Krima

Krima: Season 1, Episode 1: Chapter 5: The Necklace

Scene: The Queen’s Garden – Morning

The sun was gold and gentle, not yet fierce. The air held the fragrance of wild hibiscus, eternal lilies, and whispering roses. The garden behind the palace walls bloomed like a sacred painting — delicate, radiant, serene.

At its heart stood Queen Ramina, dressed in a flowing robe of pale lavender. She moved gracefully between the flowerbeds, her fingers caressing petals, her lips humming a forgotten hymn of the sacred altar.

Her voice was soft but certain, each note rising like incense to the morning sky:

“Oh bloom of Alamumba, whisper me peace...

Sing to my soul, and grant me release...”

She leaned over a golden tulip, watering it with gentle care — and speaking to it like an old friend.

“You missed the rain last night. But here, I bring you the sky.”

From behind a wall of dancing sunflowers, Krima appeared — barefoot, radiant, and curious. Her curls were still slightly wet from sleep, her eyes tired but thoughtful.

“Good morning, Mama,” she said softly.

Queen Ramina turned with a smile that could still make butterflies follow her.

“My flower has come to visit her sisters.”

They embraced warmly.

“Did you sleep well?” the Queen asked.

Krima hesitated.

“I dreamt… a strange dream. And I met the Chief Priestess last night. She gave me this.”

She revealed the ancient necklace around her neck, which now shimmered subtly under the morning light — almost alive.

Ramina’s smile softened into stillness. Her fingers brushed the pendant, eyes momentarily distant, remembering.

“That belonged to your great-grandmother...

I remember it from the altar, hidden in the sacred wall behind the fire stones. Aluna said only the chosen of the bloodline would one day wear it again.”

Krima looked down at it, her fingers now trembling.

“She said I must come to the altar at sunrise.

She said… I should be mindful of my dreams.”

Queen Ramina placed a gentle hand on her daughter's cheek.

“Dreams are rivers, Krima. Some lead to the heart.

Some to destiny.

Go to Aluna. She sees deeper than we ever will.

And take courage. The necklace did not choose you to make you afraid.

It chose you because Alamumba must one day lean on your strength.”

Krima nodded slowly, drawing in her mother’s warmth like the breath of flowers. The necklace pulsed softly, as if it heard and agreed.

The Queen handed her a single white blossom.

“Take this too. Your ancestors loved its scent.

It will remind you… that you are never alone.”

Scene: The Sacred Altar of Alamumba – Sunrise

The journey began with the soft rustling of leaves and the sound of hooves dancing across sacred earth. Krima, dressed in royal linen dyed the color of sunrise, rode at the center. At her side were her trusted maid Deni, her stoic bodyguard Ero, and four horse riders of the royal pathwatch. They rode eastward, to where the rivers of Alamumba began — where legends said the kingdom first drank from the mouth of the gods.

As they approached, the Sacred Altar of Alamumba revealed itself. A marvel of ancient power, it sat between two ridges, its entrance guarded by walls of giant stones carved with ancestral symbols, resting at the feet of flowers that bloomed only with dawnlight. The air was cooler here, and the scent of the land was thick with mystery.

At the gate, Aluna’s priestesses, dressed in flowing white and silver, greeted them with warm, delighted smiles. Few outsiders ever came here — and none so beloved as the princess.

They bowed deeply.

“Welcome, daughter of Guma.

The Altar knows your name.”

Krima dismounted. The priestesses guided Ero, Deni, and the riders to shaded rest-chambers, offering honey-leaf water and warm towels for the wait. Then, in reverent silence, they led Krima through a corridor of light, carved through the stone itself.

At the end of the passage, within the inner sanctuary, stood Priestess Aluna — tall, graceful, radiant in her age and wisdom. Her hair was wrapped in ceremonial coils, her staff etched with runes that glowed faintly.

She opened her arms.

“There she is — the wild spirit in royal silk.

Come, my daughter. Let me see your eyes.”

Krima ran into her arms, their embrace a warmth beyond words.

“Your dreams brought you,” Aluna said, smiling. “And the necklace whispered your name long before I ever did.”

Krima told her of the strange dream, the white woman, the song, the fear and the fire.

Aluna listened carefully, eyes deep as the altar’s stone.

“Dreams are rivers,” she echoed gently.

“But not all flow from sleep. Some come from the bones of the earth.”

She took the ancient necklace from Krima’s neck, kissed it gently, and walked toward the center of the altar, where a circle of magical flame burned — blue at the core, gold at the rim.

Aluna stepped in, raised the necklace, and began to chant — not with her voice, but with her spirit.

Her language was sacred, ancient — a tongue only spoken by pure hearts and open souls. The flames danced higher, forming a dome of light, and the necklace began to float, spinning slowly in the center of the fire.

Then Aluna stepped back.

“Go,” she said calmly.

“Take what is yours. The fire will not burn you — only what you must leave behind.”

Krima hesitated. The fire roared, alive and bright. But something within her stirred — a calm, deep and unshakable. She stepped forward.

As her foot crossed into the flame, the world changed.

Suddenly, she stood not in fire — but in a clearing of light.

Before her was a woman dressed in white, wearing the necklace. Her skin shimmered like starlight, her voice a hymn:

“O Alamumba, mother of kings,

You rise in rivers and roar in springs…

You love, you bless, you do not fall,

Your name shall echo through us all…”

The woman sang with joy. Krima, almost unknowingly, joined her — word for word. Her voice matched the rhythm, the melody, as if she had always known the song. They danced. They turned. They laughed. And when the final note rang through the air, the woman reached out.

She placed the necklace on Krima's neck, and whispered:

“I am with you now.

I live in you.

Trust your soul, daughter of Alamumba.

For one day, you will awaken the world.”

With that, she smiled and vanished into light.

The flames disappeared.

Krima stood at the center, glowing faintly — her eyes wide, her breath steady, her spirit changed.

Aluna approached with quiet reverence, placed her hand on Krima’s head, and anointed her with oil from the bowl of the sacred spring. She chanted again — the blessing of the protectors.

“From bone to blood, from flame to name…

May your path rise, and your soul never waver.”

They walked out together — chatting, laughing, old friends in new skins.

Outside, Ero and Deni rose quickly to meet her, surprised by the peace in her eyes. Before they could speak, one of Aluna servants said to Aluna that the King had summoned her earlier on.

“The King has summoned me..

I shall ride with you, my child.” said Aluna

She turned to her servant.

“Prepare the second horse. Alamumba rides with us.”

Aluna's dove which she uses to survey for danger, flew ahead of them as the party mounted their horses, the morning sky now rising fully — and the necklace, now bound to Krima’s soul, shimmered once more.