The crowd in the library assembly chamber bustles with the kind of intense energy reserved for matters of high occasion. Only two times have I heard tell of its murmurs reaching such a crescendo echoing throughout the entire Dreaming City like this: the signing of the treaty ending the Lunar Ukombozi War and the choosing of Xola for the first Camara of Muungano. The chatter’s a mix of excitement and nervousness. Whorls of people gather in factions to negotiate their votes in informal caucus. What cannot be picked up is the nervous murmurs among the debates.

Wachiru waits with a group of young men, Ezeji among them, near the central table. The low-floating light globes illuminate them with a backlit tinge, making them appear like poorly rendered projections. They whisper, drawing up a game plan. Selamault studies her son. Worried about the toll leadership might take on him. She passes me without comment and makes her way to the table. I suspect the reason for her silence. When she meets my eyes, she turns away, confirming it.

I am to be the next Camara.

As a Black Dove, of the line of oracles, the Libyan Sibyls, Selamault has seen it in her visions. Though she’d said nothing to me, I can tell from the way she avoids eye contact whenever we encounter each other. I will need her on my side. Now is the time to be building relationships. I cannot serve my people alone.

Surveying the room, the role of Camara comes down to me and Wachiru. I take the dais lightly and read the room. The people are—we are—tired of waiting. We have no interest in bowing and scraping our way to appeal to O.E.’s better angels. We are Muungano. We are strong. And it is time the universe hears that.

“Who should be the voice that speaks to them on behalf of Muungano?” Selamault said. “It’s time. Then let us be about the business of the community.”

And the room stills to something close to silence. There is a power to the silence, a reverence of the moment.

“Freedom is what it means to be human.” Bayard steps up, making his play right off the top.

The voice of any member of Muungano may be heard in the Ijo. His entry, though not entirely unexpected, complicates matters. A debate between Wachiru and myself represents two clear, distinct paths. Bayard is the voice of compromise. Those unwilling to make a clear decision could find him the safe option. I am many things; safe is not one of them.

“That was the message we took, that core tenet, had to be central. Understanding that evil is systemic and that no matter what binds us—a destroyed civilization, cruel leaders, or the tyranny of technology—can be a means of oppression.