In the heart of the Silent Savannah, where the grass grew tall and the rivers ran dry, there was an elephant who remembered everything.
Her name was Nyah, and she was the last of her kind.
The poachers had taken the others—first for their ivory, then for their bones when the world decided even dust could be sold as magic. But Nyah had vanished years ago, slipping into legend. Some said she was a ghost. Others swore she’d learned to walk through time.
Twelve-year-old Kio knew the truth. He’d seen her once, a shadow moving through the baobab trees at dusk. Now, with his village starving and the last well nearly empty, he set out to find her.
He tracked her to a cracked riverbed, where her footprints sank deep into the earth. Nyah stood waiting, her eyes dark as buried galaxies.
"You came for the memories," her voice echoed in his bones. Not words—something older.
Kio nodded. He’d heard the stories. That she could show you the past like a river, let you drink from it.
Nyah’s trunk brushed his forehead—
And suddenly, he remembered.
Rain so thick it turned the sky silver. Herds stretching to the horizon. The song of a thousand elephants, vibrating in the air like thunder.
When he opened his eyes, Nyah was gone. But his hands were wet.
He looked up.
The clouds cracked open.
