SINS OF FROST AND HEAT

WELCOME TO THE AZIMIAN CAMP.

"What the fuck?" Ruby Kaba's words slipped out before she could catch herself. The sharp sting of discomfort rippled down her spine as the folding machine tightened its grip around her body, pressing her arms to her sides as though she were nothing more than a piece of cloth to be smoothed out.

"Mind your language, Citizen Kaba," the machine responded in a crisp, metallic voice, its dispassionate tone like nails on a chalkboard. Ruby winced, the machine's cold hands loosening their grip, gently unfolding her limbs with mechanical precision.

She shot the robot a sideways glare, a subtle flick of her head that her mother had once called her "side-eye of death." The machine didn't react, of course. It had no emotions to read her defiance. Just another task completed, another child processed.

Ruby wasn't sure what she'd expected. Maybe something grander for her first day at the infamous Azamian Camp-something more human. But this? This cold, clinical machine spitting her out like luggage from a conveyor belt? It felt like an insult. She bit down on her lip to keep from saying anything else.

"Welcome to Azamian Camp," the machine droned on, oblivious to her irritation. "Please proceed to the registration area."

She stood there for a second, letting the tension drain from her body. Behind her, the line of other kids waited silently, all eyes on her-curious, anxious, some even a little hostile. Ruby straightened her posture. She wouldn't give them anything to feed on. Not her fear, not her uncertainty.

She adjusted her uniform, brushing away a non-existent wrinkle, and walked toward the next station, her long legs carrying her effortlessly across the concrete floor. The wide, empty corridors seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, their gray walls swallowing every sound but the quiet hum of machinery.

'So this is how it begins,' she thought to herself, the gravity of her situation finally sinking in.

For the past decade, the world had watched as Azamia rose from the ashes of the African Crisis, a continent once fractured between the "Developed" and "Underdeveloped" Zones. It had been a brutal divide, spurred by economic inequality, political corruption, and years of exploitation. The Developed Zone, made up of wealthy, technologically advanced countries, thrived while the Underdeveloped Zone struggled, stuck in cycles of poverty, violence, and political instability.

The tipping point came when the people of the Underdeveloped Zone could take no more. What started as protests quickly escalated into a revolution, a movement to unite the continent under a single governing body-Azamia.

But unity came at a price. To prevent the mistakes of the past, a radical system of leadership was created. Instead of one country ruling Azamia, the power would pass between different nations, chosen through a brutal process: the Azamian Camp. The children of every African leader-no matter how rich or powerful-would spend ten years in the camp, learning to survive, to cooperate, to fight. After those years, one child would emerge as the next ruler of Azamia. It was the continent's way of forging leadership through experience and hardship, rather than privilege.

Ruby had known this was coming her whole life. Her father, the president of one of the wealthiest nations in the Developed Zone, had prepared her for this moment. "You will go to Azamia," he had said, his voice as sharp as a command, "and you will represent our family with dignity. Ukose shetu Kaba.Do not embarrass us."

The words rang in her ears, not for the first time. Her father's face was always stoic, his expectations clear. He didn't need to repeat himself. The disappointment in his eyes was enough to remind her what was at stake.

Now, standing in the heart of Azamia, Ruby felt the weight of those expectations pressing down on her, heavy and suffocating. She didn't know what to expect here. The stories she'd heard about the camp varied wildly, but none of them sounded easy.