The penthouse lights of Lagos glittered like scattered diamonds against the night sky, but Zara Adeyemi could no longer see their beauty. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering skyline of Victoria Island--her empire of steel and glass--but right now, the only thing she could focus on was the fire crawling up her throat.
"Cheers to the biggest deal of our lives," Richard had said, clinking his champagne flute against hers just twenty minutes earlier. His smile had been perfect, teeth white as fresh bone under the crystal chandelier. She had laughed, flushed with victory, the contract for the 500-million-naira waterfront project still warm in her hands.
Now that same champagne tasted like rust and betrayal.
Zara clutched the edge of the marble table, nails scraping uselessly against the cool stone. Her vision blurred at the edges, the city lights smearing into streaks of gold and crimson. The poison was fast--something elegant, tasteless until it wasn't. Her lungs burned as if she'd swallowed molten gold.
"Rich...ard..." she rasped, voice crackling like dry parchment.
He stood three steps away, hands in the pockets of his tailored Tom Ford suit, watching her with calm detachment of a man who had already moved on to the next board meeting. The same man who had been her partner for seven brutal years. The same man who had once whispered he loved her while the celebrated their first million together.
"You always were too sharp for your own good, Zara," he said softly, almost kindly.
"But this city eats the sharp ones alive. The consortium wanted a man at the helm. Simple as that."
Her knees buckled. She hit the Persian rug hard, the impact sending a jolt through her ribs. The contract papers scattered like dead leaves. Somewhere far away, she heard the faint wail of sirens--too late, always too late.
"You... bastard..." Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, warm and metallic. She laughed once, a wet, broken sound. "I built this company from nothing. From the streets of Ajegunle. While you were still learning how to knot a tie."
Richard crouched down beside her, careful not to stain his cuffs. He brushed a strand of her expensive weave from her face with something almost like affection. "And now I'll finish it. Don't worry. I'll even name the new headquarters after you. The Zara Tower. Sounds classy, right?"
Rage hotter than poison flared in her chest. She grabbed his wrist with the last of her strength, nails digging crescents into his skin.
"If there's any justice in this world," she whispered, voice trembling but fierce, "I'll come back. And when I do, I'll take everything from you. Everything."
His smile faltered for half a second. Then he pried her fingers off, stood up, and walked away without looking back.
The last thing Zara Adeyemi saw was the Lagos skyline spinning into darkness.
Silence. Then--
A gentle breeze, carrying the scent of dry earth, woodsmoke, and something sweet like ripening mangoes. The air felt thicker, warmer, alive in a war the air-conditioned penthouse never had. Beneath her cheek lay soft woven mats that smelled faintly of sun-dried grass and shea butter. Somewhere close, a wooden mortar pounded steadily--thump... thump... thrump--grinding spices or millet or maybe kola nuts. A woman's voice sang low and melodic in a language that tugged at Something deep inside Zara's chest, ancient and familiar.
Her eyes fluttered open.
She was lying on a low wooden bed draped in indigo-dyed cloth so fine it whispered against her skin. Sunlight slanted through narrow windows carved high in thick mud brick walls, painting golden stripes across the room. Brightly colored calabashes lined one shelf. A brass mirror leaned against another wall, reflecting--
A girl.
No. Her.
Zara sat up too fast. The world tilted. She caught herself on the edge of the bed, heart hammering. The face staring back from the mirror was not hers. Not anymore.
High cheekbones, skin like polished mahogany glowing with youth. Full lips, a proud nose, and eyes--large, dark and sharp as obsidian blades. Thick braids adorned with cowrie shells and tiny gold beads framed a face that couldn't be more than fifteen years old. The body beneath the simple white wrapper and beaded halter top was slender but already strong, limbs corded with the promise of power.
She touched her cheek. The reflection copied the motion perfectly.
"What the hell...?"
The word came out in flawless Hausa. Not English. Hausa. The language rolled off her tongue as naturally as breathing.
A soft gasp from the doorway made her turn.
Two young servant girls in matching wrappers knelt immediately, foreheads touching the floor.
"Princess Aminatu!" the older one whispered, voice trembling with awe and worry. "You have been asleep since morning prayers. We feared the fever had returned. Shall we call the royal healers?"
Princess... Aminatu.
The name hit her like a thunderclap.
Zara--no, Amina now--felt memories that were not hers flicker at the edges of mind. A stern father with a warrior's scar across his brow. A mother who ruled with quiet steel. A younger sister named Zaria who loved to chase lizards in the palace courtyard. A brother named Karama who would one day wear the crown.
And her--Princess Aminatu of Zazzau--fifteen summers old, already restless, already dreaming of horses and spears while the court expected her to learn weaving and wifely duties.
Before she could answer, a translucent blue panel shimmered into existence right in front of her eyes, hovering like a high-tech hologram that no one else seemed to see
[Welcome, Host!]
[System: Empire Dominion Online has successfully bound to your soul.]
[You have been granted a second life in the year 1550 CE.]
[Objective: Rise. Conquer. Rule.]
[Failure Condition: Death before the age of 34.]
[First Quest: Master the Blade in Secret]
[Reward: Basic Sword Mastery (Lv.1) + 50 System points]
[Do you accept? Y/N]
Amina's breath caught. She stared at the glowing words, heart racing faster than when the poison had first hit.
This was impossible. This was a dream. This was--
A soft giggle from the younger servant girl snapped her out of it. "My princess smiles! The ancestors must have visited you in sleep. Shall we bring honeyed millet porridge? Or perhaps the kola nuts your mother blessed?"
Amina looked at the girls--her servants, her her people--and something fierce and ancient uncoiled in her chest. The Lagos penthouse, Richard's cold smile, the taste of betrayal... all of it felt like a half-remembered nightmare now.
She was here. Reborn. In the body of a girl destined to become legend.
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips--the same smile that would one day make kings kneel and armies cheer.
"Yes," she answered, voice steady and regal even though her hands trembled with excitement. "Bring the porridge. And then... leave me alone for a while. The princess has much to think about."
The girls bowed again and hurried out, whispering excitedly about how their young mistress seemed different today--stronger, brighter, almost glowing.
When the beaded curtain fell shut behind them, Amina exhaled shakily and whispered to the empty room, tasting power on her tongue like fine wine.
"System... I accept."
The blue panel flashed once, bright as lighting.
[Quest Accepted.]
[Let the conquest begin, Queen-to-be.]
Outside the palace walls, a stallion neighed in the royal stables, as if already answering her unspoken call. The harmattan wind whispered through the narrow windows, carrying the distant rhythm of war drums from the training fields. Amina of Zazzau closed her eyes, feeling the weight of destiny settle on her young shoulders like a royal mantle.
She was no longer Zara the betrayed businesswoman. She was the blade hidden in silk.
She was the storm wearing a girl's face.
And the world--both old and new--would never be the same.