The desert wind carried memory.
Malik died listening to history being discussed incorrectly.
The lecture hall had smelled of dust and overheated electronics, a professor confidently explaining how Africa had "failed to centralize," how geography had doomed it to fragmentation.
Malik remembered wanting to argue.
Not emotionally — academically.
He had spent years studying logistics, trade routes, and state formation. Empires did not rise because of destiny. They rose because someone solved coordination problems before their rivals did.
Africa had not lacked intelligence.
It had lacked timing.
The pain in his chest came suddenly. Sharp. Final.
Voices blurred.
Lights dissolved.
And history ended.
⸻
History began again with drums.
Deep, rhythmic thunder shook the air as Malik inhaled violently, sand scraping his throat. Heat pressed against his skin like a living weight.
He opened his eyes.
Sky.
Endless blue sky.
No ceiling.
No city sounds.
Only wind and distant shouting.
He sat up instinctively — and immediately collapsed as unfamiliar memories flooded his mind.
Horseback riding.
War chants.
A language he somehow understood.
A name echoed inside him.
Sundiata.
Hands grabbed his shoulders.
"The prince lives!"
Malik stared at the man before him — dark skin painted with ochre symbols, bronze spear in hand, relief shining in his eyes.
Prince?
Panic should have come.
Instead, analysis did.
Clothing: woven cotton, hand-dyed.
Weapons: iron-tipped spears.
Environment: Sahel savanna edge.
Pre-modern.
Very pre-modern.
Then the second wave of memories struck harder.
A father king recently dead.
Chiefs arguing succession.
Border raids increasing.
A fragile kingdom moments from collapse.
Malik froze.
"…This is not possible."
A faint glow appeared before his vision.
Transparent symbols arranged themselves in perfect symmetry.
CIVILIZATION INTERFACE ACTIVATED
Host: Sundiata II
Location: Sahel Region
Year: 1460 CE
Political Stability: LOW Economic Structure: TRIBAL TRIBUTE
Military Organization: IRREGULAR
Projected Outcome:Kingdom Collapse — 12 Years Foreign Domination — 80 Years
Malik stopped breathing. 1460.
Before colonization.
Before the scramble.
Before history hardened into inevitability.
Slowly, a realization formed — terrifying and exhilarating.
History was not fixed yet.
Nearby, warriors argued loudly.
"The chiefs demand council!"
"The western clan refuses tribute!"
"The cavalry refuses orders without oath!"
Fragmentation.
Exactly the failure pattern he had studied.
Malik stood unsteadily.
The world tilted — then stabilized.
He looked across the golden horizon.
Trade routes unseen beneath the sand.
Rivers acting as highways.
Resources the future world had fought wars over.
All unorganized.
All waiting.
A strange calm settled over him.
If history was a system…
…it could be redesigned.
He turned to the waiting warrior.
"Summon the chiefs."
The man hesitated. "They will not listen, my prince."
Malik's gaze hardened — not with arrogance, but certainty.
"They will."
He looked toward the rising sun.
Because for the first time in centuries, someone understood what was coming.
And he intended to change it.