In the hidden heart of the palace, the air shimmered with an energy few mortals could withstand. The walls, carved from a single block of obsidian, were etched with ancient symbols, witnesses to a power older than memory itself. Violet flames floated in the air, motionless yet alive, flickering across the faces of King(nkukuma), khir, Emtse, and Dalilah.
At the center, a circular platform of gold and crystal served as the anchor for the ritual. Along its edges, luminous chains held spheres of light—fragments of souls captured over centuries, ready to channel their strength into the royal family.
The four royals approached, each holding a scepter carved with sacred glyphs. As their hands touched the crystals, a current of living magic coursed through the chamber. The violet flames danced faster, invisible winds stirred the robes and hair of the participants, and whispers of ancestors echoed through their minds.
Emerald and golden lights spiraled upward from the floor, twisting toward the ceiling as if time itself bent before the family's power. Occasionally, the luminous chains would spark, sending harmless but searing sparks across their skin—proof that the magic was alive, enhancing their very essence.
With each gesture, each chant, the power of nkukuma, Khir, Emtse, and Dalilah grew. Their eyes glowed with supernatural light, and their bodies became living vessels for the magic of their ancestors. The glyphs on their scepters pulsed with the rhythm of their hearts, amplifying the ancestral energy through their veins, making every breath heavier with strength than the last.
Yet, beneath the beauty lay danger: a single misstep, and the freed soul-chains would consume them entirely, erasing them from existence. It was this dance between wonder and peril, between overwhelming power and fragile mortality, that made the rite both breathtaking and terrifying.
Finally, a pure white light enveloped the group, giving them the appearance of divine beings. The ancestors seemed to bow before them, granting even greater power. When the ritual concluded, the four members of the royal family not only amplified their magical abilities but now carried within them the direct, invisible connection to all the energy of their ancestors, potent and unyielding.
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The sun had begun its slow descent, casting golden streaks across the quiet courtyard of the city. Shaka and Sky sat at a small outdoor terrace of a restaurant, tucked away from the bustling streets, far from the palace walls. The scent of roasted spices and fresh bread hung in the air, but Shaka barely noticed.
His mind was elsewhere—on the Rite of Ancestors, deep inside the royal halls. Even from here, he could feel the pulse of their magic, the chains of energy that strengthened the king, Khir, Emtse , and Dalilah. Violet flames, spiraling lights, the very air vibrating with power. He hated it.
They call it blessing. I call it chains, he thought, his jaw tightening. Chains gilded in tradition, meant to bind them and everyone around them. I won't be part of it. And I won't let her stumble into it because I'm a scientist.
Sky, unaware of his thoughts, reached for her cup of tea, her fingers brushing the rim. "It's quiet here," she said softly.
Shaka forced a calm smile. "Yes… quiet is good. Far from the noise," he said. She doesn't need to know the truth. Not yet.
He watched the distant palace walls, the place where magic thrummed and bloodlines were strengthened. His lips pressed into a thin line. One day, he would challenge it all. For now, discretion was his weapon.
.
.
During that dinner with Shaka, Sky's thoughts drifted back to the person who had appeared in her room.
Yes, she had a mission in Yemet. She had come to assassinate the Nkukuma and his sons.
She had attempted it once—only to be stopped by that soldier, Ace.
Her fingers curled into fists. She hated him.
Now they probably think I'm hesitating, she thought bitterly.
It's true that I feel something for Shaka… but this is just a strategy. I'm only getting close to him so I can kill him, she repeated to herself, desperately trying to silence the strange warmth growing in her chest.
Shaka was speaking, his voice low and calm, but Sky barely heard him. She nodded at the right moments, forcing a smile when he smiled, pretending to be present.
"So… do you like Yemet?" he asked, resting his chin on his hand, his golden eyes studying her carefully.
She hesitated. "It's… beautiful," she replied. And it wasn't a lie. The city was alive with colors, chants, and ancient magic. But beauty was not what she was here for.
Shaka's gaze softened for a moment. "You sound distant."
Sky looked away, her eyes drifting to the crowd.
If you knew why I'm here…
If you knew you were on my list.
Her heart tightened.
This is just a mission, she reminded herself. Feelings are weakness. Shaka is just another target.
Yet, when he laughed softly, when his hand brushed hers across the table, her thoughts became messy, tangled.
Why does it feel different with him?
Across the street, she thought she saw a familiar shadow watching her again. Her spine stiffened.
They're watching me. They're testing me.
Shaka noticed her sudden tension. "Sky? Is something wrong?"
She forced herself to meet his eyes. "No. Just… thinking."
Thinking about how to kill the king.
Thinking about how to kill his sons.
Thinking about how her heart was slowly betraying her.
And somewhere in the palace, unseen by her, the royal ritual continued—strengthening the very bloodline she had been sent to erase.