Whispers Of The Savannah

As Amina stepped into the heart of the flames, the heat pressed against her skin, wrapping around her like a living force. It was not the searing pain of fire she had known before—this was something deeper, something ancient.

The flames did not burn her flesh, but they searched her, probing beyond her body, reaching into the depths of her soul. Then came the whispers At first, they were faint, scattered voices drifting through the fire like wind through the trees. But as she moved forward, they grew louder, more distinct. Some murmured in gentle tones, their voices carrying sorrow and regret. "Turn back, child. This path leads only to suffering." "We thought we were strong enough. We were wrong." Others spoke in anger, their voices sharp like blades. "You are no different from us. You think you can resist?" "The artifact does not serve—it rules.

And it will rule you." But the worst were the ones that whispered temptations. "Power beyond your wildest dreams, Amina. Take it, and your enemies will kneel before you." "You can fix everything. No more pain. No more loss." "Think of your people. Think of your mother." Amina's breath hitched at that last voice. It was not a faceless ancestor speaking. It was her mother. She turned sharply, her pulse hammering in her ears.

And there—just beyond the flames—stood a figure cloaked in shifting light. It was her mother as she had been before the sickness, before the weight of years had dimmed her spirit. She looked strong, unbroken, and her eyes… her eyes were full of love. "Amina," the vision spoke, her voice soft yet commanding. "You don't have to fight this battle alone.

The artifact is a gift. Take it. Use it." Amina's hands trembled. The fire around her flickered, responding to her hesitation. This wasn't real. She knew that. She had seen her mother's final moments, held her as she took her last breath. This was a test. A trick. And yet, her heart ached with the need to believe. "Mother?" she whispered, stepping forward. The figure smiled. "Yes, my love. I have been waiting for you." Amina took another step, the flames parting around her.

The whispers swirled, some urging her forward, others screaming at her to stop. Then, as if sensing her doubt, the figure extended a hand. "It doesn't have to be hard, Amina. All you have to do is reach out." Amina froze. The flames crackled around her, casting flickering shadows that danced and twisted. And suddenly, she saw them—faces within the fire. The ancestors. Watching. Waiting. Some were hopeful. Others were filled with horror. And then, beyond them all, she saw it—the pedestal at the heart of the trial. And resting upon it, the artifact. It pulsed with light, ancient and knowing. Amina tore her gaze away from the vision of her mother, her breath coming fast. This was the moment of choice. Would she listen to the whispers? Or would she silence them forever? Her heart pounded as she turned toward the artifact. The trial was not over yet.