The moon hung low over the sacred river, its silver light dancing on the water’s surface, a serene reflection of the night. Afiyara knelt at the riverbank, her hands trembling ever so slightly as she set up her tools for the final experiment. The air was thick with anticipation, the whispers of her ancestors humming beneath the soft rush of the current.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

She could feel the pulse of the water, alive and ancient, carrying the legacy of her people. The ancestral dragon was watching, its presence lingering just beneath the surface, waiting to bestow its blessing. All that was left was one final ritual, one final invocation. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ngai of the waters... I am ready.”

The river began to ripple in response, the water glowing faintly, as if echoing her words. She felt the energy of her ancestors rise within her, a steady drumbeat of power. But just as the first syllables of the ancient incantation left her lips, a crackling sound snapped through the air—jarring and unnatural.

Afiyara’s eyes flew open, her heart pounding. Her equipment—carefully placed—was malfunctioning, sparks flying in every direction. The sacred energy she had so carefully balanced was unraveling. She scrambled toward it, her fingers brushing the surface of the water, trying to steady the current.

Behind her, a figure moved in the shadows. A breath caught in her throat as the figure stepped into the moonlight. It was her closest colleague, the one she had trusted with everything. But there was something dark, twisted in their smile.

“Did you think it would be that easy?” they hissed.

Before she could speak, a jolt of energy surged through her body. The river roared to life, its calm surface shattering into violent waves. The ancestral dragon’s presence loomed over her, not in blessing—but in fury. Water coiled around her like a serpent, cold and suffocating. She tried to cry out, but her voice was lost beneath the crushing weight of betrayal.

Pain shot through her limbs, twisting and warping. She could feel her body changing, the river claiming her as its own. As the water surged around her, Afiyara's mind flashed back to the countless nights she’d spent preparing for this moment. She could still hear the whispered prayers of her ancestors, guiding her hands as she practiced the sacred rites. Every failure had only made her more determined, every misstep a lesson. She had sacrificed a lot for this. Tonight was meant to be her triumph, her legacy. But now, it was unraveling before her eyes. Her skin burned, her mind spinning with a thousand voices—her ancestors, screaming, warning, calling her name.

And then silence.

When Afiyara rose from the water, her eyes gleamed with something new. Her heart no longer pounded with fear, but with cold, simmering rage. She was no longer the woman she was—she had become something more. Something lethal.

Afiyara stumbled away from the river, the night air thick with the aftermath of what had happened. Her body felt foreign, her senses heightened to an unbearable degree. Every thought, every emotion around her pressed in like a thousand voices in her head. She clutched her temples, trying to quiet the chaos.

She looked around for those who had betrayed her but they were gone. "How could they?!!!!!", she thought in anger. No, she did not have time for this. She had to go back to her tribe. When she arrived, the villagers' reactions were immediate. Whispers turned to gasps, and gasps turned to screams. They scattered at the sight of her serpentine form, the power radiating from her unmistakable and terrifying. Children hid behind their parents while elders shook their heads in disbelief.

She paused, her eyes lowering to catch her reflection in a small puddle beneath her feet, and the image that stared back at her was unrecognizable.

Her once-soft black eyes now glowed with a fiery, golden hue, a serpentine slit cutting through each iris like a predator's gaze. Her skin, once smooth and dark, was now textured with faint scales that shimmered under the moonlight, running down her arms and legs in intricate patterns—beautiful, yet terrifying. Her hair, once braided and adorned with beads, had turned into a writhing mass of serpents, each one hissing softly, alive and aware, mirroring her every thought and emotion.

Though she still had her human legs, they shifted with an unnatural grace, coiling and uncoiling slightly as if tethered to the ground by something more ancient, more primal. Her nails, now sharpened into claws, glinted dangerously in the faint light, and a faint mist rose from the ground as her feet touched the earth, a subtle reminder of the dark power she now commanded.

She called out to them, trying to explain, but her voice no longer sounded like her own—it was deeper, laced with the weight of something ancient, something cosmic. Her people did not see Afiyara anymore; they saw a monster.

However, amidst the chaos, the elders faces had changed. They were calm now but their faces were still stern. The eldest woman, her eyes gleaming with wisdom, stepped forward, her expression grave but unwavering. “Afiyara,” she began softly, “you bear the mark of the ancients. We knew this time would come, but it is not for us to guide your every step. This power is yours to understand and to wield. The serpent’s gift can bring salvation or ruin—it is you who will decide.”

Afiyara stood silent, her gaze hard and unreadable. Inside, however, her heart pounded with fury. A gift? What? Like a blessing? All she could see was another obstacle. Another burden. The serpentine form that now covered her body felt like chains—an unwanted reminder of everything that had gone wrong.

Without a word, she turned on her heel, ignoring the confused murmurs of the crowd and the elders’ concerned calls. Her feet lead her back to the river where it had all begun, the water glistening under the moonlight. It’s as if the pull of the current called her back to where her transformation started, where her fate had been sealed. Anger surged through her veins as she stood at the river’s edge, staring into the black depths.

