The market was usually a symphony of Ubuntu. It was a place where Ase flowed freely between neighbors, binding them in the web of trade and trust.
Today, the market sounded like a hive of angry wasps.
Kojo, a Home-King from the 4th District, stood before the rice merchant's stall. He was a sturdy man, a Silhoutte with skin like obsidian, wearing the simple sash that denoted his sovereignty over his own house.
"The exchange rate has changed," the rice merchant said, folding his arms. "I cannot take your Doppelganger copy for three sacks. I need a direct vow. Witnessed by a Town-King."
"A Town-King?" Kojo sputtered, waving the stamped document. "For three sacks of rice? My vow has been good in this market for twenty years! This is a Doppelganger copy sealed by the Village Archive. It is valid!"
"Trust is low today, Kojo," the merchant muttered, looking nervously at the sky. "The Servitor Supreme broke the Protocol of Lineage. If the King of Kings does not respect the sovereignty of a household, why should I respect the vow of a Home-King?"
Kojo slammed his hand on the counter. "That is the talk of a Mufarikha! The King saved a life!"
"He stole a daughter!" a voice cut through the noise.
The crowd parted. Standing on a crate was a man dressed in grey rags. He was not a Kifofirist—he was flesh and blood—but his eyes held the same cold detachment. He was a Mufarikha preacher.
"You speak of Ubuntu," the preacher shouted, his voice projecting unnaturally without a megaphone. "You say, 'I am because we are.' But look at the Palace!"
He pointed a bony finger toward the floating towers of the High District.
"The Servitor Supreme says, 'I am, and you are nothing!' He plucked the Manomi girl from her roots like a weed. He bypassed her Home-King. He bypassed the Village Council. He declared himself the Father and Husband of all!"
A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd. The concept of Udugu (brotherhood) was fraying. If the top of the pyramid crushed the bottom, the structure could not stand.
"They say she was dying!" Kojo argued, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Death is natural!" the preacher countered. "Iku is natural! The King is afraid of entropy, so he breaks the Law to cheat it. He practices Utupu—he detaches himself from the rules that bind us!"
The preacher reached into his rags and pulled out a handful of ash. He threw it into the air.
"Break your vows!" he screamed. "If the King is sovereign only to himself, then so are we! Tear up the Doppelganger copies! Let the Archives burn! Embrace the Nothingness!"
The tension in the air snapped.
Someone threw a stone at the rice merchant.
Chaos erupted.
It wasn't a battle of armies; it was a riot of neighbors. The Ase in the market turned sour, the vibrant colors of the diverse phenotypes—Sanguine, Saffron, Brunette—blurring into a violent mass. People began tearing down stalls, driven by a sudden, contagious panic that the social contract had been voided.
The Arrival of the Law
THUMP&THUMP-THUMP.
The ground shook.
"Booliska!" someone screamed.
The Police Force had arrived.
They marched into the market in perfect formation. The non-Akin officers wore black Dashikis and carried heavy shields. But it was the Akins among them that made the crowd freeze.
The Akins wore Tyiwara masquerades. The tall, wooden crests shaped like antelopes rose high above their heads, symbolizing the diligent worker who weeds the field.
But today, they were weeding people.
"Disperse!" the Captain of the Booliska bellowed. His voice was amplified by a Blue Aura (Throat Chakra). "By order of the High Table, this assembly is unlawful!"
"The High Table is corrupt!" the Mufarikha preacher shrieked. He lunged at an officer, a dagger flashing in his hand.
The Captain didn't flinch. He activated his Passive Weapon Art: The Cover of a Shield.
A translucent blue barrier shimmered around him. The dagger struck the Aura-shield and shattered.
"Arrest him," the Captain ordered.
The officers surged forward. The crowd, whipped into a frenzy by the preacher's rhetoric, fought back. Akins manifested Aura Shields, clashing with Home-Kings wielding produce crates and stones.
Kojo, the Home-King, was shoved to the ground in the stampede. He looked up to see the Tyiwara mask of an officer looming over him.
"I am a King of my own home!" Kojo shouted, holding up his hands.
"Not today," the officer grunted, shoving him back. "Today, you are just a mob."
The Palace – The Observation Deck
High above the smoke rising from the market, Vhuthu Hiwot stood by the window. Her head bandage was gone, replaced by a sleek orange headwrap.
She watched the chaos on the monitors, her face unreadable.
"The lower districts are destabilizing faster than predicted," Agyenim Davu noted, standing beside her. The Authority on Propaganda frowned. "The narrative of the 'Romantic Rescue' is losing to the narrative of 'The Tyrant King'. The Mufarikha are capitalizing on the legal breach."
"Good," Vhuthu said softly.
Agyenim looked at her. "Good? Riots are good?"
"Pressure is good," Vhuthu corrected. She turned away from the window. "The King thinks he can rule by muscle and passion. He thinks saving one girl is a heroic act. He needs to see the cost."
She tapped the glass, pointing at the burning market stall below.
"Let the people scream for a few days," she said. "Let Libaax see his 'Love' raze the city. When he realizes that his heart is too heavy for the throne... he will come back to the Table. And he will beg us to fix it."
"And the girl?" Agyenim asked. "Ahia?"
"She is the catalyst," Vhuthu smiled, a cold, sharp expression. "Tomorrow, her training begins. I will show her exactly what her life is worth to the Empire. If she loves him... she will realize that the kindest thing she can do is leave."