Yassena’s warm presence calmed him a little. She put her hand on the back of Kazeem’s head, caressing the area his dad had smacked. From the hearth, oil hissed once and settled; a spoon tapped the pot lid and went quiet.

  “They used the laws and principles of this world through mystic language and rituals to do all of it. Gb?, for example, is ‘time’ in this language. By the way, some of the words that we are using today are a diluted version of it, such as the name of our country, Zriwla, which means ‘the land of mirrors or reflection’ because of the shallow waters spread over the whole territory, waters that reflect the light and truth of people. We are still using a diluted version of the mystic language because, although we want to keep our roots, this language is too dangerous, and we became too weak to handle the consequences it might bring,” she said. “They could use words to light fire and a sentence to divide mountains. Any mystic word used could bring disaster for its caster and his environment. If they were able to pronounce it, that was it. Writing it is also forbidden.”

  His dad added, “Our ancestors were powerful, and it is even said that the powerhouses of that era lived thousands of years and were able to go beyond the sky and touch the stars. Saying their name or thinking about them was enough to make them aware of your existence and harm you from anywhere across the world. Playing with their legacy could kill you.”

  Seeing that his parents didn’t seem to be joking, his skepticism turned into astonishment. He suddenly got goosebumps thinking about the number of times he had said the word gb?. Now he knew why he got a headache and felt weak after saying it. After hearing about the danger behind it, he was relieved that it was the only consequence he had.

  “Why has it changed then?” he asked.

  “Internal and external issues,” Zokou responded. Kazeem knew that he wouldn’t explain further, so he turned to Yassena.

  With a light chuckle, she began to explain, “First, without the energy of heaven and earth, they couldn't do anything.” While stroking his hair, she continued, “If mystic words are the riverbeds, then Tumio is the water flowing through them. However, humans weren't the only race in the world that could use them. There was another intelligent race that grew at the same time as us: the Sunsums, also called primordial spirits. They are practically the real children of this world. They were born in areas with concentrated Tumio; they had the longevity of human powerhouses without doing anything and, being born by Tumio, they had an incredible ability to absorb it and use it. In fact, the mystic language was created by the two races. The problem started when they realized that this energy wasn’t infinite.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  She took out a big piece of paper and a pen and started drawing on it. She drew two groups; one had a lot of individuals, and they clearly looked human. The other was in different shapes, some looked like humans, but some had animal shapes, some had three legs, some a human upper body and a fish tail. Although there were fewer than humans, they were far taller. If humans were the size of a water bottle, some of the Sunsums were the size of mountains.

  “Do you see the problem?” she asked.

  “Maa... doesn’t draw very well?”

  SMACK

  “PFF”

  SMACK

  After correcting the two men of the house, she continued, “Both species were depleting Tumio at an alarming rate, but through different ways. Humans were less talented than Sunsums, therefore consuming far less at an individual rate; they reproduced much more easily, which made their overall consumption terrifying. On the other hand, each Sunsum’s consumption was terrifying, which showed in their height, but they could only be born through highly concentrated Tumio; they also couldn’t reproduce. When the most powerful of both races understood that they could no longer improve with the amount of Tumio left, they launched a war of resources: the Primordial War.”

  “ohhh, that name goes hard,” said Kazeem.

  “Hard? Is that a new expression? Well, anyway, we won the war,” said Zokou.

  “Wait, but how?” said Kazeem. In his understanding, the Sunsums were humongous, and Yassena literally called them “children of the world.” He genuinely couldn’t imagine a race carrying this name losing, even if their presence was the proof of it.

  “Reflect on it and find the answer yourself. I need to go to the market,” said Yassena as she stood and went to grab her purse in the principal room.

  Kazeem felt a bit frustrated, which didn’t happen every day. All those stories made him incredibly curious and excited. He started to ponder on his own until he felt his dad’s hand pressing his afro and grabbing his scalp.

  “There is always a solution, son.”

  Zokou always said it. He believed that any problem could be solved. For him, it wasn’t whether you could solve it; it was how you would do it. However, this time it felt out of place, and it seemed to carry far more weight than usual. Kazeem unknowingly engraved that sentence in his mind and would act by it until the end of time.

  Closing Thought: If power is a language, he’d learn when to speak, and when to bite his tongue.