The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 63 - A Future Worth Fighting For

The journey to Kilwa took seven long days.

Through forest and field, Malik and Simiyu rode ahead of the Nuri and Kilwa army, leaving the bulk of the troops behind at a fragile ceasefire. The borderlands still simmered with tension—both sides uncertain whether to trust the silence after so much blood. But they needed to see Kilwa for themselves. They needed to confirm what Simiyu told them: that the Sultan was dead, that the city had fallen, and that Lusweti swore to take it back.

Malik barely slept. Every hoofbeat felt like a hammer striking his pride. He remembered Kilwa’s golden age—its domed mosques, the scent of spice and salt from the sea breeze, the bustle of trade, diplomacy, and dignity. It was the crown of the Swahili coast. But what would they find now?

When they reached Kilwa’s outskirts, a haunting stillness awaited them.

Blackened ruins stretched as far as the eye could see. Buildings had collapsed inward like they were trying to hide from the sky. The famed market was now a field of ash, stalls shattered and bones peeking from the soot. The palace—once a gleaming marvel—lay partially collapsed, its walls charred and defaced.

Malik dismounted, stunned. His eyes scanned the broken skyline. His jaw clenched.

"This..." he whispered. "This was Kilwa."

Simiyu stood beside him, silent. But his silence carried weight—not shock, but solemnity. He knew Lusweti had done what had to be done. King Lusweti had never once failed to stick to his word.

They passed a burned cart, the skeletal remains of chains still hanging from its side. Further in, they saw survivors clearing rubble—men, women, and children with soot-streaked faces and bloodied hands. There were small signs of order returning: makeshift clinics, water barrels, and rough sketches of new construction drawn in chalk on walls. Nuri’s flag fluttered in the breeze, and young warriors patrolled, their eyes sharp but their gazes kind.

Malik stopped a boy who was sweeping ash off a broken step.

"What happened here?" he asked quietly.

The boy looked up. He couldn’t have been older than ten, but his eyes carried too many winters.

"The Sultan was killed before the fighting started," he said. "Almeida’s mercenaries turned on him. Slaughtered his guards. Took the city. Turned us into slaves. My mother was killed, she shielded me when those monsters tried to take me."

He paused, jaw trembling, then steadied himself.

"But King Lusweti came. He freed us. Killed Almeida himself. Set the slaves free. He saved us. He was like a god. "

Malik felt his stomach twist. "The Sultan is really dead?"

"Yes," the boy said. "They left his body hanging in the palace for days."

Simiyu’s lips tightened. "So the mercenaries we killed were right."

Malik stared at the child. "And Almeida’s mercenaries?"

The boy looked past him, toward the eastern hills. "Gone. King Lusweti and the Nuri warriors hunted them down after the rescue. Not one left breathing."

Simiyu gave a sharp nod. "They had their chance to surrender. They spat on it."

Malik said nothing. His gaze lingered on a row of graves freshly dug. Women knelt beside them, hands pressed to mounds of dirt. A soft chant rose in the wind—mournful and proud.

The man who had been Kilwa’s general could not speak. He had defended the Sultan. He had worked with Almeida’s men. And now... all that remained of his city were ashes and songs.

They rode toward the palace ruins where, they were told, Lusweti was overseeing the rebuilding.

When they arrived, they found him surrounded by workers and scribes. His face was gaunt with fatigue, one arm bound tightly in a sling. But his posture was unbroken, and his eyes burned with purpose.

Lusweti looked up as they approached. For a moment, he simply watched them. Then a tired smile curved his lips.

"You came."

Simiyu dismounted and clasped his hand. "The army is holding the ceasefire. We needed to see for ourselves."

"And we did," Malik said, voice low.

Lusweti’s smile faded. He looked toward the wreckage.

"This was no battle," he said. "It was a slaughter. By the time we arrived, the Sultan had already been executed by his own hired blades. They had chained the people in their homes. Some were waiting to be sold. Others... didn’t survive that long."

Malik felt hollow. "I should’ve seen it."

"You weren’t the only one who didn’t," Lusweti said gently. "They planned this for months. A quiet coup. When it began, there were no declarations. Just fire and steel."

Simiyu stepped forward. "You killed Almeida?"

