"Chief, do you really think they will help us?" a young warrior questioned, voice heavy with doubt.
"We have no choice but to have faith. God has yet to abandon us," the chief said, trying to reassure him.
"You saw how they came—they killed with no hesitation. Their leader, that Prince, wields that large axe like it’s just a stick. If they decide to turn on us, we will never survive that."
The old man sighed. "I understand your fear. They came like a storm, like spirits from some ancient tale. But at the end of the day, they saved us. How many of us would have died today if they hadn’t arrived? It’s only a matter of time before our entire village becomes a graveyard. We have prayed for salvation every single day. Maybe this is God’s answer."
The warrior didn’t reply. The weight of silence pressed between them.
The chief’s gaze turned upward. "If this is the only chance we have to save our people, we might as well take it. The emperor has not responded to our pleas. The Adal have surrounded our kingdom, taking and slaughtering one village at a time. Maybe this time... the Lord has not forgotten us."
Khisa and his Shadows rode east, cutting through the night like silent phantoms. They traveled in silence, their horses well-trained to tread lightly. Each warrior kept their weapon ready, senses sharp.
The faint grey trails curled into the dark sky. They crouched atop a ridge and looked down. Below them, tucked in the hills like a cancerous wound, was the Adal camp.
Dozens of tents. Campfires. Muskets stacked in racks. Laughing soldiers. Screams.
Khisa clenched his fists. In the center of the camp were cages. Women. Bruised. Bloodied. Chained. Some sat silently, eyes glassy. Others sobbed softly. One woman stared into nothing, lips murmuring a prayer no one could hear. Updates are released by novel·fiɾe·net
The Shadows didn’t speak, but their rage was palpable. Naliaka’s grip tightened around her short sword. Ndengu’s jaw clenched as he adjusted the weight of his club. The archers looked to Khisa, awaiting the signal.
Khisa raised a fist. "We go in silent. Archers first. When the chaos begins, we move in like a flood."
Inside the Adal camp, the leader—a tall man named Faris—sat laughing with his commanders.
"These Christians cry so sweetly when they’re broken," he said with a sneer, raising a mug.
Then the first arrow struck.
One of his men collapsed face-first into the fire.
Another arrow sliced through a throat. A musket dropped. Screams erupted.
"What the—TO ARMS!" Faris shouted, scrambling to his feet.
The Shadows surged in.
Ndengu was the first to break the line, swinging his heavy club with terrifying speed. Bones shattered. Men flew.
Naliaka was a blur of motion, slashing with precision, dancing between foes like smoke. Her blades gleamed in the firelight.
Khisa stormed toward the center, his axe cleaving through armor like it was paper. He spotted Faris drawing a curved sword and charged.
They clashed—metal on metal, sparks flying. Faris fought hard, but Khisa fought with purpose. With fury. For the women. For the people.
Nearby, a young Adal soldier reached for a musket—an arrow pierced his hand, followed by another into his chest.
The captives in the cages stirred. One woman, despite her pain, crawled toward the bars to watch. The storm had arrived.
Naliaka reached the cages first, breaking the locks with a dagger. "You’re safe now. We’re here."
The women burst into tears. Some clung to the Shadows. Others dropped to their knees, overcome.
Khisa dodged a strike and swung low, his axe catching Faris in the side. The commander staggered, gasping. "Who... are you?"
"I am Khisa Lusweti. Prince of Nuri. And your nightmare."
He brought the axe down in one final strike.
The battlefield fell silent.
Bodies littered the ground. Blood mixed with mud. The air was thick with smoke, metal, and something else—hope.
The Shadows regrouped, standing tall. Not one had fallen.
Khisa looked back at the cages. At the freed women. At the villagers who had known only despair.
"Take their weapons. Burn the rest."
He turned to the hills. Dawn was approaching.
The night was thick with smoke, blood, and silence. Not the silence of peace—but of aftermath.
Khisa stood over the last fallen Adal soldier, his axe dripping red. He looked to his warriors—some wounded, others breathless, all bloodied. But they were alive.
The cages were broken open. The women inside—emaciated, bruised, their eyes wild with fear—flinched when hands reached for them. But it was Naliaka who stepped forward, slowly removing her helmet.
"You’re safe now," she said softly, kneeling. Her words were foreign to them, but her gentleness was not. The woman closest to the bars, a young mother with a swollen eye, crawled out on trembling knees.
She scanned the battlefield, tears welling. These people—these warriors—had appeared like shadows and brought fire with them.
She had been praying for death. After the third night, when they came to take her again, she begged for her soul to be taken instead. But tonight... tonight the night screamed back. She had watched the one with the huge axe cleave through her captors like judgment itself. The woman with daggers moved like a spirit of vengeance, and when the giant with a club roared, the hills themselves echoed.
Now, crouched beside a stranger with kind eyes, she tried to speak—but only sobs came.
She was alive. For the first time in weeks, she felt... alive.
The Shadows sat around a fire.
They didn’t speak at first. The adrenaline had faded, but the rage still buzzed beneath their skin.
Akumu was sharpening his spear. There was blood in his beard. "Those men... those monsters. I’ve seen cruelty, but that—" He didn’t finish.
Naliaka’s hands were shaking. "They chained them like cattle. I could see it in their eyes—they had given up. What kind of world lets that happen?"
Khisa stood a little distance away, his back to the fire. "This world," he said darkly. "That’s why we’re here. That’s why we can’t turn back."
"They’ll send more," Nia, one of the archers said grimly. "Once they find out what we did."
"Let them," Khisa said, turning back to them. His voice was quiet but carried weight. "We’ll bury them too."
The shadows nodded, fury still boiling in their chests—but now, channeled.
At dawn, the chief and a group of warriors arrived to find the Adal camp turned into ash. They saw the battered women being tended to, and the Shadows cleaning blood from their weapons.
The chief dismounted, stunned. "You... you did this in one night?"
Khisa simply nodded. "This is what happens when Nuri rises."
The old chief bowed his head. "I will find a way to help you meet with the Emperor. He will want to meet you."
Khisa’s eyes narrowed toward the mountains. "Good. Because I have much to say."