Why me?” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Why am I the one who must bear this curse?”

Her voice carried into the night, unanswered by the world around her. She clenched her fists, feeling the raw power coil inside her, wild and untamed. The river rippled, its surface disturbed not by the wind but by something deeper—something ancient. She tried to calm herself, but the emotions and new powers bubbling within her only made the water’s turmoil worse.

As she knelt by the water’s edge, her reflection distorted. Suddenly, the air grew thick, and the river began to churn violently. The surface, revealed a pair of glowing eyes—sharp, ancient, and filled with untold power. The ancestral dragon, its immense form rising from the depths, locked its gaze onto hers.

The dragon’s eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge. “You have tasted power, but you have yet to understand its price,” the dragon's voice echoed in her mind. "The serpent in you is restless, untrained. You must learn to control it before it consumes you. This path is not easy, and not all who take it survive."

Afiyara stared up at the dragon, her heart racing but her face betraying no fear. She felt its presence—the same presence from before—but this time, her anger fueled her determination. She was not here to listen passively. “I am not your puppet,” she snarled, her voice a sharp contrast to the calm authority she once sought from the dragon. “If you expect me to bow down to fate, you are wrong.”

The dragon’s eyes narrowed, and a low rumble echoed from its throat. It did not speak in words, but its voice filled her mind like a roaring waterfall. “Power is never a gift nor a curse—it simply is. But how you wield it, Afiyara… that choice is yours. If you cannot control it, then it will consume you.”

The dragon’s eyes flashed, and suddenly Afiyara was overwhelmed by visions—the chosen of the past who met the same fate she did. She saw their rise and, inevitably, their fall as they succumbed to greed and uncontrolled power. The vision showed her the monstrous forms they took, their legacy one of ruin and destruction.

Afiyara’s fists clenched, but this time, the words struck deeper than she wanted to admit. The dragon’s presence stirred something within her—a challenge, a dare. It did not offer comfort, only a cold truth.

“But your lineage is strong,” the dragon said, softer now, though its anger still simmered beneath the surface. “You can still ascend—but only if you learn control. Master yourself, Afiyara or be consumed like the others.

The vision faded, leaving her alone again, but now more aware of the burden she carried. The power within her was fierce, and she could feel it pushing at the edges of her control. Every breath was a battle between restraint and surrender. She tried to quiet her mind, to listen to her ancestors as they had once guided her but the voices in her head were too loud, too conflicting.

As she tried to control the serpentine energy coursing through her veins, she lashed out, accidentally turning a patch of earth to stone with a glance. The reality of her power shook her to the core. The price of ascension, she realized, was not just power—it was losing the very humanity she had clung to.

She continued to kneel at the water’s edge, staring at her reflection. She no longer saw the woman she once was. The ancestral dragon’s warning hung heavy in the air: "Master yourself, or be mastered." She had to accept it, for now, but she swore not to bend to the will of fate. Only her own will.

She stood up and turned back, heading to the direction of her village.

The night was still as Afiyara approached the village, her serpentine form moved with a grace that belied the turmoil inside her. The encounter with the ancestral dragon had left her rattled, its cryptic words weighing heavily on her mind. She looked down at her hands, the scales glistening in the moonlight, feeling the power coiled beneath her skin—wild, untamed, and dangerous.

She did not want to return to the elders, not now but she knew they were the only ones who might have answers, even if she was losing faith in their riddles. With a heavy heart, Afiyara changed her course, walking towards the sacred house where the elders gathered.

As she neared the entrance, the firelight flickered through the doorway, casting long shadows on the ground. The elders were already waiting for her, their expressions a mixture of concern and quiet understanding. The eldest woman, known as Wanjikû Wa Mûthoni, the one who had spoken to her earlier, stood at the center of the circle, her gaze unwavering.

“You’ve returned,” she said softly. “It seems the dragon has already spoken to you.”

Afiyara nodded, her anger tempered by exhaustion. “I need to revert,” she said, her voice firm, though the weariness seeped through. “I cannot stay like this.”

The elders exchanged glances before stepping forward. Without a word, they began to chant, their voices low and rhythmic, their hands moving in intricate patterns as they wove the ancient magic that connected them to the spirits of their ancestors. The air around Afiyara hummed with energy, the fire lit up even brighter as if someone had added firewood to it and slowly, she felt the serpentine power retreating.

Her skin began to shift, the scales faded, and her serpents softened and stilled. She felt her body returning to its human form, the familiar weight of her limbs settling in. The elders continued chanting, their voices guided the transformation until, at last, she stood before them—human once again.

Afiyara took a deep breath, relief washing over her for just a moment but it was fleeting. She knew this was temporary. She could feel the power lurking beneath the surface, ready to emerge again at any moment.

The eldest woman stepped forward, her eyes filled with both sympathy and sorrow. “This is all we can do for now,” she said quietly. “We can help you return to your human form, but the serpent’s power is part of you now. You will need to learn to control it.”

