The northern wind slid over the plains of Do, carrying a dust far too cold for the season.Three years had passed since Djata had taken his first step with the blade, yet the world itself seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for a deeper change.
Under the pale morning light, three silhouettes moved through the tall grass.
Captain Diala led the patrol, bow in hand, eyes sharp. Beside her, two young Donso scanned the horizon.
Usually, the plain vibrated with birdsong and the shouts of herders.But this morning, everything felt still.
They finally reached the town of Tièbani.
Houses stood open, hearths still warm… but no one.Not a child. Not a breath.
A bone mask hung from a tree, streaked with thin red threads.
A shiver ran down Diala's spine.
"The Sosso…" she whispered.
A young Donso stepped forward, his hand trembling.
"Captain… it looks like dried blood."
The mask twitched.
A thin, fluid shadow shot up from the ground.No sound. No footsteps.Just movement — fast as a broken thought.
The Donso fired an arrow. It passed straight through.
The shadow turned.No face.Just an intention.
Diala closed her eyes and summoned the light of her totem.A translucent gazelle appeared behind her.With a single leap, it cut through the air — the shadow burst into cinders.
Silence.
"That's not an enemy you kill…" Diala murmured."It's an absence that walks."
She raised her hand.
The alert drums strapped to her men's backs vibrated in unison.
The sound rolled across the plain, answered by other drums farther away.
One beat.Then another.
Every drum in Do was carved from the same sacred hide — when one spoke, all listened.
The message reached the capital.
The same sound echoed across the hilltops. Guards straightened. Children stopped playing.
The whole kingdom seemed to hold its breath.
The Delegation of Niani
At that moment, a procession entered Do.Red and gold banners fluttered — the colors of Niani.
At its head, Manding Bory walked with confident steps.Beside him, Nana Triban, straight-backed and sharp-eyed.
People murmured:The children of the Faama of Niani had arrived.
Near the Great Tree, Djata waited.
He had grown.His movements were calmer, his gaze deeper — sometimes, it seemed as if he listened to something no one else could hear.(Vespera pulsed faintly at his hip.)
Bory reached him, grinning.
"Finally, the limping lion can walk without shaking."
Djata raised an eyebrow.
"And you still talk too much."
Nana rested a hand on his shoulder.
"As long as you know how to listen, you'll be fine."
Balla, crouched nearby, plucked his ngoni softly.
"Even lions need a sister to remind them of measure."
Djata smiled.A faint beat brushed his mind — a thought that wasn't his:
'Your posture is respectable. But not perfect.'(Vespera was mocking him already.)
He pretended not to hear.
A calm voice cut through the laughter.
Famory approached, his hunter's cape flowing behind him.
"The drums didn't sound to welcome a journey…They sounded to warn of an effacement."
The Leopard Hall
The palace trembled with murmurs.In the Leopard Hall, carved columns seemed to listen.
Faama Bamba sat on a low dais, amber eyes fixed on the fire burning at the center.
Around him:Famory.Balla.Djata, Bory, Nana.And the Donso officers.
Commander Sambaké, massive, a leopard's head embroidered on his cape.Kani Sira, thin and sharp, a dark falcon perched on her arm.Sirani, still as stone, eyes cold as a serpent's.General Kéba Dioma, broad as a tree.And Diala, returned from the north, bow still trembling.
At the back, Nyangolo, master of drums, rested his wrinkled hands on the taut hides.
The Faama spoke.
"This morning, the northern drums beat before the men.And what they said… was the void."
Diala recounted everything.
Faces hardened.
Bory slammed a fist down.
"Then we strike before we are erased!"
Nana looked up.
"Strike what? An absence?Strike without measure, and you offer your shadow to the shadow."
Kani Sira nodded.
"A falcon does not attack a mirage."
General Dioma growled.
"Waiting only lets the enemy breathe.The northern fields are already emptying."
Sambaké set a heavy hand on the table.
"But striking blind only blinds yourself."
Sirani whispered:
"The shadow feeds on disorder.The first disorder… is fear."
Silence.
Balla played three notes.
Famory spoke.
"The Sosso aren't advancing.They're removing.This isn't conquest — it's erasure.They don't steal land…They steal memory."
The Faama clenched his fists.
"Do will not step back."
Then Djata spoke.
"The Mandé doesn't need a fist.It needs a heartbeat.I want to preserve what still breathes — not chase what is already gone."
Silence again.
Famory looked at him for a long moment.
"You're beginning to understand what it means to carry the world without lifting it."
Nyangolo struck his drum.
"Then, Faama… what does your heart say?"
Bamba rose.
"My heart says Do prepares for war.But this war will not be made of anger.It will be made of measure."
The Drums of Preparation
The drums echoed through the city.
One beat.Two.Three.
Each answered the other.
Do spoke with a single voice.
The Donso legions moved.Women braided amulets.Children carried water.The Numu lit their forges — amber light glowing on their faces.
Bory twirled his spear.
"So, brother? Ready to show Niani's worth?"
Djata smiled faintly.
"I don't want to show anything.I want to understand what the world is worth."
Nana corrected formations.
"Shadows don't fight like men.Protect your allies.The rest will follow."
Balla played a clear melody — a quiet peace spread.
Famory watched silently.
Around him, spirits of the bush were already forming — a sign that the kingdom's Nyama was tightening too.
The Great Tree vibrated.
"The earth grows quiet… the air stills…" Famory murmured."Even memory is listening."
The Faama climbed onto the ramparts.
"May the earth hear our steps!"
A wave rippled through the city.
The Donso struck the ground with their spears.Circles of light burst from the drums.
The kingdom trembled.
But far to the north… something answered.
Not a shape.Not yet.
A presence — taller than the trees, heavy like an inverted heartbeat.Crowned with deep-purple eyes and a cold breath that bent the grass and silenced the insects.
The shadow of the Inverted Hunter had brushed Do.
And this time…The Mandé knew it would breathe differently.