Krima

Krima: Season 1, Episode 2: Chapter 1: Fate

The Great Hall of Alamumba stood silent in the early morning light, beams of gold streaming in through the carved stone arches. At its heart, atop seven jeweled steps, sat King Guma on his throne — a magnificent seat crafted from the rarest stones of the realm and embedded with the precious jewels of Alamumba's victories: sapphire of the sea kings, emeralds of the jungle tribes, and the obsidian taken from the fallen walls of the Atuka.

But the shine of his throne did not dull the shadow of his thoughts.

His hand gripped the lion-carved armrest, his gaze distant. The threat of Orana had not left his mind. He could feel the wind shifting, even if the trees still danced gently.

Then came the soft voice of a guard.

“My King… Priestess Aluna requests an audience.”

He raised a hand, his voice calm but sharp.

“Let her in.”

From behind the curtain of woven gold and sacred vines, Priestess Aluna entered. She moved with a calm that only those who had walked through many lifetimes could wear. Her staff tapped gently against the stone as she came forward.

Krima had already parted from her at the gate, returning to her chambers — her soul still glowing with new fire.

King Guma stood slightly as Aluna approached, his expression warming.

“I heard Orana has returned to his cave…

Tell me, Aluna… do you think he meant it this time?”

Aluna bowed gracefully, then looked up, her eyes glowing faintly with ancient light.

“My King,” she said, her voice a song of both peace and warning,

“You worry too much for a man who walks with the blessing of ancestors.”

She smiled softly.

“What will be… will be.

He who laughs last, laughs longest.”

“Orana knows he is no match for Alamumba’s strength.

That is why he has returned —

Not to retreat, but to find a c***k…

A hole in the wall you thought whole; sometimes white cloud turn dark for the night.”

Guma sat back slowly, absorbing each word like one drinks fire slowly from a sacred cup. He knew her metaphors well.

“A c***k…” he repeated quietly.

“And when the white cloud turns black?”

Aluna met his gaze without flinching.

“Then the rain begins,” she said.

“And even kings must find shelter in truth.

The peace you enjoy now was paid for with blood —

But peace, like time, is no one’s friend.

Be at alert, Guma. The gods watch, but mortals decide.”

The king rose from his throne, his robe of lion’s gold trailing behind him like a shadow with breath.

“One more question, Aluna…

My daughter — Krima — what is her fate?”

Aluna turned slightly, a knowing smile forming on her lips as she headed for the exit.

“Her fate… belongs to the Ancestors.”

“And I think they like her.”

She chuckled lightly and added without turning back:

“Tell my sister, the Queen… I send her the fragrance of wild jasmine.

I will greet her on my way out.”

As the doors closed behind her, Guma remained still, the echo of her words settling around him like invisible snow.

He stood for a moment, his face caught between pride and concern — a father and a king, standing on the edge of something greater than either.

Then, with sudden resolve, he called out:

“Guard!”

A soldier rushed in with a bow.

“Summon the council… at once.”

The guard placed a fist to his chest in salute and disappeared down the marble corridor.

The king walked back to his throne and whispered under his breath:

“Time is no one’s friend…”

Scene: Fruits of the Spirit – A Mother's Garden, A Daughter’s Fire

The scent of hibiscus and ripe peaches danced in the wind as Krima sat beneath the shaded awning of the Queen’s Garden, recounting the wonders of the Sacred Altar to her mother.

The Queen, Ramina, sat close, her silk robes painted with the soft gold of morning light, her hands gently weaving small blossoms into a strand of her daughter’s hair. As Krima spoke, her eyes gleamed like silver touched by sunrise.

There was a glow around her — not just from the sun or the flowers, but something within. Something ancient. Something awakened.

Queen Ramina noticed. A mother knows her child — and though Krima’s voice was the same, her spirit now moved like the waters of the Alamumba springs: deep, strong, and alive.

“You’ve changed,” Ramina said softly.

“Even your silence speaks.”

Krima smiled and rested her head lightly against her mother’s shoulder.

“I feel… like someone walks beside me. Someone I can’t see, but I know.”

Before Ramina could answer, a familiar and cherished presence approached.

Priestess Aluna stepped into the garden, flanked by sunlight and a peaceful air.

Her robes flowed like water touched with golden light. The queen’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Aluna!” Ramina exclaimed, rising with grace as they embraced.

“Come — sit, rest… eat our finest fruits.”

She gestured to the maid at the entrance. “More fruits. Let no bowl be empty today.”

The priestess laughed warmly, accepting the offer as they settled under the shade. Krima, now glowing and quiet, sat beside her mother, occasionally stealing glances at the woman who had just unlocked her spirit.

Ramina, offering Aluna a freshly cut peach of purity, said teasingly,

“Krima has been telling me about this morning…

You’ve lit a new fire in her.”

Aluna turned to Krima with a proud, knowing smile.

“Your daughter,” she said slowly, “is favoured by the ancestors.

They do not choose lightly. And she carries their song with strength.”

Queen Ramina tried to hold back the pride swelling in her chest, but Aluna’s eyes sparkled.

“I know that face, Queen of Alamumba…”

“That’s the face of a mother hiding her victory behind a royal smile.”

They both laughed — a soft, genuine laughter that echoed like music in the wind.

Aluna stood gently, brushing off her robe.

“I must take my leave. But I hope to return soon… as always.”

Ramina clapped her hands, signaling the maids.

“Bring forth the gifts — my finest silks, fresh balm from the Southern grove, and scrolls from the Eastern seers.”

As the maids hurried with bundles, Aluna turned to Ramina with a hand raised gently.

“Only what I can carry with gratitude,” she said as always. “I take what I need — and nothing more.”

Krima helped place the chosen gifts on Aluna’s horse, alongside the other maids. There was care in her movement, a reverence in her steps — as though every motion now echoed beyond the physical.

They embraced once more, queen and priestess.

“May the wind be kind to your journey,” Ramina whispered.

“And may the garden always grow,” Aluna replied.

She turned to Krima last, her voice calm and quiet.

“You carry more than a necklace now, my child…

You carry memory. And the ancestors love those who remember.”

Krima nodded. She could feel it — a warmth in her chest, a song in her bones.

With one final wave, Aluna mounted her horse and rode off, her servant following behind — their path surrounded by butterflies and morning sun.

As The queen and the maids went back in for the garden, Krima was already thinking of whether to sneak for hunting or stay with her mother in the garden.