Sleep for the Servitor Supreme was rarely restful. It was usually a strategic retreat, a necessary biological shutdown to replenish the cosmic energy burned by his Blue Aura.
Libaax lay in his massive bed, the silk sheets cool against his skin. Outside, the world was bathed in silver, but inside his Dapabie—his mental realm—he was drifting away from the immediate moment of Sasa and sinking deep into the ocean of the past.
He was entering Zamani.
Zamani was not a void. It was the infinite library of existence, the place where every second that had ever ticked by was preserved in amber. Usually, Libaax visited Zamani to consult the Amava Codex, reviewing the memories of past kings to solve present problems.
But tonight, the current of Zamani dragged him off course.
Instead of the crystalline halls of the Codex, he found himself standing in a vast field of golden wheat that rippled like water. The sky above was neither day nor night; it was a swirling nebula of indigo ink—the raw texture of history.
He looked down at his hands. He was not wearing his royal robes. He was wearing simple white linen. He was not the Servitor Supreme here. He was just a man. Just a Moea.
"You are loud," a soft voice said.
Libaax turned.
Standing amidst the waist-high wheat was Ahia.
Like him, she was stripped of her worldly context. No dirt on her hands, no frantic sweat on her brow. She wore a simple dress woven of light. But her presence... it was overwhelming.
In the physical world, her fear had manifested as jagged Green Huenergy. But here, in the truth of the soul realm, her Green Aura—the mark of the Heart Chakra—blazed with a steady, comforting warmth. It felt like spring rain. like spring growth.
"Loud?" Libaax asked, stepping toward her. The wheat parted effortlessly around him.
"Your spirit," Ahia said, her eyes wide as she looked at him. "It hums. Like a generator that is running too hot. Do you ever turn it off?"
"I cannot," Libaax replied. The Ifunanya bond pulsed between them, a golden thread visible in the indigo air, connecting his chest to hers. "To rule is to serve the Territory."
"That sounds lonely," she said.
She reached out a hand. She didn't touch him, not quite. She touched the air inches from his chest.
Libaax stopped breathing.
Where her aura brushed against his, the frantic, high-voltage hum of his Blue Aura began to slow. The tension that lived permanently in his shoulders dissolved.
"You are the Manomi," he whispered. "The one from the garden."
"I am Ahia Senan," she corrected gently. "Here, we are just... echoes. Are we dead?"
"No," Libaax said, his voice raw. "We are resonant. Our Makomas have aligned so perfectly that our Dapabies have merged during sleep. We are sharing a dream in Zamani."
Ahia looked around at the golden field. "It's beautiful. It looks like the Great Harvest from the legends."
"It is," Libaax realized. "This is a memory from a thousand years ago. We are standing in a ghost of the past."
He looked at her, really looked at her. In Akogwa, she was a subject, a statistic, a tiny cog in the machine of his empire. But here, bathed in the starlight of history, she was vast. Her Ubuntu—her capacity for connection—was a physical force. She didn't just tend to plants; she loved them. He could feel that love radiating off her, seeking something else to nurture.
And it was finding him.
"Why me?" Ahia asked, echoing his own thoughts. She looked up at him, and for the first time, he saw no fear in her eyes. Only curiosity. "I am just a root-digger. You are the Sky."
"The Sky is lonely, Ahia," Libaax confessed, words spilling out that he would never dare speak in the throne room. "The Sky has no equal
"The sky is out of reach."
He stepped closer, closing the gap. The golden thread of Ifunanya tightened, pulling them together.
"Maybe," Ahia whispered, her hand finally making contact with his chest.
The sensation was electric. It wasn't a shock of pain, but a shock of life. Ase rushed between them, cycling from his power to her warmth and back again. It was a perfect circuit.
"Maybe," she continued, her voice trembling, "the Sky doesn't need to be held up. Maybe it just needs a place to land."
Libaax raised his hand, his fingers hovering over her cheek. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to know if she felt as real as she looked.
"Ahia," he breathed.
CRACK.
The indigo sky of Zamani fractured. A jagged line of black lightning tore through the dreamscape.
The golden wheat withered instantly, turning to gray ash.
Ahia gasped, pulling back. Her Green Aura flared, this time spiked with the lime-green hue of panic.
"What is that?" she cried.
Libaax spun around, shielding her with his body. He knew that color. He knew that texture.
Iku. Entropy.
A cloud of blue-black smoke, sloppy and slimy, was bleeding into their shared dream. It wasn't a natural part of Zamani. It was an intrusion.
"Wake up," Libaax commanded, grabbing her shoulders. His eyes blazed with royal authority. "Ahia, wake up! This isn't a memory anymore. Something is hunting us."
"But—"
"WAKE UP!"
The world dissolved into darkness.
Libaax Akoma jolted awake in his bed in Akogwa. His chest was heaving, sweat clinging to his skin. The silver light of the Celestial lantern filtered through his window.
He was alone.
But he could still feel the warmth of her hand on his chest. And he could still feel the cold, oily residue of the Iku that had crashed their dream.
He threw the covers off and marched to the balcony. He looked out over the sleeping city, his eyes scanning the horizon.
Someone—or something—knew about the bond. And they had tried to sever it inside the dream world.
"Guard!" he roared, his voice shattering the silence of the palace.
The heavy doors burst open. The Captain of the Abambowa, dressed in his Egungun masquerade armor, rushed in.
"My Lord?"
"Get me a transport," Libaax ordered, his eyes glowing with dangerous blue Aura. "I am going to the Outer Districts. Now."