The king’s body burned with fever, then froze with chills. Pain twisted through him until his groans echoed through the palace corridors. His face, once full and commanding, became thin. His eyes sank deep into his skull.
Diana, despite everything, stayed by his bed.
He was still her father.
Queen Amara aged visibly in a week.
One morning, when hope had nearly vanished, the oldest seer in the kingdom came to the palace. He was a thin man with cloudy eyes and a voice like dry leaves. He cast cowries on a white cloth, studied them, and went silent for a long time.
Finally, he spoke.
“The king’s illness is not ordinary.”
The room held its breath.
“To heal him, a warrior must enter the Forest of Spirits and pluck the sacred shining leaf that grows in the heart of the woods.”
A minister whispered, “No one returns from that forest.”
The seer nodded. “That is why the reward must be great.”
Queen Amara leaned forward. “What reward?”
“The man who brings back the sacred leaf must receive wealth, honor, and the hand of the princess.”
Diana’s blood turned cold.
“No,” she whispered.
The king, barely conscious, moved his lips but could not speak.
By sunset, royal messengers had spread the announcement. Any man brave enough to enter the Forest of Spirits and return with the healing plant would marry Princess Diana and receive riches beyond imagination.
The kingdom exploded with talk.
Hunters sharpened knives. Warriors boasted in taverns. Noblemen who had never entered a true forest suddenly bought charms and weapons. Everyone wanted the reward.
Diana felt trapped by horror.
If some stranger succeeded, she would be forced to marry him.
If no one succeeded, her father would die.
And somewhere beyond palace walls, Muniaka heard the news.
His body was still weak from hunger and beatings. His mother begged him not to go.
“My son, that forest eats men.”
Muniaka sat beside her.
“If the king dies, Diana suffers. If another man succeeds, Diana is lost. If I do nothing, I lose her anyway.”
“You owe that king nothing.”
“I know,” he said. “But love is not only about what people deserve.”
His mother cried.
Before dawn, Muniaka took his hunting knife, a small bag of dried cassava, and his father’s old walking stick.
At the palace gates, ten men had gathered. Some were famous hunters. Some were warriors. Two were sons of wealthy chiefs. They laughed when they saw Muniaka.
“You?” one sneered. “Can poverty fight spirits?”
Muniaka said nothing.
From a high balcony, hidden behind carved screens, Diana saw him.
Her hands flew to her mouth.
He looked thinner, bruised, but alive.
For one heartbeat, he lifted his eyes toward the palace as if he felt her there.
Then the gates opened, and the men began their journey.
The Forest of Spirits stood beyond the river, where sunlight seemed to weaken before entering the trees. Villagers avoided it. Hunters told stories of voices calling from nowhere, paths changing direction, fruits that poisoned the mind, and beasts with eyes like fire.
On the first day, the men walked together.
By afternoon, arrogance began to separate them.
One warrior insisted he knew a faster route. Two men followed him. Their shouts were heard at dusk, then silence.
That night, the remaining hunters made camp. Strange lights moved between trees. One man swore he heard his dead mother calling him. He ran into the darkness and never returned.
Muniaka did not sleep.
He sat with his back against a tree, remembering Diana’s voice.
I love you.
On the second day, hunger and fear sharpened tempers. The sons of chiefs found a clearing filled with golden objects: bracelets, bowls, coins, and jewels piled beneath a tree.
One hunter rushed forward.
Muniaka grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
The man shoved him away. “You think poverty makes you wise?”
He touched the gold.
The clearing vanished.
So did he.
The others fled.
By evening, only three remained: Muniaka, an old hunter named Bako, and a proud warrior called Sembene.
Bako was limping.
“We should turn back,” he said.
Sembene spat. “Go back if you are afraid.”
Bako looked at Muniaka. “And you?”
“I did not come for gold.”
Bako nodded slowly. “Then perhaps you are the only one who should continue.”
That night, Bako disappeared quietly, choosing life over glory.
