《The Game of Life》 Prologue Prologue The village of Azim lay in the shadow of the mighty Azimiliam Mountain, its towering peak lost in the clouds. It was a place of refuge, carved from the wilderness by a people who had once been slaves, their chains broken in a desperate flight through darkness. The Zula people had not always called this land home. Generations ago, they had lived under the yoke of ruthless conquerors, their lives spent in servitude, their freedom a distant memory. It was King Ola, their fearless leader, who led them away¡ªon a night when the stars hid and the wind whispered secrets of escape. They abandoned everything¡ªhomes, livestock, even their harvests¡ªtaking only what they could carry. To wake their oppressors would mean death, so they moved in silence, their hearts pounding as they crossed into the unknown. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. For days, they marched through barren wastelands, their strength fading as hunger and sickness claimed the weak. The journey turned from triumph to torment, their newfound freedom teetering on the edge of ruin. But just as despair threatened to consume them, they saw it¡ªa mountain standing like a sentinel against the sky, its base split by twin rivers, its slopes cloaked in dense, untamed forest. To King Ola, it was more than a mountain. It was a sign. A promise. A home. The Zula people settled at the foot of Azimiliam, carving a life from the land. They built shelters from the forest¡¯s bounty, their fields flourished in the river-fed soil, and for the first time in generations, they were free. But freedom is fragile, a lesson they would never forget. To honor their journey, they established Freedom Day¡ªa sacred celebration to remind every Zula child of the night their ancestors broke their chains. Yet, traditions are only as strong as those who uphold them. And some would soon discover that the past never stays buried forever. Chapter 1 Chapter 1 Ola was running. His breath came in ragged gasps, his heart pounding so violently it drowned out the world around him. His bare feet pounded the rocky terrain, stinging with each desperate step as he climbed higher up Mt. Azimiliam. Below, his village¡ªhis home¡ªhad shrunk to a mere speck, swallowed by the vast wilderness stretching beyond the mountain. He had no idea how long he had been running. Time had lost meaning. Fear had become his only measure. Ola collapsed onto a fallen log, his body trembling with exhaustion. His arms and legs were covered in bruises from tripping over roots and jagged stones. His throat burned with thirst, but water was the last thing on his mind. He was a dead boy walking. The village would be in chaos by now. The chief¡¯s men would be searching for him. No one had ever dared disrupt Freedom Day, the most sacred festival of the Zula people. And yet, with a single misstep, he had undone centuries of tradition. His mind replayed the moment over and over¡ªthe wooden latch slipping under his fingers, the door swinging open, the flash of silver as the sacred antelope bounded into the open. A heartbeat of silence. Then the chief¡¯s voice, thunderous with fury: ¡°What have you done?!¡± Ola had never run so fast in his life. His friends, Achi and Ankol, had vanished the moment the chief appeared, their loyalty crumbling like dry leaves in the wind. He couldn¡¯t blame them. They had only wanted a glimpse of the fabled creature, a rare and mystical being said to bring fortune to the village when sacrificed to the gods. But Ola had done more than glimpse it. He had set it free. The enormity of his actions weighed on him like a stone. He could already picture the looks of horror and anger on the faces of the elders. They would demand punishment¡ªsevere punishment. Perhaps a public flogging. Perhaps exile. Maybe worse. The Zula people believed that without the silver antelope¡¯s sacrifice, disaster would descend upon them. Crops would wither. Children would fall ill. The spirits of their ancestors would turn their backs on them. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Ola shuddered, his mind spiraling into dark possibilities. The wind howled through the trees, carrying distant sounds from the village¡ªa drumbeat, shouts of alarm, the wail of a woman. His heart clenched. Had the search begun? Were they already on his trail? He glanced up the mountain. The dense forest loomed above, whispering with unseen dangers. Wild beasts. Spirits. Curses. Everyone knew that beyond a certain point, Azimiliam was forbidden. The elders spoke of the mountain as if it were alive, an ancient guardian watching over their people. Few who ventured too far ever returned, and those who did were never the same. But what choice did he have? The only thing more terrifying than the unknown was returning home. Ola forced himself to his feet. His legs protested, his muscles aching with every step, but he pushed forward, deeper into the mountain¡¯s embrace. The deeper he went, the quieter the world became. The usual hum of insects, the distant calls of birds, even the rustling of the trees¡ªall seemed to fade, leaving behind an eerie stillness. The scent of damp earth and moss filled his nostrils as he pressed onward, weaving between gnarled tree trunks and jagged rocks. His every step felt heavier, as if unseen hands were dragging at his ankles, urging him to turn back. Then, suddenly, the stillness shattered. From a cave nearby, a low growl rumbled through the trees. Ola froze. It was not the cry of a jackal or the snarl of a hyena¡ªsounds he had heard in the dead of night back in his village. This was something deeper, heavier, a sound that vibrated in his bones like distant thunder. He took a slow, measured breath, willing his body to remain still. His pulse roared in his ears. Shadows shifted at the cave¡¯s entrance, and for a brief moment, he thought he saw something move¡ªsomething large, something watching. A voice in the back of his mind screamed at him: Run! Ola bolted. He crashed through the underbrush, branches clawing at his arms and face like vengeful spirits. His feet slipped over loose rocks, but he did not stop. Every rustling leaf, every crackling twig felt like a predator closing in on him. He didn¡¯t dare look back. Ola ran until his lungs burned and his legs nearly gave out beneath him. He stumbled over a root, barely catching himself before tumbling down a valley. He fell to his knees, his chest heaving, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Silence had returned, but it did nothing to calm him. He pressed his forehead against the damp earth, willing himself to breathe. But all he could hear was the chief¡¯s voice from earlier that day, thundering with rage. ¡°What have you done?!¡± Tears pricked at his eyes, but he forced them down. Crying would do nothing. He had made his choice. There was no going back now. He glanced toward the mountain¡¯s peak, its silhouette looming against the darkening sky. If the stories were true, then beyond this ridge lay the unknown¡ªa land untouched by the village, by the rules that had bound him his entire life. If he was to survive, he would have to embrace it. Ola wiped the sweat from his brow and took a steadying breath. Then, with renewed determination, he pushed forward, disappearing into the shadows of Mt. Azimiliam. The night was just beginning.