The Baobab Throne

Name: The Baobab Throne
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Akinlabi sunday

Fantasy | Ongoing

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The Baobab Throne In the heart of ancient Africa, where kingdoms rose and fell with the whispers of the ancestors, a prophecy stirs beneath the roots of the sacred baobab tree. Sixteen-year-old Imani has always felt like she didn't belong in the quiet village of N'golo. Haunted by visions, marked by a mysterious pendant, and drawn to stories older than memory, she soon discovers a secret buried deep in her bloodline - she is the last heir to the lost Kingdom of Nyambele, overthrown by betrayal and swallowed by time. Guided by an old seer, a warrior marked by the lion, and the spirits of her ancestors, Imani must journey through enchanted forests, forgotten cities, and cursed lands to reclaim the Baobab Throne. But claiming a throne comes at a price - and ancient powers, both light and dark, have been waiting for her return. A tale of identity, legacy, and the power of remembering, The Baobab Throne is an epic fantasy woven with African mythology, mysticism, and fierce hope.

Myth Mystery Fantasy

Chapter 5 The Curse of the Bone Forest

06-05 18:47

Chapter 1 The Prophecy of the Baobab

The old woman sat beneath the baobab tree, her skin as cracked as the earth after a long dry season. Around her, children of the village gathered, wide-eyed and silent, for they knew this was not an ordinary tale. Tonight, she would speak of the stars.

"Long ago," she began, her voice like wind over dry leaves, "before your fathers' fathers were born, the stars told of a child born under the blood moon, marked by the spirit of the lion, destined to reclaim the Baobab Throne..."

In the crowd sat Imani, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight. Her heart thumped, not knowing why the tale gripped her soul like a forgotten melody. She clutched the wooden pendant that had always hung around her neck - a lion carved in an ancient style no one could recognize.

That night, Imani dreamed of fire, of drums, and a voice whispering: "You are the daughter of thunder."

The moon hung low and red above the village of N'golo, casting shadows like ghosts across the clay huts. Night creatures stirred in the brush beyond the huts, but no one moved - not yet. Not until the old woman, Maama Nia, finished her story.

She leaned closer to the fire, her bones creaking like dry wood.

> "They say the throne of Nyambele was not carved by hands, but grown from the heart of the oldest baobab tree. It was a throne meant for those who listen to the ancestors, not those who hunger for power..."

Imani leaned in. At sixteen, she was lanky and strong, with fierce eyes that missed nothing. She had always felt different. While the other girls weaved baskets or sang wedding songs, she climbed trees, asked too many questions, and watched the stars with a strange yearning.

Maama Nia's gaze fell on her, and for a second, the air shifted.

> "One day, the blood moon will rise again. When it does, a child of fire and rain will awaken the spirits and break the chain of silence. That child may be near, or far... but mark my words, little ones. The Baobab Throne is waiting."

Silence. Only the crackle of the fire answered.

Then the children were dismissed, shooed home by yawning mothers and grumbling fathers. All but Imani.

As she stood to leave, Maama Nia called, "Child."

Imani turned.

> "You dream, don't you?"

Imani froze.

> "How do you know?"

Maama Nia smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Because your dreams are not your own. They are echoes. Echoes of a kingdom that remembers you."

Imani swallowed hard. She had never told anyone. Not about the lion of flame. Not about the voice in the river. Not about the strange writing that sometimes appeared on her arms in dreams - glowing, vanishing before she woke.

"I don't understand," she said.

"You will," the old woman said. "But first, take this."

From within her shawl, she pulled out a small bundle wrapped in barkcloth. Imani opened it carefully. Inside was a stone the size of a mango pit, smooth and dark, carved with swirling symbols.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Your beginning," Maama Nia said. "And a key. Hide it. Even from those you trust."

Imani opened her mouth to ask more, but Maama Nia had already closed her eyes. She would speak no more that night.

---

🌅 The Morning After

Imani's chores felt heavier than usual the next morning. She fetched water from the stream, her mind spinning with questions. Who were the ancestors she was meant to remember? What was the "child of fire and rain"?

When she bent down to fill her gourd, her eyes caught a reflection in the water - not her own.

Behind her stood a tall man with skin the color of rich soil, a spear slung across his back, and eyes like polished amber.

She spun around. No one was there.

Heart thundering, she looked back in the stream.

The reflection was gone.

---

🏹 The Hunter Returns

That evening, the village square buzzed with excitement. Kio, the best hunter of N'golo, had returned from the wilds. He brought with him a lion's pelt - an impossible feat for one man alone.

"Tell us how you did it!" children begged.

Kio only smiled and said, "The lion told me he was ready."

Some laughed, but Maama Nia, watching from her stool, did not.

As Imani passed, he looked at her, pausing. "You have his eyes."

"Whose eyes?" she asked.

"The lion's."

Imani felt the stone in her pouch pulse with warmth.

---

🌑 That Night

Imani could not sleep. She lay beneath her woven mat, staring at the thatched roof. Then she heard it - drums. Faint. Not real. But they echoed in her chest.

She rose and stepped outside. The village was still. Stars shimmered like diamonds scattered across obsidian. She walked past the sleeping huts, past the last fence, into the open field.

At the edge of the baobab tree, she stopped.

Someone was there.

The tall man from the river.

This time, he did not disappear.

> "Imani," he said. "Daughter of thunder. It is time."