The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 140 - A Path Forward

The sun cast a golden sheen over the new towns as Khisa rode beside Azenet, his hand lightly resting on hers as their horses trotted in rhythm. The land was changing, steadily transforming under their care. Every few miles, newly constructed homes rose proudly beside leveled roads and community centers. Children ran about, their laughter trailing through the breeze, and the smell of fresh earth and wood lingered in the air like a promise.

"This one here," Khisa said, pointing toward a bustling settlement, "we call Wendo. It’s mostly made up of former nomads and displaced families from the east. They chose the name—it means ’journey’ in their tongue."

Azenet smiled, her eyes lingering on the neat rows of homes. "It’s beautiful. There’s something hopeful in the way they build here."

"They’re not just building houses," Khisa said. "They’re building roots. For the first time in a long time, they believe they’ll stay."

She turned her gaze to him, her voice soft. "And what are you building, Khisa?"

He chuckled, the warmth of her presence softening the edge of the question. "A future. With you in it, hopefully."

She leaned her head against his shoulder briefly. "You have such dreams... I don’t know if I deserve to be part of them."

He stopped his horse. She looked at him in surprise, but Khisa reached out and touched her cheek gently. "Azenet, if there’s anyone who deserves to be part of my dreams—it’s you. You’ve survived war, led people through chaos, and still... you look at the world with hope. Don’t ever doubt your place in my future."

They rode on, their hearts a little lighter.

Their next stop was Malindi, the seat of King Lusweti. The port bustled with quiet order, trade flowing like lifeblood through the city, but what caught Azenet most was the calm. There were no soldiers patrolling with suspicious eyes. No barking orders or crackling tension in the air. Just peace.

She stood on a pier for a long time, watching boats rock gently on the tide. Tears welled in her eyes.

"I didn’t think I would cry," she whispered, trying to laugh it off.

Khisa stood beside her in silence, letting her speak.

"This... this stillness. I forgot what it felt like. Massawa doesn’t sleep, Khisa. Zeila doesn’t even breathe. But here... people dream."

He took her hand. "They will too, one day. When you return, you’ll bring that hope with you. And I’ll be behind you every step of the way."

They spent several more days together—days filled with long walks, quiet meals, playful teasing, and deep conversations about philosophy, politics, and life. They stole hours in gardens, mocked each other’s terrible singing, and dared each other into games the local children played. ƒreewebɳovel.com

Finally, the morning of her departure arrived. A group of skilled Nuri road workers stood ready to accompany her back. They would begin carving out the long road north—a road that would take years to complete, but one that would link their worlds forever.

"I wish I could bring you with me in my saddlebag," Azenet teased, adjusting her shawl.

Khisa grinned. "If I could fit, I would. But I promise you this—when that road is ready, I’ll be on it with a dowry so big, your father will have to build another storehouse."

She laughed, even as tears gathered. "Don’t make me wait too long, Khisa. I’m already dreaming of us."

They embraced, tightly, like the world might end if they let go too soon.

That night, Khisa sat in his room in Lusimba. The room was quiet, but his mind was loud.

Ayaan... I need construction manuals. Wood crafting techniques. Everything you’ve got. I need to start building and teaching better methods. Our people are skilled, but we can do more—we have to do more.

[Yes, of course.]

The information flowed into his mind like a river breaking its dam. Schematics, joinery methods, timber preservation processes, modular construction, roofing angles, pulley systems—it was all there. Detailed. Precise.

He let out a long breath. As always, I will put this to good use.

By morning, Khisa was already in motion. He gathered local carpenters and blacksmiths, presenting new ideas like a proud teacher unveiling secrets.

"This method here," he explained, pointing to a wooden framework drawn in the dirt, "allows walls to breathe in humid areas. Less mold. Stronger frame. You can stain the wood with oil we make from boiled seeds—it’ll last five times longer."

Many craftsmen nodded, intrigued. A few even clapped his back, eager to try the new techniques.

But not everyone was impressed.

