Khisa rested on a cushioned bench in his quarters, the warm golden light of Gondar’s late afternoon sun filtering through carved lattice windows. A gentle breeze carried the scent of incense and the quiet chirping of birds from the palace gardens. The soft rustle of Azenet’s shawl still lingered in his mind, as did the look in her eyes when she’d accepted his proposal—unofficial though it still was. He would need to speak to the Emperor, present the proper dowry, and honor tradition. But her smile had been enough.
He smiled to himself, his fingers absently tracing a faint crack on the wooden armrest.
[Congratulations on your proposal, Khisa.]
Ayaan’s cool, melodic voice cut through the quiet. Her presence in his mind had become familiar, comforting—even when she challenged him.
"Thank you, Ayaan," he replied aloud, though he knew she heard him regardless. "I’m quite happy with what we’ve accomplished here."
He hesitated, then asked what had weighed on his heart for months.
"Do you think this is enough to save Africa from its oppressors?"
There was a pause, long enough to unsettle him. Then:
[What you have accomplished is no easy feat. You’ve given Eastern Africa a fighting chance. You’ve reshaped the fate of Abyssinia, built a navy, saved thousands from slavery, and awakened the hearts of people who had almost given up. But the west and south are still vulnerable. The future has shifted here... but not everywhere. Your goal to free all of Africa in your lifetime may not be possible.]
Khisa exhaled slowly, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his temple. "I thought so."
[You are still young. There’s no need to carry the world alone. Even if you stopped now, what you’ve done would ripple through generations. But I know you won’t stop. I’m only reminding you—live, Khisa. You just proposed to the princess. Will you leave her alone at home while you ride across the continent again? What about your future children? Will you save everyone else and forget your family?]
The tone wasn’t cruel—just clear. Icy clarity, like mountain air that forced you to breathe deeper.
Khisa closed his eyes. She was right. Again.
"I understand," he whispered. "Thank you for putting it all in perspective. I’ll do my best to build Nuri so strong that I don’t need to leave them behind. And thank you, Ayaan. Without you, I couldn’t have helped anyone."
[You’re wrong. I’m information, like a library. You—Khisa—are the one who took all that knowledge and made it real. I gave you strategies. You made them work. You are stronger than you think.]
He fell asleep with a quiet smile, the light outside dimming to a soft red glow. The burden was lighter now, shared. And in its place was something new: the image of Azenet beside him, and a future he hadn’t dared to dream of when this journey began.
The next morning, the crisp air carried news like the wind carried dust. In the halls of Gondar, the mood was shifting. Change had come, and now it demanded action.
In the Emperor’s study, the sun cast slanted shadows across the ornate map of Abyssinia. A letter lay open on his desk, the seal of General Tesfaye broken, the ink still fresh.
Emperor Gelawdewos read it aloud to his Prime Minister:
The preparations in Massawa are underway. Thanks to Prince Khisa’s groundwork, we’ve begun reclaiming outposts lost to the Adal. The shipbuilders are working tirelessly.
Our soldiers now march with conviction. We’ve seen people from villages as far as Wollo and Tigray come forward to enlist. They speak of Khisa not as a foreigner, but as one of us. A liberator.
The memory of what he has done is being etched into every border stone. We are ready to push forward.
Prince Khisa intends to go back to Nuri after this part of the mission. He encourages us to keep pushing the Adal and we will win this war.
We await your command.
The Emperor placed the letter down slowly, his brows furrowed in contemplation.
"Call General Mekonnen. The army must march to the Adal borders. We’ve lost many, but more are joining the cause. Khisa has given Abyssinia new life, and we will not fail him."
He leaned back, his gaze heavy with the weight of a ruler’s responsibilities. "It’s too bad that he plans to leave so soon."
The Prime Minister folded his hands behind his back, nodding. "I believe Prince Khisa has done all he can. If he stays, we may lean too heavily on him. We still have our pride. We must win this war with the tools he has given us."
The Emperor’s eyes flicked to the window where the flags of Abyssinia fluttered in the breeze.
"You are right, my friend. Still... would we have even survived without his help?"
The Prime Minister didn’t answer immediately. Then: "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But survival is not just a matter of strength. It is also timing. And fate. The Prince must return to his home and strengthen it further."
The Emperor laughed suddenly, the sound warm and rare. "If anything, I’m glad I sent Tadesse to him. He has grown into a leader I can trust with Abyssinia when I am gone. I was worried, truly."
"It is good to see Prince Tadesse rise to the occasion," the Prime Minister said with a smile. "He will make a fine general."
"That he will," Gelawdewos nodded. Then his eyes twinkled mischievously. "I wonder if Azenet will be willing to marry Khisa."
The Prime Minister stifled a laugh. "Your Majesty, matters of love are best left to the young. If you push her too hard, Princess Azenet might end up hating you."
The Emperor looked genuinely taken aback. "Hate me? No... that was never the plan."
"Then let them choose each other freely."
The Emperor sighed, a little dejected. "Perhaps... I won’t do anything. Let the gods guide them."
Outside the palace, drums echoed faintly in the distance—preparations for war. But within, peace stirred. The kind of peace born from trust, and the first faint roots of legacy.