djata lifted his eyes toward the horizon.The northern sky was already tinged red.
It was not dawn.
It was the fires of Sosso.
And thus began the lion's journey.He left to seek his destiny.Behind him, the wind carried away the last ember of an old fire.Ahead, the horizon opened like a promise.