Nalia adjusted her glasses nervously, staring at the mountain of case files spread across the table in the crowded NYU law library. Corporate law, civil rights, and international law sprawled across her laptop screen, each word demanding her full attention. She had worked tirelessly to earn her place here, surviving on scholarships and part-time jobs while balancing her family's expectations. Every day was a battle, but she had always believed that hard work and determination could carry her anywhere.
Yet today, determination felt like a fragile shield. She could still hear the laughter echoing from the classroom, the whispers of her classmates, and the mocking tone of Rayan, the tall, confident student she had secretly admired. "Honestly, Nalia, maybe stick to your notes. You're clearly out of your depth," he had said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Laughter erupted, cruel and piercing, as she had forced a weak smile and collected her notes. Her heart had pounded with shame, but she had refused to cry in front of them. The library, normally her refuge, felt suffocating now, each whisper and glance a reminder of her place among the polished, confident students.
By the time she left the campus, the sky had turned a deep shade of indigo, the streets of New York quiet under the dim streetlights. Nalia carried her books in one hand, a bag slung over her shoulder, and her heart heavy with the weight of the day. Every step home was measured, careful, as if walking lightly could erase the humiliation she had endured.
Inside her small apartment, she closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment. The room was modest—sparse furniture, a single bed, a worn desk with her laptop—and yet it was the only place where she felt she could exist without scrutiny. She sank onto the bed, hugging her knees, the quiet hum of the city outside a distant echo.
"I'm so tired… tired of trying, tired of being invisible," she whispered, voice trembling. Her thoughts wandered to her life back home in Kinshasa, to her family who had sacrificed so much, and to the dreams she had carried halfway across the world. She had always believed that hard work could overcome her timid nature and humble background—but today, it felt like all her efforts had been in vain.
As she sat there, a soft shimmer caught her eye in the corner of her room. At first, she thought it was a reflection from the streetlight outside, bouncing off her window. But the shimmer grew, solidifying into a faint, circular glow, suspended a few feet above the floor. Her breath caught in her throat.
"What… what is that?" she whispered, voice barely audible. The light pulsed gently, almost beckoning her, and a strange warmth spread through her chest. Her heart raced with a mix of fear and curiosity.
Nalia reached instinctively for the small pouch in her bag—the herbs her grandmother had given her years ago, a mixture of aromatic plants from the Congo. "Old stories… myths," she murmured, recalling the tales of her ancestors. "Doors to other worlds… paths unseen…"
Her fingers trembled as she crushed the herbs, releasing their earthy aroma. She hesitated for a moment, the fear of the unknown pressing down on her, but something inside urged her forward. The shimmer intensified, and as she inhaled the scent of the herbs, the room began to tilt. Her books, her desk, even the walls seemed to stretch and bend, the familiar world dissolving around her.
Her feet lifted off the ground, her body suspended in a strange current of air and light. Panic threatened to take over, but she clung to the memory of her grandmother's voice: "Trust yourself, Nalia. The path will find you."
And then, in a blink, the world changed.
Nalia found herself standing in a vast, golden landscape, unlike anything she had ever seen. Towering mountains rose in the distance, their peaks glowing softly in the fading light. Trees with golden leaves and massive roots stretched across the ground, their presence commanding and alive. The air was thick with the scent of exotic flowers, spices, and something ancient, almost sacred. She could hear faint drumming in the distance, a rhythmic heartbeat that seemed to call directly to her.
Her eyes widened in awe. Buildings glittered with intricate carvings and shimmering metals, blending high craftsmanship with natural elegance. Warriors moved with precise, disciplined steps, their armor a dazzling fusion of African motifs and advanced technology, and their posture radiated authority.
Before she could take it all in, a group of twenty figures stepped forward, forming a tight formation. Each soldier wore armor adorned with vivid wax patterns and tribal designs, yet it radiated strength and sophistication. Nalia's heart raced these were not mere illusions; they were real, alive, and focused entirely on her.
A tall man at the front stepped forward, his eyes piercing yet calm. "Nalia," he said, voice deep and resonant, "we've been waiting for you."
Nalia's mouth went dry. "I… I don't understand. Who… who are you?"
"You are the queen of Ikeora," the man replied simply. "The kingdom is in danger. You are the heir. Your destiny begins now."
Suddenly, a burning sensation spread along her right arm. She gasped, staring as a tattoo appeared, a majestic tree with sprawling roots forming the letters IKE. Her fingers hovered over it, trembling. The mark felt alive, pulsing faintly with energy, as if the kingdom itself had claimed her.
The tall figure nodded. "This is your birthright. It appears only when the heir awakens. You have been chosen, Nalia. We await your decision."
Nalia swallowed hard. Her life in New York the late nights in the library, the stress of exams, the endless struggle to belong suddenly felt like a distant memory. Here, in front of her, stood a royal army proclaiming her queen, and on her arm, a mark that tied her to a world she had never known.
She drew a deep breath, heart pounding. Fear and awe battled within her, but slowly, a spark of resolve ignited. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. "I… will go," she said, voice firm despite the tremor. "I will be the queen of Ikeora."
The tall general inclined his head, then gestured toward the golden landscape beyond. "Then come, Your Majesty. Your kingdom awaits."
As Nalia stepped forward, the tattoo glowing faintly on her arm, she felt a strange mix of exhilaration and dread. The city, the pain, the loneline all vanished, replaced by the golden light of Ikeora, a kingdom of warriors, duty, and destiny.
She was no longer just a student. She was the Queen of Ikeora, and the kingdom had been waiting for her awakening.