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“Do you see this?” Anna whispered. “This is the kingdom I dreamed of. No thrones. No masters. Only people learning to live beside each other.”
Amastan smiled faintly, his eyes soft in the dying light.
“Then it shall be your kingdom. And I will guard its borders with my life.”
> She thought: A kingdom of dust and wind. Yet more enduring than marble halls built upon chains.
Anna walked with Amastan through the encampment at dusk, the air rich with cooking smoke and murmured prayer. They watched as a young Spanish woman taught Moorish children to write Latin letters in the sand. Nearby, an old Hausa man led Tuareg boys in drumming rhythms.
Days passed. Tents rose along the hidden wells, woven from camel hair and dyed indigo. Freed slaves built clay ovens; Tuareg warriors dug trenches to capture rare desert rains. Children herded goats among thorn bushes. A new tribe was being born – neither purely African nor European, neither slave nor noble.
This creation was not made on NightCafe.
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Inspired by @Diane-de-la-Cheneraye