Kibet's eyes snapped open.
Gone were the white ceilings of his Nairobi apartment, the buzzing neon lights of the city, and the ever-present hum of traffic. Above him stretched a vast, endless sky, a brilliant shade of blue that seemed unreal, almost painted. Around him, golden grass swayed gently in the wind, the smell of wild earth and firewood filling his lungs.
He sat up with a jolt.
He wasn't dreaming. He was somewhere else.
His body… it felt different. Stronger. Leaner. He looked down at his hands—no smartwatch, no wristband, only dark, calloused skin. He was dressed in simple leather garments, adorned with beads and markings that didn't belong to any tribe he recognized. Not even the Maasai or Samburu. And yet… they felt familiar.
A shadow passed over him. He looked up to see a majestic bird, an enormous crowned eagle, soaring above. Its wings shimmered with unnatural colors—deep crimson, copper, and obsidian. It circled once, then vanished into the clouds.
"What the hell?" Kibet muttered.
A low voice came from behind him. "You speak the tongue well, stranger. Yet you wear the face of one born among us."
Kibet turned quickly.
An elder stood a few paces away, leaning on a staff carved with symbols that glowed faintly. His eyes were sharp, glowing faintly golden. Around him, warriors with spears and animal-skin cloaks flanked him, their gazes wary but curious.
"I—where am I?" Kibet asked.
"You are in the land of Oropoi," the elder said. "In the Kingdom of Asili. A land hidden from the eyes of the modern world. You fell from the sky like a stone cast by the gods."
"I was in Nairobi... I mean—" Kibet stumbled, the memories already blurring.
The elder stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "You are not of this time. Not of this place. I see it in your spirit. A reincarnator, sent from another thread of the world."
Kibet's mind reeled. He had read about reincarnation in online forums and web novels—but this wasn't fiction anymore. Somehow, he had died and been reborn into a parallel version of Africa. One where the old ways had evolved into something... magical. Powerful. Alive.
Suddenly, something stirred inside him—a heat in his chest, then a pulse of energy. His vision blurred, and he saw flashes:
A lion with seven eyes roaring on a mountain.
A lake that boiled with stardust.
A battle under twin moons.
Then it was gone.
The elder watched him, eyes unreadable. "You have been touched by the Ngai wa Dunia—the god of worlds. Your arrival was foretold."
Kibet took a deep breath.
This was no accident. He had a role to play here.
"Then tell me," he said, his voice steadier now. "What must I do?"
The elder's eyes glinted. "First, you must survive. And then—you must remember who you were, and what power sleeps within you." Far in the distance, the drums of war began to echo. Kibet sat before the sacred fire, its orange flames dancing in spirals that defied the wind. The scent of burning mpingo wood mixed with crushed herbs filled the circular hut. The warriors who had escorted him here stood silently at the edges, their faces masked with ochre and ash.
Elder Mutembei, as the old man had introduced himself, sat across from him. Between them lay a bowl filled with a dark, thick liquid.
"Drink," Mutembei said.
Kibet hesitated. "What is it?"
"A memory brew. If the gods have truly sent you, your past life will speak. You must know who you were, to understand who you are becoming."
Kibet stared at the liquid. The smell was bitter, earthy, and deep. He took the bowl, lifted it to his lips, and drank.
---
The world shattered.
A flood of visions rushed in. A city of metal towers, glowing blue highways, and machines that walked like men. Nairobi—but not his Nairobi. This was cleaner, older, and yet… more advanced. He saw himself—or someone who wore his face—standing before a machine shaped like a baobab tree, speaking to a council of digital ancestors.
And then—war.
He watched as a rift tore the sky open, and winged beasts poured through. He saw fire swallowing cities, rivers turning to glass, and giant humanoid forms battling in the sky. He remembered pain, loss, betrayal…
And power.
He had held it in his hands once. The Itwika Flame, forged in the core of Mount Elgon. It burned through all illusions, revealed the truth behind all things. And he had lost it—no, given it away. To save someone…
---
Kibet gasped and fell backward, the bowl rolling from his fingers.
He was sweating. The firelight seemed too bright, the air too thick. His heart pounded like a war drum.
Mutembei's voice was calm. "You remember."
"Some of it," Kibet whispered. "Not all."
"You were a guardian in your world," the elder said. "Now, you must become one here."
Kibet looked down at his chest. Something was glowing beneath his skin—just faintly, like an ember. A mark had appeared: a spiral of fire coiling around a lion's eye. He touched it, and it pulsed with warmth.
"What is this?" he asked.
"The Mwako Moyo—the Flame of the Heart," said Mutembei. "It awakens only in the chosen."
Outside, a deep horn sounded across the plains. One of the warriors stepped forward.
"The Moru tribe approaches. Armed. They come for the Flame."
Mutembei's face grew grim. "They must have felt your arrival. The Flame calls to many. Some will come to worship you. Others to kill you."
Kibet stood, unsure of where the sudden confidence came from. "Let them come."
The elder chuckled softly. "Good. You will need that courage. But remember this, Kibet: here, strength alone is not enough. You must master the Njia Tano—the Five Paths. Spirit. Body. Blood. Song. Flame."
Kibet's eyes narrowed. "Teach me."
Mutembei nodded. "Then your journey begins now."
Above them, the night sky shimmered. One of the moons dimmed slightly, the sign of an eclipse to come.
And in the shadows, something stirred.