The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 67 - The Weight We Carry

While King Lusweti was making moves back in Nuri, Khisa and the Shadow Guard were still travelling and training.

During their journey, they encountered several remote villages. Some welcomed them as guests with cautious kindness, offering roasted yams and fermented milk; others met them with stone-cold stares, hands gripping spears, eyes brimming with suspicion. Regardless of the reception, they never stopped speaking of Nuri.

They had spent years away from home. Seasons passed with no familiar laughter, no smell of simmering stews from their mothers’ kitchens, no festivals under the night sky. Many were homesick, but none dared say it aloud—at least, not until now. Despite the ache in their bones and the weight on their spirits, the thought of abandoning their mission hadn’t yet fully crossed their minds.

Khisa’s words echoed in their memories like firelight flickering in the dark. His determination to forge them into warriors unrivaled by any living soul was what pushed them forward. It reminded them of purpose. Of why they were still breathing.

Nuri was depending on them. They had to be strong.

One night, under a sky heavy with stars and silence, they rested by a small fire. The flames hissed and popped as dew settled on nearby leaves. Shadows danced across their tired faces. Khisa had left them to scout ahead, part of a routine they’d come to expect. They had to be prepared for anything. In these wild lands, silence could be a warning. Bandits didn’t send invitations.

Tiriki sat slightly apart from the group, knees pulled up, arms crossed tightly across his scarred forearms. The burn of new cuts from survival drills still throbbed under the wrappings. He stared into the fire, its glow reflecting the turbulence in his eyes.

"We’ve been on the road for years," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Doing nothing but train. When will we go back home?" frёewebnoѵēl.com

The words hit the others like a cold gust. Tiriki’s jaw tightened, and he slammed his fist into the hard earth. "For all we know, Prince Khisa is leading us to our deaths."

The crack of his voice, sharp and bitter, cut through the stillness.

The other Shadows turned to him, disbelief washing over their faces. Ndengu’s eyes narrowed. His tall frame moved with purpose as he stood and marched toward Tiriki, his shadow falling over him.

"How dare you say that about him?" Ndengu roared, his voice a booming echo in the quiet forest. He grabbed Tiriki by the collar, lifting him slightly.

"After everything he’s done for our people—!"

"Ndengu, stop!" Akumu shouted, rushing between them. He shoved them apart, his palms pressed against both chests. His heartbeat thudded in his ears like war drums. "Both of you, calm down."

But Ndengu’s rage spilled over. "Khisa has done nothing but bleed for Nuri. He’s carrying the future of our world on his back, and you complain about a few years of hardship?"

He tore away from Akumu’s grip and stepped forward again, fists clenched, lips curled with fury.

"If you don’t believe in what we’re doing—then leave! Go back home. You’re not shackled here."

Tiriki’s lips parted, but no words came out. His pride warred with exhaustion, and in his silence, Zuberi stood.

"Enough!" Zuberi’s voice was low but powerful, like distant thunder.

"Is this what the Shadow Guard has been reduced to? Squabbling like children?" Her dark eyes swept across them. "Tiriki, I get it. We’ve all missed home. We’ve all endured this madness together. The mountains nearly froze us. The desert nearly broke us. And the forest nearly ate us alive. We’ve all walked through the fire."

She stepped closer, voice steady. "You were there when those slavers took our people. You remember the screaming. The chains. The helplessness. That’s why we’re here—to make sure Nuri never feels that again."

Tiriki’s lip trembled, and he finally snapped, "Shut up, Zuberi! All Khisa wants is to be king. Why should we be the ones to suffer for his dream?"

Naliaka, who had been sharpening her blade quietly in the background, stood slowly. The scraping sound of metal against stone stopped.

"Tiriki, none of us were forced to come. We chose this path." Her eyes gleamed with restrained fury. "Khisa chose us because we were the best of our generation. Because of him, we’ve learned more than we could have in a lifetime—tactics, diplomacy, economics. Without Khisa, we’d still be chasing goats and dying in petty clan wars. Because of him, our small village became a kingdom. And you think you have the right to complain?"

Her voice cracked slightly. "We’re all tired. But don’t disrespect what we’ve bled for."

A quiet rustle came from the trees. Khisa stepped into the firelight.

He’d heard everything.

’I pushed them too hard,’ he thought bitterly.

[It’s understandable, Khisa. The future is not very kind to Africa. You’re trying to help them survive,] Ayaan’s voice echoed within.

’I know. But in my haste, I forgot—they’re still young. Still human. They need to laugh. To fall in love. To dream. I still have so much to learn as a leader.’

[You always have the opportunity to grow.]

Khisa stepped forward. "That’s enough. Sit down."

The command wasn’t angry, but heavy. They obeyed without a word, settling back around the fire. Their faces were cast in amber and shadow, silence hanging thick.

"I know we miss home," Khisa began, voice raw. "All of us miss our parents. The warmth of our beds. Training every day with no rest... it’s not easy."

He looked around the circle, eyes lingering on each of them. "But we saw the war. We felt what it meant to be powerless. Those slavers... they were only the beginning. They belong to nations with navies, armies, weapons we’ve never even dreamed of."

Khisa crouched, letting the firelight dance across his face. "Nuri, as we left it, is still weak. And we don’t know what challenges they’ve faced while we’ve been out here. We have to be stronger than what’s coming. That’s why we’re here."

He took a breath, the memory of documentaries, of shackled bodies on ships, of silent suffering, flashing through his mind like ghosts.

"I know you may hate me, Tiriki. But if that hate turns you into a man who can defend our kingdom—then I’ve done my job."

Tiriki said nothing, though his eyes shimmered with unshed tears. The others, though angry at him, softened. They all felt it—how close they were to breaking.

Still, Tiriki muttered, "You talk like the enemy is already here. But we haven’t met anyone! Only small, irrelevant villages who won’t even blink at Nuri’s rise."

Khisa clenched his fists, rage and sorrow rising like bile in his throat.

’This was the problem. This blindness. This... complacency.’

He stepped forward and—crack!—punched Tiriki square across the face. The impact echoed into the trees. Tiriki hit the ground, stunned, blood at the corner of his mouth.

The Shadow Guard leapt up, rushing to intervene—but Khisa raised a hand.

"I’m fine," he said, dusting his robes. "Leave him."

He stood over Tiriki, voice colder now. "That mindset—that is what will ruin Nuri. That short-sightedness is why we will fall. People who can’t see past their own villages. Will never see what is coming."

Khisa’s voice grew louder, filled with fire.

"When foreigners come, and find us scattered. Unlearned. Arrogant in ignorance. They will take everything—our gold, our people, our dignity."

He looked straight at Tiriki, eyes blazing. "You think those slavers were the worst of it? No. They’re just messengers. The real threat hasn’t even begun. You think the world plays fair?"

He turned to the rest. "I wish we could live in peace. I wish I could go back to laughing in the streets of Nuri. But we can’t. Not when our children are still in danger. Not when we could be pawns on someone else’s chessboard."

His voice cracked. "So grab your damn sword—and fight for the future."

Tiriki clenched his jaw, heart pounding like a war drum. He didn’t respond. Not with words. But a fire had returned to his eyes.

In that moment, something shifted among the Shadow Guard.

They would carry the weight.