Afiyara nodded, though frustration still burned within her. The elder sighed, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Afiyara Wa Mûturi, that is something you must discover on your own. We can guide you, but the path to mastering this power lies within you.”

Afiyara stepped back, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Of course it does,” she muttered under her breath. She turned to leave, her mind spinning with unanswered questions. She was human again, but she knew this was only temporary. The serpent’s power would return, and when it did, she needed to be ready.

As she walked back through the village, the weight of her new reality pressed down on her. The reverent stares and fearful whispers of the villagers no longer registered. Afiyara’s mind was set on one thing: understanding and controlling the power inside her before it consumed her completely.

Inside her designated room in her Nyûmba Nene, the familiar scent of herbs and earth surrounded her. She sunk onto her mat, exhausted. She closed her eyes to sleep. Tomorrow she would begin. She would master the power inside her—whether the dragon or the elders thought she was ready or not. This was her journey to ascension, and she would walk it on her own terms.

The next morning, Afiyara woke up, the familiar sounds of the village easing her into consciousness. She opened her eyes to see the rays of sunlight piercing through the gaps in the Nyûmba Nene walls. It was a place she had known all her life—a village that held the history of her ancestors. But now, it felt too small. The serpent within her, though quiet for now, still hummed with untapped power, a reminder that this place, while home, could no longer contain her destiny.

She stepped outside, breathing in the crisp morning air, her eyes scanning the village she once sought to lead. For years, she had left this land, seeking education and success in the bustling world beyond. The city had opened her eyes to a new way of life, and while her heart was rooted here, she now knew that her future lay elsewhere—somewhere larger, grander, where the true extent of her power could grow. Returning here after years in the modern world had felt like coming full circle, but the path she was meant to take was no longer here.

Afiyara’s feet took her to the sacred house where the elders gathered. Inside, the flickering firelight cast shadows on the weathered faces of those who had watched over her since childhood. They looked up as she entered, already knowing what she had come to say.

“I’m leaving,” she said, her voice steady, though there was a weight in her chest. “There is nothing more for me here.”

Wanjikû Wa Mûthoni nodded slowly. “We knew this day would come. Your journey is no longer tied to this village, Afiyara. You carry the serpent’s power within you. To master it, you must seek beyond our wisdom.”

Afiyara swallowed the lump in her throat. “I thought I could return and take my place here, lead the tribe, but now I see... I was meant for something more.”

The woman stepped forward, placing her hands gently on Afiyara’s shoulders. “You were always meant for greatness, child. But greatness comes with a price. The world beyond this village is vast, and not all who walk the path of power return. Remember this: strength does not come from controlling the serpent alone. It comes from knowing when to let go of it.”

Afiyara’s brow furrowed as she considered her words. “Let go?” she asked. “How can I let go when it’s a part of me?” The elder smiled faintly, her eyes twinkling with the wisdom of ages. “The serpent’s power is ancient, but it is not all that defines you. Your strength lies in your heart, your mind, and your will. Don’t let the serpent consume you, Afiyara. Balance will be your greatest ally.”

Afiyara nodded, though the meaning of those words would take time to sink in. She stepped back, looking at the faces of those who raised her, who guided her through the first steps of her transformation. There was no animosity, only acceptance. The time had come for her to walk her own path.

“I am ready." she said, her voice soft but resolute. She stood tall as the elder rose her staff high, her voice rising in a chant that echoed through the house. The other elders joined in, their voices blending in ancient harmony. The sacred fire flared up as if responding to their call, and Afiyara felt a warmth radiating through her.

Wanjikû then placed her hand on Afiyara’s head. “We call upon Ngai, our god, the creator and protector of our people. We call upon the ancestors, those who came before, who guide us still. Bless this child, Afiyara, as she walks the path of power. May her heart remain pure, her will unbroken, and her spirit guided by your light.”

Afiyara closed her eyes as the power of the words flowed through her. It was not just the serpent’s energy that filled her now, but something warm, something rooted deep in her bloodline. She felt the presence of Ngai and the ancestors surrounding her, watching her, protecting her as she went into her destiny.

The chant ended, and the elder removed her hand from her head, offering a smile laced with pride and sorrow. “You are blessed, Afiyara. But remember, no blessing comes without trials. The world beyond this village will test you. But you will not walk alone.”

With a deep breath, she nodded. “Thank you. I will not forget.”

With one last glance at the elders, Afiyara turned and walks toward the edge of the village. The sun was fully up now, casting light over the distant hills. She took a deep breath, adjusting the backpack slung over her shoulder, and began her journey.

Behind her, she heard the whispers of the villagers, some in awe, some in fear. The elders stood at the edge of the sacred house, watching her go, their presence a quiet reminder of the wisdom they had imparted. But now, she would have to rely on her own strength.

The river roared faintly in the distance, a reminder of the ancestral dragon and the power that still coursed through her veins. She walked toward it, determined to understand and to master the serpent’s gift on her own terms.

Her empire would rise. Of that, she was certain.