"With my own hands," Lusweti replied. "He was a cruel man. Saw himself as King. Even in his last breath he never begged for mercy. Thought himself as above us to the very end."

Simiyu grunted. "No remorse even after all the lives he took. What a monster."

There was a heavy silence. Malik could not meet Lusweti’s eyes.

"I failed this city," Malik said. "I protected the wrong men. I let wolves into the palace."

"You trusted your Sultan," Lusweti said. "Loyalty isn’t a weakness, Malik. But blind loyalty is a knife turned inward."

Malik looked around at the battered city, the graves, the wounded. "What do you plan to do with Kilwa?"

Lusweti took a moment before responding.

"Kilwa is now part of Nuri. But not as a vassal. As a home. These people bled beside us. They deserve a future. We’ll rebuild their schools, their markets, their mosques. No more sultans, no more foreign masters. We’ll govern together—Nuri and Kilwa—through council and fairness."

"And the soldiers?" Malik asked. "The ones who followed the Sultan?"

"You plan to keep them?" Malik asked, incredulous. "They betrayed their own. They followed Almeida and the Sultan. Some of them burned their neighbors alive."

"They were misled," Lusweti answered. "Not unlike you were. Should we kill them all?"

Malik’s face hardened. "I tortured the Nuri delegates. I deserve no mercy."

"And you will receive none," Lusweti said. "But the soldiers? The people? They deserve a second chance. We cannot build a united kingdom on the bones of the fallen. Forgiveness is harder than death, Malik. To serve Nuri now is to atone."

"You’re a fool," Malik snapped, emotion rising. "This naivety will be your downfall. You should execute every man who raised arms against you!"

Lusweti tilted his head, calm. "And if I kill them all, what remains? We become the very monsters we swore to fight. You speak of strength, but mercy requires more courage than vengeance ever will."

Malik shook his head. "They’ll never follow you. They’ll turn on you the moment you falter."

"No," Lusweti said, "they’ll follow you."

"Many are just young men serving their country. We have both lost too many men in this pointless battle. The kilwan army will be part of Nuri. They bled together in battle, they will learn to fight side by side. They’ll be given the option to serve Nuri—or walk away."

Malik frowned. "You’re offering them forgiveness?"

"I’m offering them a path forward," Lusweti said. "Forgiveness isn’t forgetting. But it’s choosing not to become the very cruelty we fought."

Simiyu nodded, proud. "You showed them something their Sultan never could—honor."

Malik’s face twitched. His pride—his certainty—was unraveling.

"And what of me?" he asked quietly.

Lusweti looked at him. "You can help lead Kilwa’s rebirth. The Kilwan soldiers trust you, they followed you into battle and once you make your decision they will follow you again."

"They trusted me to protect them from exactly what happened," Malik replied bitterly. "Why would they follow me again?"

"Because you stayed," Lusweti said. "You didn’t run. You came back to look them in the eye. That counts. You saw a chance to end the bloodshed, you chose to follow Simiyu here to confirm the state of this nation, that alone is enough to prove your worth as a leader."

Malik looked toward the sea. The sun was beginning to set behind the shattered skyline. Despite everything, the water still shimmered gold. And he thought, perhaps, this city could shimmer again too.

"I will try," Malik said at last. "For them."

Lusweti nodded. "That’s all I ask."

"You’re the general they trust. They’ve seen you fight. They’ve bled under your command. You can lead them. Guide them. Prove that Nuri is worth fighting for. Your sins won’t be forgotten—but they can be redeemed."

Malik fell silent.

He thought of the Sultan—greedy, power-hungry, blind to the people’s pain. And now he looked at Lusweti, standing bloodied but unbowed among the rubble, rebuilding not just a city, but a future.

"You’re a madman," Malik muttered. "An idealist. The world will devour you."

Lusweti only smiled. "If I fall, let it be in the service of something greater. But I will not build my kingdom on hatred and fear."

Malik looked away, conflicted. Everything he believed about leadership, strength, power—it was being undone before his eyes. And yet... a part of him, buried deep, longed to believe Lusweti might be right.

"You really think there’s still a future here?" he asked.

Lusweti looked over the ruins, where children played between the stones and widows carried bricks side by side with soldiers.

"There has to be," he said softly. "Otherwise, we have nothing left to fight for."