As the sun sets in on a random day within the Duchy of Guinea, within the Boké region sits the beginning of an industrialized civilization. With the introduction of steam power slowly expanding from transportation for agricultural and mineral resources to providing rotational power for the slowly expanding industrial base within and around the city. The ironworks were the first, then the Powder Mills, before slowly expanding into the newly established brickworks to provide bricks as a building material for the expanding city.
Within the heart of the city lies the royal family's castle, who, without the sudden burst of knowledge from their eldest son, Ibraim, industrialization would have never happened until the Mali empire was nothing more than a forgotten piece of history.
As dusk settled over the city, the hum of machinery blended with the evening chorus of cicadas. Thin plumes of smoke rose from the chimneys of the ironworks, drifting lazily into the orange sky. The rhythmic hiss of steam and the clang of hammers echoed through the streets, sounds that many months ago would have been foreign to the people of Kakandé. Now, they were the pulse of progress, the heartbeat of a city on the rise.
From the high balcony of the castle, Ibraim watched it all unfold. Below him, the lights of the forges glowed like scattered embers, and the river reflected the dying light of the sun. Workers returned home in tired but steady lines, their silhouettes marked by soot and pride alike. It was not yet the city he dreamed of, but it was a beginning.
He rested his hands on the stone railing, the cool surface grounding him as his thoughts wandered. Every new invention brought new challenges. Shortages of materials, disputes over wages, growing production demands for defense. The future he had envisioned was not without its shadows.
Inside, the castle halls were quieter than usual. His advisors had retired early, their discussions about trade and tariffs echoing faintly in his mind. But Ibraim could not sleep. Something restless stirred in him. A weight that no title, no machine, could ease. He had done much, but lately, he began to question if his vision alone was enough.
He made his way to his chambers, the oil lamps flickering dimly along the corridor. The servants bowed as he passed, though their expressions showed concern at his late wandering. He offered them a small nod before entering his room.
The air was still. The faint scent of parchment and metal lingered, reminders of another night spent drafting plans. He removed his cloak and sat by the window, looking once more at the city that refused to sleep.
He spoke softly to himself. "If only I could know whether this path truly serves the people... or just my pride."
The moon had risen high by the time he laid down. His mind drifted between thoughts of progress and peace, of what had been built and what could yet crumble. Slowly, his breathing deepened, and the weight of the day began to fade.
The darkness behind his eyelids began to shift, soft at first, like ripples across still water. Then came the hum of something deeper, older than any steam engine or forge. A warm, golden light pulsed faintly through the void, forming patterns like woven cloth, like the symbols he had once seen carved into temple stones as a boy.
A voice, distant but commanding, began to rise from that light. Melodic, ancient, and filled with power.
And though he did not yet know it, Ibraim was about to meet a being who had watched kingdoms rise and fall long before his ancestors ever dreamed of empire.
The air around him shimmered, the stillness of sleep giving way to a realm that felt both familiar and impossibly vast. The golden light brightened, its warmth settling over him like sunlight through silk. Beneath his feet stretched an endless expanse of water, calm and reflective, mirroring a night sky scattered with stars brighter than any he had ever seen. Each ripple beneath him glowed faintly, as if alive with some hidden rhythm.
He stood, though he could not remember rising. His royal robes were gone; instead, he wore simple white linen, untouched by the stains of labor or ink. The silence here was not empty, it was listening.
Then, from the horizon, the light shifted. Gathering, swirling, and shaping itself into the figure of a woman. Her presence was neither sudden nor startling; it was as though she had always been there, waiting. Her skin gleamed like polished bronze, her hair flowing like dark water streaked with gold. Around her wrists and neck shimmered ornaments that seemed made of both metal and light, changing hue with every breath she took.
When she spoke, her voice carried the weight of rivers, soft yet endless.
"Ibraim, bearer of two lives, dreamer of iron and fire," she said, her words rippling through the air like the toll of a great bell. "You stir forces older than your blood remembers."
Ibraim bowed instinctively, though part of him hesitated. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.
The goddess smiled faintly.
"Names are many, but you would know me through those who prayed for rain and mercy long before your city's first stone was laid. I am she who nourishes the land and claims the flood. I am the mother of harvests, the spirit of the river that feeds your fields."
Her gaze softened as she stepped closer. The water beneath her feet glowed with each movement. "Your world changes. You forge new life from metal and steam, but you forget the old pacts that bind your people to the earth. The soil remembers, even if men do not."
Ibraim felt her words strike deep within him. "I only wish to strengthen my people," he said. "To end hunger and strife, to build a future where we no longer bow to suffering or external nations."
"And yet," she murmured, her voice like thunder softened by rain, "progress without remembrance is a fire that consumes its own flame."
The stars above shifted, their light swirling around them. Visions began to flicker at the edges of Ibraim's sight, machines rising higher than palaces, rivers turned dark with soot, fields lying fallow beneath smoke-choked skies. If he could compare it to anything from his two lives, it was as if he was seeing a Warhammer 40k Hiveworld in real life.
He took a step back, his breath unsteady. "What are you showing me?"
"What may come," she said simply. "If you forget who you build for."
The vision faded, the waters calming once more. The goddess regarded him in silence, her expression unreadable, her power undeniable.
Then she extended her hand toward him. "Come, Ibraim. There is more you must see."