The sixteenth hour was nearing its end, yet the Celestial Lantern showed no sign of fatigue. High above in the Cosmosphere of the terrarium, the seven golden circlet wheels spun with ferocious speed, scattering the fire of the Empyrean pearl until the entire universe of Aye was bathed in blinding, glorious gold.
In the heart of Akogwa, the heat did not bother Libaax Akoma. As the Servitor Supreme, the King of Kings, he was the sky that brought the rain. But today, the sky felt heavy.
Libaax walked through the hanging gardens of the Imperial Palace, his steps silent against the limestone. He wore no crown—his imposing, spherical Afro, perfectly shaped and defying gravity, was crown enough for the ruler of Middle Earth. His skin, the color of crude oil, drank in the cosmic energy of the afternoon, shimmering with a faint iridescence that marked him as a "Silhouette".
He tugged at the collar of his regal blue Jalabiya. The High Table had been particularly exhausting today. Vhuthu Hiwot had argued endlessly about political influence, and Arora Lakshmi had cited three different precedents regarding resource sovereignty. They all wanted the same thing: for the vacant seat beside him to be filled. They wanted an Empress.
"A wife," Libaax muttered, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in his chest. "They speak of a wife as if I am ordering a new Chinbil mask from the smiths."
He turned a corner, seeking the solitude of the medicinal flora section. Instead, he found a disruption.
A woman was kneeling in the dirt, wrestling with a stubborn root. She was not a servant, judging by the vibrant green Djellaba she wore, but she was certainly working like one. She was a Manomi—a cultivator.
Libaax paused. Protocol dictated he clear his throat, allow her to prostrate, and then dismiss her. But his feet refused to move.
The woman pulled the root free with a triumphant grunt and sat back, wiping sweat from her forehead. Her skin was a rich chocolate tone, marking her as a Brunette. Her hair was styled in an intricate Tanavoho, the sides swept up to reveal the elegant curve of her neck.
Then, she looked up.
Her brown eyes locked onto his.
Time, usually governed by the rigid mechanics of the celestial wheels, seemed to shatter.
Deep within Libaax's chest, something slammed against his ribs. It wasn't his heart—it was deeper. It was his Makoma, his inner compass of destiny, spinning wildly and locking into a new magnetic north.
Thump
The air between them rippled. It was the Ifunanya—the Heart-Echo.
Libaax gasped, stumbling back a step. The barrier of his Dapabie—his mental realm—felt suddenly thin, porous. He could feel... her.
A wash of cold, sharp energy flooded his senses. It was Huenergy—emotional energy leaking from her Moea (soul) into his. He saw it with his spiritual sight: a jagged aura of Green, the hue of Fear.
"M-my Lord!" The woman scrambled to her feet, dropping the root. She fell into a deep bow, trembling. "Forgive me! I did not know the Servitor Supreme was walking these grounds."
Libaax stared at her. The rational part of his mind, the part trained in the logical rules of the Nommo system, told him this was just a startled subject. But his Ase told him otherwise. His blood was singing.
"Rise," Libaax commanded. His voice came out harsher than he intended.
She stood slowly, keeping her eyes lowered. Her Green Huenergy of fear was practically blinding him, clashing with the serene Blue Aura that naturally surrounded his own throat chakra.
"What is your name, Manomi?" he asked.
"Ahia," she whispered. "Ahia Senan, of the Outer Districts."
"Senan" he tested the name. It felt heavy on his tongue, like a vow.
He took a step closer. The logic of the world—screamed that he should stop. But the resonance was deafening. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to know why his Makoma was pointing directly at this gardener with dirt on her hands.
"You are afraid," Libaax observed, his eyes narrowing.
"You are the King of Kings," Ahia replied, her voice trembling but surprisingly steady. "To not be afraid would be madness. You are the storm that shakes the earth."
Libaax blinked. It's "the sky that brings the rain" he thought.
Above them, the Celestial Lantern groaned, the gears shifting. The golden light began to dim, the fierce fire softening into the silver flame of evening.
Night was coming. But for the first time in centuries, Libaax Akoma was not looking at the sky.