The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 126 - The Weight of Freedom

The morning sun poured soft golden light through the tall windows of the repurposed office building where the rescued had been sheltered. The scent of warm flatbread and honeyed tea lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly washed clothes and the salt-kissed breeze from the nearby ocean. For many, it was the first time in years they had awoken without chains biting into their flesh or the bark of a slaver’s whip greeting their ears.

Despite the comfort, a blanket of uncertainty still clung to the group. They sat close together on woven mats, shoulders touching, eyes cautious. Some stared ahead in silence. Others whispered among themselves, their voices fragile as porcelain.

A gentle knock at the door startled them all slightly. When it opened, a young woman stepped in. Her presence was calm, her steps measured. She wore a neatly wrapped cream-colored hijab and a robe the color of desert rose. She held a tablet carved from polished wood and a small leather-bound book at her side. Her voice, when she spoke, was both polite and grounded with authority.

"Peace be upon you. My name is Fatimah. I’ve been sent to guide you through your next steps. Have you selected a representative to speak for your group?"

A tall, wiry man stood up, his eyes filled with wary resolve. "Yes. I am Mahmoud. I will speak for us."

Fatimah nodded gently. "Thank you, Mahmoud. Please don’t be afraid. I’m not here to command you—only to answer your questions and help you understand your new life here. His Majesty is away tending to matters of war, but he hasn’t forgotten you."

There was a pause. Then, a young woman seated at the back raised her hand slowly. Her voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Please... can you tell us about this place? About Nuri?"

Fatimah’s eyes softened. She moved closer and sat cross-legged beside them, as if to make herself small and approachable.

"Of course," she began. "Right now, you are in Malindi Port—once the seat of the Kilwa Sultanate. The history here is soaked in blood and ash. I lived through it. Our Sultan... he was cruel. He and the nobles grew fat while our people starved. Gold flowed from our shores, but none of it reached our tables. The foreigners ruled us without ever setting foot in our homes. They trafficked our people like cattle and made mockery of our sovereignty."

She paused, her voice tightening just slightly.

"Then came the war. The Sultan, in his arrogance, challenged the Nuri Kingdom. He mocked their ideals of freedom. He sent the full force of our army to crush them. What came next... was devastation. The foreigners, our so-called ’allies,’ turned on us. They burned homes with children still inside. They strung up anyone who resisted. I lost my son in that fire. My husband was buried beneath the rubble of our house."

The silence in the room grew thick. A few people bowed their heads. A young boy near the door wiped his eyes with the edge of his tunic.

"Then came Khayo Lusweti," she said, her voice steadier now, "with only ten warriors. They faced a force five times their number. And they did not falter. The mercenaries we had feared for so long... they were defeated in a single night. Not with cruelty—but with precision and mercy. When it was over, the king spoke to us. He told us our chains were broken—not just the ones around our wrists, but those around our spirits."

Fatimah’s eyes glistened, but her smile was steady.

"He said we were Nurians now. That there would be no more ’them’ and ’us.’ Just us. Reinforcements arrived soon after. Farmers, doctors, builders, even children... they came to help us rebuild. Even the soldiers who had once attacked Nuri were forgiven—given land and work. Their past wiped clean. The king said, ’Your loyalty today matters more than your sins yesterday.’ And we believed him."

A stunned quiet settled across the room. Then Mahmoud whispered, "It... sounds like a dream."

Fatimah looked at him directly. "It was a dream once. But now it is real. You can live freely here. From this moment forward, your lives are your own. If you choose to walk away today, no one will chase you."

Several people gasped softly. One woman clutched her scarf tighter around her shoulders.

"The king mentioned work," Mahmoud said. "What does that mean for us?"

Fatimah nodded. "We need many hands to build Nuri. There are jobs in construction, farming, blacksmithing, weaving, trade. You can become merchants or artisans. You can even join the navy, the army, or internal security—we call them the Watchers. They protect peace within the cities. There is alos recruitment for the new special unit."

A young man sitting near the front raised his hand. "You mentioned a special unit?"

"Yes," Fatimah replied. "It’s called Mkono wa Giza—the Hand of Darkness. A difficult training path for those aged between fifteen and twenty-one. They’re trained by a group called the Shadow Guard. You cannot join the Guard directly—it’s reserved for a unit hand-picked by the prince. But the Mkono recruits train under them and serve Nuri in critical missions."

"Is it because of the prince that we’re free now?" someone else asked, her voice shaking with hope.

Fatimah gave a small smile. "Yes. He has been away for many years—most of us haven’t met him. But even in the shadows, he watches over us. He planned this entire operation. Without him, your ship might never have been intercepted. He believes every soul saved is a weapon against the slavers’ power."

A hush fell over the room once more. Then Mahmoud spoke, his voice resolute.

"We will trust you. If we are truly free... then please help us learn your ways. We don’t want to be burdens. We want to belong."

Fatimah stood, her heart swelling with emotion. "Then we will teach you. I’ll arrange transportation to your new home—a town just inland. You’ll find water, fields, and safety there. A school will be built, and you’ll attend evening classes in reading, writing, and finance. You’ll have everything you need to become strong... and free."

As she stepped outside to finalize the arrangements, the room remained quiet.

Then, slowly, a woman began to sob. Not from pain, but from something she could not name. A man nearby placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, and soon others wept softly around her.

For the first time in years, they weren’t crying from fear or grief.

They were crying because, at last, the word freedom no longer felt like a cruel joke.

It felt real.

And for the first time in a long time, they could breathe without flinching.