The Throneroom of Akogwa was not designed for comfort; it was designed for awe.
The floor was a polished mirror of obsidian, reflecting the silver light of the Celestial Lantern that streamed in through the high crystal arches. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic tapping of a finger against an armrest.
Libaax Akoma sat upon the High Throne. To his left, a slightly smaller, equally ornate throne sat empty—a gaping wound in the symmetry of the court. The "Empress Seat".
Standing before him were the Pillars of Aye, the High Table. They were the most powerful individuals in Middle Earth, each radiating a palpable pressure of Ase.
"The reports from the Arctic Mirror are troubling, My Lord," Azure Oba rumbled.
The Authority on Military Might was a mountain of a man. His skin was the color of red clay (Sanguine phenotype), and his hair was locked in long, natural dreads that spilled over his shoulders. He wore a crimson Isiagu tunic, overlaid with a regal Indian George wrapper draped like Kente cloth. His Red Aura—the color of the Root Chakra—flickered violently around him, signaling his agitation.
"The Asuras are growing bold," Azure continued, his hand resting on the pommel of Elao, his carved elephant tusk artifact. "The border patrols... the Iyakar-Tsaro... report seeing movement near the entrances to Middle Earth. They aren't just hunting for sport tonight. They are probing our defenses."
"Let them probe," Alem Amari said smoothly.
The Authority on Legal Law stood in stark contrast to the warrior. He was an Albino, his pale skin glowing in the silver light, his blonde wooly hair braided tightly. He adjusted the ornate African headrest he wore uniquely as a headpiece.
"The Asuras are bound by the Covenant of the Sunless," Alem argued, his Yellow Aura (Solar Plexus) humming with precision. "Legally, they cannot breach the shielding of the inner cities without declaring formal war. If they do, the Nommo scripts woven into the city walls will incinerate them."
"Law means nothing to a creature with a shark's mouth and a brain devoid of empathy!" Azure snapped, stepping forward.
"Enough," Libaax said.
He didn't shout, but the single word, amplified by his Blue Aura (Throat Chakra), rolled through the room like thunder.
The High Table fell silent.
Libaax rubbed his temples. The headache from the garden was still there, a phantom pulse connecting him to the Manomi woman, Ahia. He looked at the empty throne beside him, then at Vhuthu Hiwot.
Vhuthu, the Authority on Political Influence, was watching him with hawk-like intensity. She was a Consanguine, her skin a smooth caramel tone, her hair styled in perfect Bantu knots. She adjusted her Iborun shawl, the orange hue of her Aura (Sacral Chakra) glowing softly.
"The Asuras are a threat, yes," Vhuthu said, her voice like honey laced with poison. "But the greater threat is internal instability, My Lord."
She gestured gracefully toward the empty throne.
"The Agojie—the Empress's own guard—are restless," she said. "A regiment of elite female warriors with no Matriarch to serve. It breeds... confusion. The people whisper. They say the Sky brings rain, but the Earth is barren. They say the Servitor Supreme is imp... incomplete."
Libaax tightened his grip on the armrest. "I have not found a suitable match, Vhuthu. You know the requirements. It is not just about lineage. It is about Makoma."
"The Amava Codex is full of eligible matches from the finest lines in the continent," interjected Agyenim Davu, the Authority on Propaganda. The Yellow Hammer man flicked his indigo Modi waistcoat. "We could spin a narrative of a 'Destined Union' with a princess from the desert regions. It would boost morale."
"I will not fabricate destiny," Libaax growled. "I will not insult Zamani with a lie."
"Then give us a truth!" Vhuthu countered, stepping closer. "The Kifofirists are gathering in the upper atmosphere. The Dildillaac storm cloud is growing thicker. The Mufarikha preach Utupu—nothingness—in the alleyways. They say proof Ubuntu has failed is the King himself is alone. You need a partner to anchor the Ase of this empire."
Libaax looked away. The logic of their arguments was sound. The logic demanded balance. A King needed to meet two requirements: Territory and a Queen, his rule was an equation missing a variable.
His mind flashed back to the dirt on Ahia's hands. The raw, terrified Green Huenergy she had radiated. The "Heart-Echo" that had nearly brought him to his knees.
Naturally he had felt more Ubuntu—more connection—in that split second of fear with a gardener than he had in a decade of court politics.
"The Asuras will be dealt with," Libaax said, standing up. The movement signaled the end of the audience. "Azure, double the Night Watch. Alert the Manomis to secure the food stores. If the Asuras are hungry, they will target the crops first."
"And the marriage, My Lord?" Vhuthu pressed, unwilling to let it die.
Libaax paused at the archway leading to his private chambers.
"The Makoma determines the potential," he said, quoting the ancient texts. "When the compass settles, I will act. Not a moment before."
He swept out of the room, his blue robes billowing.
Behind him, the High Table exchanged glances.
"He is hiding something," Vhuthu whispered, her Orange Aura flaring.
"Or someone," Arora Lakshmi added quietly. The Dravidian woman, wrapped in a shimmering Sari, tapped her Vajra bell. Her Prismatic White Aura—rare and terrifying—shimmered briefly. "The Ase around him... it has changed. It ripples."
"We must watch him," Vhuthu commanded. "If the King has found a heart-beat that is not sanctioned by this Table, we need to know."