The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 121 - The Turning Tide

With the ink still drying on the treaty of eternal light, the council chamber remained thick with anticipation. The scent of spices and parchment lingered, but the mood was electric. Nuri and Abyssinia had just taken a defiant stand against one of the most powerful empires in the world.

"We need to plan out our next steps," Khisa said, rising to address the room. "With the Portuguese temporarily out of our way, we must accelerate our plans. The port is stronger than ever, but I still need more time. Once we are ready, the Ottomans will withdraw."

A noble seated near the center scoffed. "Excuse me, Prince Khisa. This is the first I’m hearing of naval operations. You sanctioned this, Your Majesty? Without the nobles’ approval?"

The Emperor’s gaze was steady. "I had to take decisive action. Our ports were ransacked. We were surrounded. With him there, we have breathing room. I understand that we lead this empire together, but the situation called for absolute secrecy. I asked Khisa to lead the operations. And so far, we’ve been more than successful."

He turned toward the skeptical nobles. "I now request that you send men to support our efforts. Prince Khisa is in desperate need of manpower."

Khisa remained silent, reading the room. He knew some of these men had ties to the Adal, deliberately undermining Abyssinia’s stability. But that was part of the plan—his plan. Let them send their spies. Let them believe they had access. The false intel would only lead them in circles while Abyssinia advanced beneath their noses.

The nobles, unaware of the trap, exchanged smiles like predators circling prey. To them, this was a golden opportunity to sabotage the Emperor’s authority from within.

The meeting adjourned.

Tadesse wandered the palace corridors, quiet and lost in thought. Despite the golden mosaics and polished marble, the halls felt heavier than they once did. His steps slowed as memories surfaced—his old self, brash and entitled, drunk on privilege.

He remembered the day his father summoned him to speak about Assab.

"You will travel to Assab," his father had said sternly. "You’ll learn from Prince Khisa."

Tadesse had rolled his eyes then, annoyed. "Why him? I am of royal blood. What could I possibly learn from a man raised by villagers?"

"You will learn humility. Discipline. Insight," his father had replied. "You have the title, Tadesse, but you must earn the crown."

He chuckled to himself now, remembering how furious he’d been. Back then, he had been a spoiled prince—entitled, arrogant, and ignorant of the world’s true nature.

But now? Everything had changed.

Khisa had dragged him into the mud, into the truth. No silk robes or titles had protected him there. He had seen hunger. Heard the cries of the wounded. Held the hand of a dying soldier who once worshipped him as a royal.

And now here he was. No longer the boy he used to be.

"Tadesse!" a familiar voice called out.

His uncle, Prince Wossen, strode toward him with open arms and a polished smile.

"How have you been? I haven’t seen you in ages."

"I’ve been well, Uncle. The world is definitely... vast," Tadesse replied, his tone calm but guarded.

Wossen fell in step beside him, voice smooth and affectionate. "It changes you, doesn’t it? Seeing what lies beyond the comfort of our palace walls."

He gave a paternal chuckle. "But tell me, what do you make of this Prince Khisa? I’ve only just heard about him. Don’t you think your father’s decisions are... short-sighted? The Portuguese are an established power. Their backing would surely benefit us more than some foreign prince’s ideals."

It was a test.

Tadesse tilted his head, feigning thought.

"The Emperor has his reasons," he said, evasive.

Wossen continued, his voice lowering conspiratorially. "Of course. But between us... Your father is aging. He’s too sentimental. We need practical allies—ones with ships, guns, trade routes. These dreams of uniting tribes and opposing empires? They’re noble, but dangerous. I worry for your future, Tadesse."

He placed a hand on the prince’s shoulder. "And you, my boy... you were always meant to rule. Imagine it—you on the throne, with me by your side. Guiding you. Protecting you. You wouldn’t need to get your hands dirty like that Khisa does. No mud, no blood. Just command and respect."

Tadesse gave a soft laugh, almost wistful.

"I wonder..." he said quietly, "If I were Emperor right now, would I have had the foresight to turn down the Portuguese?"

Wossen leaned in, his smile widening.

But then Tadesse turned to face him fully. His expression had sharpened.

"Uncle, I trust my father’s judgment. I’ve spent time with Prince Khisa. His insight is always spot on. He wants freedom—true freedom—for our people. And the Abyssinian royal family will back him up, no matter what."

Wossen’s face stiffened.

Tadesse continued, his voice rising with clarity. "Your words sound noble, but they’re only masked ambition. I was part of your games for too long. You never saw me as a leader, only a puppet."

"Tadesse—"

"I saw the people suffer, Uncle. I saw the graves, the starvation. You told me the war wasn’t as bad as it seemed. That I’d have an easy rule if I just left everything to the nobles. But Khisa showed me the truth—raw and unfiltered. And now? I won’t be your pawn."

He took a step closer, his voice like flint striking stone.

"I suggest you get on board with the new style of leadership. Or you’ll be left behind."

And just like that, he walked away, leaving Prince Wossen frozen in place.

Tadesse didn’t look back.

His heart pounded, not from fear—but from something else. Relief. Resolution.

That was the first time I spoke to him like that. He’d always cowered behind politeness, behind obligation. But now? Now he felt the invisible chains drop, one by one.

He was no longer Wossen’s heir. He was his own man.

And the next time he stood beside Prince Khisa or his father in battle—political or otherwise—he would do so not as a shadow of their power, but as a light in his own right.

Later that night...

In a dimly lit chamber lined with maps and coded letters, Prince Wossen seethed.

"That damned brat is ruining everything," he hissed through clenched teeth. His hands trembled with restrained fury as he penned a swift message.

"To all our noble allies: the situation has changed. We must act before the Empire slips fully from our grasp."

He sealed the note with his personal crest and handed it to his most trusted courier.

Damage control had begun.

But the tides were turning—and not in his favor.