Ashes of Empire
850 Words
Chapter Five: The Ashes of Empire
The office felt different.
Not because the furniture had changed or the skyline had shifted—but because Zara had. She walked through the lobby without her usual entourage, without the click of heels that used to announce her arrival like a warning. Today, she wore flats. No makeup. No armor.
People stared.
She didn’t care.
She took the elevator alone, ignoring the mirrored walls that once reflected power. Now they reflected something else—something quieter. Something real.
When the doors opened, the top floor was silent. Her assistant greeted her with a nervous smile.
“Morning, Ms. Adeyemi.”
“Just Zara,” she said.
The assistant blinked. “Sorry?”
“Call me Zara.”
She walked into her office and closed the door. The room was immaculate, untouched. But Korede’s absence lingered like smoke. She sat at her desk and opened her laptop. No emails. No meetings. No noise.
She opened a blank document.
Title: Rebuilding from Ruins
She stared at the screen.
Then she began to type.
---
The first thing she did was dissolve the board.
Not out of vengeance, but necessity. They had become complacent—yes-men and sycophants who echoed her ambition without challenging her vision. She replaced them with people who had disagreed with her in the past. People who had been pushed out. People who had been right.
The second thing she did was visit the community Korede had mentioned once, in passing. A tech hub in Makoko. She had dismissed it then—called it a vanity project. Now, she saw it differently.
She arrived unannounced.
The building was modest. Painted in bright colors. Children ran through the halls, laughing. Inside, young developers worked on outdated laptops, coding with passion and grit.
She asked for the director.
A woman named Ifeoma greeted her. Sharp eyes. Warm smile.
“You’re Zara,” she said. “Didn’t expect you here.”
“I didn’t expect to be here,” Zara replied.
They sat in a small office. No air conditioning. Just a fan that creaked with every rotation.
“I want to help,” Zara said.
Ifeoma raised an eyebrow. “Why?”
Zara hesitated. “Because I’ve spent years building things that didn’t matter. I want to build something that does.”
Ifeoma studied her. “This place was Korede’s idea.”
Zara nodded. “I know.”
“He never wanted credit.”
“I know that too.”
Ifeoma leaned forward. “Then what do you want?”
Zara looked out the window, where a boy was teaching his sister how to type.
“I want to learn how to be human again.”
---
She spent the next few weeks working quietly.
No press releases. No interviews. Just effort.
She helped organize funding. She sat in on coding workshops. She listened. Really listened. To stories of struggle, of resilience, of dreams deferred and reignited.
She met a girl named Amaka who wanted to build an app that tracked water quality in slums. A boy named Tunde who dreamed of designing games that told African stories. A woman named Bisi who had lost her job but found purpose teaching others.
Zara didn’t lead.
She followed.
And in following, she found herself.
---
One evening, she stayed late at the hub, helping clean up after a workshop. As she stacked chairs, she noticed a familiar figure standing by the door.
Korede.
He looked different. Lighter. No suit. No tension. Just a quiet presence.
She froze.
He walked in slowly.
“I heard you were here,” he said.
“I didn’t come to find you,” she replied.
“I know.”
They stood in silence.
Then Zara spoke. “I read everything. The files. The simulations. The truth.”
Korede nodded. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you.”
“It did,” she said. “But it also woke me up.”
He looked at her. “You’ve changed.”
“I’m trying.”
He smiled, just slightly. “That’s enough.”
She stepped closer. “I was cruel.”
“You were blind.”
“I’m not anymore.”
They stood there, the hum of the fan filling the space between them.
Zara reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook.
“I’ve been writing,” she said. “Not reports. Not strategies. Just thoughts.”
Korede took it, flipping through the pages.
“You’re not the same woman,” he said.
“I don’t want to be.”
He handed it back. “Then don’t be.”
She looked at him. “Will you stay?”
Korede shook his head. “I’m not meant to stay. I’m meant to build and leave.”
Zara nodded, tears stinging her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Korede smiled. “Live your truth, Zara. Not mine.”
Then he walked away.
---
She didn’t chase him.
She didn’t beg.
She stood there, watching him disappear into the night.
And for the first time, she didn’t feel abandoned.
She felt free.
- Writer
