The first cost
514 Words
The elders did not summon Ruvimbo immediately.
That, more than anything else, unsettled her.
Three days passed after the council gathering in Nyikadzimu. Three days in which no messenger came, no judgment was spoken, and no reassurance was offered. The silence felt deliberate, like a blade held just out of sight.
In Dzivaguru, the village changed its rhythm around her.
Children were called indoors earlier. Conversations stopped when she approached. Even the elders who once greeted her with warmth now watched her with careful neutrality. Fear had settled into the soil like drought.
Nyasha remained the exception.
She sat beside Ruvimbo beneath the mango tree near the river, skipping stones across the water while pretending everything was normal.
“You are carrying something heavy,” Nyasha said quietly. “I can see it in your shoulders.”
Ruvimbo hesitated, then exhaled. “If I tell you the truth, you might be in danger.”
Nyasha turned to her fully. “If you do not, you will be alone. And that is worse.”
Ruvimbo’s throat tightened. She wanted to protect her friend. She wanted to keep the fragile pieces of her old life intact. But secrets were already rotting inside her.
That night, before she could speak, Nyikadzimu claimed her again.
The pull was stronger than ever. When she crossed into the shadowed realm, the air felt sharp, charged with anticipation. Torches burned along the stone paths, their light steady and unforgiving.
The council chamber was full.
Not only elders, but warriors. Watchers. Figures she had never seen before, their eyes old and assessing.
Kain stood apart from them.
He looked calm, but she felt the tension beneath his stillness.
Elder Tafadzwa spoke first. “You have grown faster than expected.”
Elder Zvikomborero’s gaze was cold. “And growth without obedience invites chaos.”
They did not accuse her of wrongdoing. That was worse. They spoke instead of consequences, of balance, of the dangers of convergence. They spoke as if she were already something that no longer belonged to herself.
“You will be restricted,” Zvikomborero said. “Your crossings will be monitored. Your training will continue under supervision.”
Ruvimbo felt anger rise, sharp and bright. “I did not ask for this power.”
“No,” Tafadzwa replied. “But you will answer for it.”
Kain stepped forward then. “If punishment is required, let it fall on me.”
Silence slammed into the chamber.
Zvikomborero smiled slowly. “Very well.”
They bound him.
Not with chains, but with magic older than language. Shadows twisted around Kain’s limbs, forcing him to his knees. The bond between him and Ruvimbo screamed in protest, pain echoing through her chest so violently she cried out.
“Stop,” she shouted. “This is my fault.”
“This,” Zvikomborero said calmly, “is the cost of attachment.”
When Ruvimbo was released, she collapsed to the stone floor, shaking.
Kain did not look at her as he was taken away.
That was the first thing Nyikadzimu took from her.
- Writer
