A low hum stirred me out of sleep, at first so soft I thought it was a dream. Then it grew — deep voices rolling together in rhythm, like the earth itself was singing. My eyes fluttered open. The mat beneath me felt colder than usual, and the air carried a strange heaviness.
"Amira," a whisper came urgently.
I turned my head to find Nala crouched beside me. She was already dressed,
her headwrap tied neat, her eyes sharp in the dim light.
"You're still asleep?!" she hissed.
I blinked at her. "What's happening?"
She pressed a hand to my shoulder, urging me up. "Listen."
I sat up fully, straining my ears. Outside, the sound was clearer now — the steady pound of feet, many feet, marching together. Over it floated a low chant, voices so deep and unified that my skin prickled. It wasn't singing for beauty. It was singing for war.
Then I heard it. A voice that stood out among the rest. Commanding. Sure.
Unmistakable.
The Madawaki.
My stomach tightened.
Nala bent closer. "A small cry was sounded at dawn. I woke to it — everyone is meant to be outside by now." She shook her head. "I knew you wouldn't hear it. You sleep like a stone, so I came from my corner to wake you."
I glanced around our shared hut. The mats were empty. That girl, the one with the scar on her cheek and eyes sharp as knives — had already left. So had the others. Only one mat remained occupied.
Danladi.
Before I could speak, he jerked upright with a snort, nearly tripping over his blanket. His eyes went wide as he caught the sound of the chants outside.
"The ritual march!" he yelped, scrambling for his sandals. "Every recruit has to join. If you're late—" He cut himself off, his face paling. "If you're late, you spend a day in the pit. No food. No water."
I froze halfway through tying my wrap. "The pit?"
"Yes, the pit!" Danladi was hopping around, tugging at his tunic in a panic.
"By the ancestors, how did I not hear the cry?"
Nala shot him a glare, her hands quick as she straightened her belt.
"Because you snore like a pig drowning in mud. That's why."
Despite the urgency, I couldn't help the corner of my mouth twitching.
Danladi paused, his tunic still half crooked. "A pig? Do pigs even snore?"
"If they did," Nala snapped, "it would sound exactly like you."
He scowled. "I've fought in battles, you know. Men used to respect me."
Nala rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might stay that way. "Battles? You? If you can't even wake up to a horn, what did you do in battle — sleep through it?"
Even in my panic, a laugh burst from me before I could stop it. Nala shot me a glare, but Danladi's wounded pride was almost worth it.
"This isn't funny, princess," he muttered.
The word struck like a blade.
The room stilled.
I hadn't realized he knew. No one here was supposed to know. Coming to this camp was the only way to abandon that title and earn a new name.
"If I were a princess, would I be sleeping on a cold floor with you?" I forced a laugh, light and careless. I would not let my secret unravel on the first day.
Danladi blinked at me, still unsure. He opened his mouth, but Nala cut him off sharply.
"Mr. Warrior, what are you still waiting for?The Madawaki will have your head and boil it for pepper soup."
"Kai!" He exclaimed
"Then move!" I said, grabbing his arm and dragging him toward the door.
We spilled out into the open. The morning air was cold, stinging my lungs. The chants were louder here, filling the sky like thunder. A river of recruits and warriors moved in unison, their feet pounding the earth as one. Dust rose in golden clouds around them, lit by the first glow of dawn.
We hurried to join the flow, slipping into the end of the line. My heart raced, not from the run but from the weight of eyes I could already feel.
The Madawaki was there.
He strode ahead of the march, not singing, not stomping his feet — just walking with a presence that bent the air around him. His broad shoulders cut a path through the morning haze. The scar on his temple caught the sun like a blade. And though he had not yet turned, I swore he already knew we were late.
Please, I prayed silently, don't call us out. Let us disappear into the crowd. Just this once.
But the gods had never listened to me.
The Madawaki's head turned. His eyes locked on us at the back, late, disheveled, guilty. For a heartbeat, I thought he might let it pass. Then his voice cut across the chants, sharp and merciless.
"Stop"
The march slowed. The chant faltered. Every foot stilled.
"You three"
Dozens of heads turned as we had become the center of attention.
Heat rushed to my cheeks. Every step toward him felt heavier, as if the earth itself was trying to keep me back. Nala's hand brushed mine briefly, a silent reassurance. Danladi muttered under his breath, "We're finished. We're dead men walking."
We stopped before him. His eyes swept over us — cold, unreadable.
"Late," he said simply.
The word was a hammer.
"Yes, Madawaki," Danladi mumbled, bowing his head so low I thought he'd snap his neck.
By rights, he could send us to the pit. That was the law. One day without food or water for every missed march. A punishment designed to break the weak before they wasted the camp's time.
My stomach churned. First day, and already I was about to be humiliated.
"The pit" A voice whispered.
But the Madawaki's gaze lingered on me a lot longer than the rest.
Finally, he said, "The pit would be too easy. Instead — you will train. Harder than the rest. If you collapse, you will crawl. If you bleed, you will keep moving."
He turned slightly, nodding toward a figure at the edge of the crowd.
The veteran woman. The one with shoulders like carved stone and eyes that gleamed with cruel delight.
"Hamza" the Madawaki said. "They are yours. Break them."
A slow smile spread across her face. She slammed the butt of her spear against the ground, the sound ringing like a drumbeat.
"Yes, Madawaki," she said. Her gaze raked over us, lingering on me. "I'll enjoy this."
Around us, whispers rippled.
"Hamza training on the first day?"
"They won't survive."
"The pit is better, atleast you will rest."
Nala's lips pressed into a thin line. Danladi groaned softly, already defeated.
I squared my shoulders, though my chest still ached with dread. How hard can it be? I thought, clinging to the words like a shield. It's only training.
But the way the veteran grinned told me I had just lied to myself.