"We’ve built homes longer than you’ve been alive," one elder carpenter grunted. "Let the trees tell us how they want to be shaped."

Khisa simply smiled. "And you should keep doing that. But the world is changing. We either adapt or we stay behind."

He made no fuss. The stubborn were welcome to their ways. He didn’t need to win everyone—just enough to start the ripple.

Soon after, Khisa decided to officially move to the capital’s construction zone. A plot of land had already been set aside for him within the palace compound. He visited his mother and sister one last time before leaving.

His mother kissed his forehead. "You’re always running off to build something. Just remember to rest."

"I will," he promised, though they both knew he wouldn’t.

Nanjala smirked. "You’ll miss me shouting orders."

He winked. "Not a chance. I’ll have peace now."

They hugged tightly. And then he was off.

The capital was alive with movement—bricklayers, stonecutters, architects drawing on hides, and young apprentices running errands. Khisa dove into the fray with joy. He was everywhere—helping set foundations, checking water flow, overseeing construction, and sketching long-term layout plans.

Meanwhile, King Lusweti remained in Malindi, deeply focused on the Portuguese threat to the south. Khisa respected his father’s choice to hold that front. Their roles were set—Lusweti guarded the borders; Khisa built the heart.

Elsewhere, in a secluded valley near Mount Nyare, the Shadows had gathered.

Naliaka led the Mkono wa Giza with fierce determination. The Drift Squad, finally reunited, brought fresh energy. Together, the group of 300 trained in silence, their minds sharpened, their bodies forged. They were preparing for missions years in the future, and Khisa trusted them completely.

A few days later, Khisa made his way to the secluded mountains where the Mkono wa Giza trained. The path twisted through dense forests and narrow ridges, but the view was worth it—up here, the air was sharp, and the world below looked distant and peaceful.

The training grounds were alive with energy. Young warriors sparred under the watchful eye of Naliaka, while others ran drills led by the original Shadow Guard. The sound of sticks clashing, war cries, and synchronized movements filled the air.

As Khisa stepped into the clearing, silence rippled across the camp. Naliaka walked over, her braids tied back, face slick with sweat and a proud gleam in her eyes.

"You came to see your army?" she teased, handing him a water gourd.

Khisa took a sip, his gaze sweeping across the determined young faces. "No... I came to see your army," he said with a small smile.

Naliaka raised an eyebrow. "Giving up command already?"

He nodded. "I’ve done my part. You and the others have more than earned the right to lead this next generation. I’m officially handing over the Shadow Guard to all of you. I want you to mold the Mkono wa Giza in your image—not mine."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the camp.

"But I’ll still be watching," Khisa added, his voice deepening. "The best among you... will be promoted. Not just into leadership roles, but into the Shadows themselves."

That turned heads.

"You mean—?" asked one of the recruits, barely out of his teens.

"Yes," Khisa confirmed. "The Shadow Guard will no longer be a fixed squad. It will be an elite order—open only to those who prove themselves in body, mind, and loyalty. The greatest honor you can receive is to be chosen by your teachers to stand beside them as equals."

The energy shifted. Training suddenly had a new purpose.

Naliaka placed a hand on his shoulder. "They’ll make you proud."

"I know they will," Khisa replied, his chest swelling with pride. "We’re not just building warriors anymore. We’re building legacies."

He stayed until the sun began to dip behind the ridges, watching them train, listening to their laughter, their battle cries, their dreams taking shape. When he left, he felt lighter. The future was in good hands.

He watched them from a distance, pride swelling in his chest.

They’ve all come so far... we’ve all come so far.

And the people? They were changing too. New ideas were sprouting like rain-fed grass. Children asked questions. Traders experimented. Tribes that once warred now shared harvests. Faiths coexisted without fear.

Lines once drawn in blood and fire began to blur.

Khisa knew the world wasn’t healed. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe peace would last forever.

But as he stood atop the stone foundation of what would one day be his home, the sun setting over a capital still under construction, he allowed himself one small, defiant thought:

We have a chance.