The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 75 - Echoes of Failure

The stone-walled cell was dimly lit, its air thick with the chill of mistrust. Though unchained, the group sat quietly, aware of the weight of suspicion hanging over them. The rough stone beneath them scratched against their travel-worn clothes, and the heavy silence was occasionally broken by distant footfalls echoing through the corridor.

Commander Tesfaye Getaneh stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in a mix of irritation and uncertainty. His uniform, though crisply worn, was damp with sweat at the collar. A long scar ran down the side of his neck—old but still angry-looking. His hand rested on the hilt of his curved blade, as if it gave him balance in a kingdom tilting out of his control.

"I don’t care who you claim to be," he said sharply, voice echoing against the stone. "Nuri? Never heard of it. And you show up with warriors dressed like legends and expect a warm welcome? This reeks of Adal trickery."

Khisa stood slowly, his height commanding attention, his calm presence cutting through the tension like a blade through fog. His eyes were steady, his voice collected.

"As I said, let me tell you about Nuri," he began. "And what we plan to do to the Adal Empire."

Tesfaye snorted, but he didn’t interrupt.

"We are a rising kingdom from the south. Built from the ashes of the people we’ve lost to slavers and their schemes. We don’t claim to be powerful yet, but we’ve seen the cost of waiting. So we fight. And we free those who can’t fight for themselves."

The soldiers standing behind Tesfaye exchanged murmurs, one young guard whispering, "He speaks like a general." Another leaned closer to his comrade, eyes narrowed. "And those warriors... they don’t move like ordinary folk."

"They have women in their ranks—they must not be that great," another muttered under his breath, trying to sound dismissive but with a hint of doubt.

Tesfaye raised a hand, silencing them.

"You speak boldly," he said. "But bold words don’t mean truth. For all I know, you could be Adal agents sent to spread lies. Stir unrest."

At that moment, Biruk stepped forward and reached into his satchel. "Commander," he said carefully, "we anticipated this. This is a letter of introduction from the elder in my village, a former military man in our kingdom. It details our purpose and confirms my presence as escort."

He handed the worn parchment over. Tesfaye took it, eyes scanning the familiar seal. His fingers trembled just slightly as he read.

Still, the tension hadn’t left the room.

Then Faizah stepped forward, face pale but eyes burning. She was shaking, fists clenched at her sides. Her voice, when it came, cracked like dried wood—brittle and full of pain.

"I was taken from my home," she said. "My family slaughtered. My neighbors enslaved. I begged for death when the nights got too long, but death never came. Only silence. And screams."

"Those men passed me around like a common whore. Every night they stripped me of my soul and my dignity."

Her voice broke, but she kept speaking.

"Your army didn’t come. Your patrols didn’t find us. It was Khisa and his warriors who stormed the camp and pulled us out of that hell. Those men I saw as untouchable monsters were killed so easily."

She turned to Tesfaye, tears streaking down her cheeks. "Do you understand what that means? If your army had done its job, maybe my little brother would still be alive. Maybe I wouldn’t have to sleep with nightmares every night. Maybe I wouldn’t have been alone in hell."

Naliaka moved beside her silently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Faizah collapsed into her, sobbing quietly, her body trembling from the weight of weeks she’d buried deep.

Ndengu’s jaw clenched, fists balled at his side. The others remained quiet, shadows etched in stone, their eyes burning with anger and solidarity.

The guards in the room shifted uncomfortably. Some looked down, others away. One older soldier muttered under his breath, "May the gods forgive us..."

Tesfaye looked at Faizah for a long moment. The anger in his face melted into something more difficult to name. His pride battled with guilt, his authority with powerlessness.

"I’m... sorry," he said at last, voice low. "We knew things were bad. But we didn’t know how bad."

"No," Khisa said. "You didn’t. Because your ports are taken. Your trade lines are strangled. Your messages don’t reach where they should. Your own people have had to fend for themselves from men with far superior weapons. How many do you think have died or been sold off? Enemies roam your lands like they own the place, and your best excuse is sorry?"

The soldiers looked away, clenching their fists in frustration. A man foreign to these lands was scolding them on their own failures.

Biruk stepped forward again, voice firmer now. "On the road to Shewa, we destroyed every Adal camp we found. Freed every captive. There are no more camps between here and the border village. The people there are singing again."

Tesfaye blinked, stunned. "All of them?"

"All of them. The captured women are being returned to their villages as we speak. The Adal weapons and supplies are also being collected. My village elder is coordinating the efforts," Biruk said.

The murmurs grew louder among the guards. One soldier looked to Tesfaye. "But... how? We’ve been trying for years..."

"In weeks," another whispered. "They did what we couldn’t do in years..."

"There might be some who ran off or we missed," Khisa added, "but the people there are free to live in peace again. To keep it that way, we must drive the Adal out completely."

Tesfaye narrowed his eyes. "Why risk your people for us? You must know Abyssinia has nothing left to offer."

Khisa met his gaze without hesitation. "I’m simply tired of our people being used as puppets. And I will not allow those foreigners to lay a single finger on our lands."

Tesfaye exhaled slowly. He glanced around the room at his soldiers—at the guilt, the disbelief, the flickering hope in their eyes. His jaw tensed, then relaxed. He looked at Khisa again, this time with less suspicion and more intrigue. The weight of his empire’s failure bore down on him.

"Alright, Prince Khisa," he said at last, setting the letter down. "I’ll listen."