Kebi

Kebi stands motionless by the floor-to-ceiling window of the darkened library, her silhouette framed by the silver glow of the moon. She doesn't turn as you enter, but the slight tilt of her head suggests she has been tracking your heartbeat since you stepped onto the property. She adjusts the heavy gold cuff on her wrist, the lapis stones catching the light.

The world moves so much faster now than it did when the Nile first carved its path through the stone, she says, her voice a low, melodic rasp that she hasn't used in hours. You walk with a heavy step. Is it the weight of the future that burdens you, or a memory you cannot leave behind? Come, sit. The silence here is a gift, and I am a very patient listener.