The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 80 - Shadows in The Wind

The soft flutter of pigeon wings filled the sky over Shewa as the birds descended with ribbons tied to their legs. The messengers had arrived—tiny couriers of war and revelation. A guard retrieved them quickly, rushing through the winding corridors of the stone fortress toward the command chamber where Khisa sat with Commander Tesfaye.

The sun was beginning to set, bleeding orange across the mountains as Khisa untied the letters with practiced fingers. He skimmed through them one by one, the shadows on his face growing darker with each word.

Tesfaye leaned over, his eyes scanning for meaning. "What does it say?" he asked.

Khisa’s brow furrowed. "Nuri has taken control of a major trade hub... and now both the Portuguese and the Ottomans have set their sights on us."

Tesfaye blinked. "What?"

Khisa nodded, stunned. "They’ve allied themselves against us. Both of them."

"Now we have to fight three powerful nations. Abyssinia is done for." Tesfaye sighed, clutching his head.

A stunned silence followed.

"I didn’t expect this," Khisa admitted, gripping the letter tighter. "I knew things were shifting... but not this fast. Not like this." He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "My father... he pulled this off without me. I’m impressed—and proud. He’s outpaced the enemies and even me."

Tesfaye looked away, hiding his frown. The joy in Khisa’s voice only deepened the knot of anxiety twisting in his gut.

He had seen too much. The ghosts of past failures lingered like an unwelcome shadow. His last attempt to take a port—the disastrous raid on Zeila—haunted him still. A narrow beachhead, poor supplies, an ambush in the dark. Men screaming as ships burned. He had buried thirty-five soldiers with his own hands. Some were boys. One was his cousin.

He’d made the call to retreat, to save the rest. But many hadn’t forgiven him for that day. Sometimes, he wasn’t sure if he had forgiven himself.

"The reports... from all three teams... the situation in the ports is worse than we thought," Khisa continued, laying the letters on the wooden table. "Adal control is slipping, but the power vacuum is dangerous. Pirates, rogue mercenaries, smugglers—chaos is filling the cracks."

Tesfaye folded his arms tightly across his chest. "You didn’t know about the port, Khisa. About what your kingdom was doing."

Khisa turned to him slowly, sensing the challenge behind the words.

"We’ve been gone for more than three years," Khisa explained.

"Your kingdom advanced while you were here... training. Hiding, some would say." Tesfaye said.

Khisa’s jaw clenched. "I wasn’t hiding. I’ve been preparing the Shadow Guard."

"For what?" Tesfaye snapped. "For a war they might not survive? Children who barely know what it means to fight?"

Khisa’s voice was calm, but his eyes flashed. "They may be young, but they are the future. I’ve trained them not just to fight—but to lead, to think, to adapt. This experience... it will shape them. Make them more than soldiers. Make them legends."

Tesfaye paced away, running a hand through his thick, coiled hair. The room felt smaller somehow. The dusk light cast long shadows across the maps strewn across the table. "You gambled on ghosts, Khisa. While you trained in silence, others bled. And now we’re facing an alliance between three empires."

He felt the weight of Zeila on his back again. Would he be the commander who repeated the past? Who sent more to die chasing another dream? The thought of it made his stomach churn.

Khisa stood, walking over slowly. "And now we answer. But not with desperation—with precision."

Tesfaye turned back to him, his voice heavy with doubt. "So what now? What do we do with this information?"

Khisa pointed to the largest map of the Horn of Africa. "We can’t take all the ports at once. That would be madness. We don’t have the numbers. Not yet."

He tapped his finger against the port of Asaab.

"This is our starting point. Asaab is underdeveloped, poorly fortified. If we can secure it, we can use it as a forward base. A staging ground for naval operations. We need to fortify it before the Portuguese and Ottomans."

"You want to build a navy?" Tesfaye asked. "With what? Firewood and wishful thinking? Our navy was torn apart, we barely have ships and those we do are damaged."

"No," Khisa said, eyes narrowing. "With strategy. With stolen steel and captured vessels. First, we root out the spies. We need a country-wide cleanse. Then we send word to Nuri—my father needs to know what’s coming. He’s likely preparing already, but if he’s not, we need to find a way to tip the balance."

They lapsed into silence, the distant chirp of birds the only sound for a while.

"So," Tesfaye finally said, "what do you suggest?"

Khisa stood and began pacing slowly, his boots brushing against the old rug on the floor. "We can’t strike all ports at once—not without mobilizing the entire Abyssinian army. And even then, we’d lose too many."

He turned to face Tesfaye, fire in his voice now. "But if we do nothing, they’ll come for us anyway. Exploit our lands. Use our people. Burn what we’ve built."

Tesfaye hesitated, conflicted. "You speak of striking... but what if we lose? What if all we do is give our enemies more blood to drink?"

Khisa walked to the window, staring out at the distant ridges beyond Shewa. "Then we fall on our feet, not our knees. If we don’t stand now, we’ll be negotiating chains around our necks tomorrow."

Tesfaye’s voice was low. "What’s the plan, then?"

"As I said, the ports first."

"One port at a time?"

"Exactly. Assab first. It’s the weakest. We turn it into a launch point before the Ottomans and Portuguese reinforce it."

Tesfaye rubbed his chin. "And what will that buy us?"

"Time," Khisa said simply.

"Time for what?"

"For us and Nuri to prepare for naval battle. This won’t end on land."

Tesfaye looked weary. "We barely have enough weapons as it is."

Khisa raised a brow. "So we get more. Two options: buy from smugglers or take them from the enemy."

The commander looked away, jaw tight. The idea of funding the same people who enslaved their kin sickened him.

"I guess... we raid the ships."

Khisa smiled faintly. "Good choice."

"I’ll send word to the king. For an operation this size, I need his approval."

Khisa nodded. "How long will it take?"

"A few days. He’ll probably want to meet you."

"I’d be honored," Khisa replied. "But we can’t afford to wait too long. Get me some large paper."

Tesfaye raised an eyebrow. "Paper?"

"I’m going to craft us a future."

That night, Khisa sat in his room, candlelight flickering against the walls as he whispered to the embedded AI in his mind.

"Ayaan, I need blueprints of the best ships we can build right now—heavy and light vessels. I also need methods to produce gunpowder. Reliable formulas. Molotov-like grenades and explosive projectiles. Simple ignition devices. I want pressure-fired harpoon. Everything related to naval warfare. Anything we can produce fast."

[Downloading relevant schematics and data...]

His fingers worked feverishly, sketching hull designs, sail patterns, hidden compartments. Notes on explosive mixtures, simple catapults, flammable oils. His eyes burned, but he didn’t stop.

He could see it—sleek vessels with reinforced prows ramming enemy ships, flaming arrows arcing through the air. This wouldn’t be a grand battle of fleets. It would be guerrilla war—on the water.

If they had better weapons... we’ll beat them with better minds.

By dawn, with heavy eyes and ink-stained hands, Khisa handed a sealed packet to Tesfaye.

"Send a messenger. One Shadow—Musyoka—and an Abyssinian soldier. Have them head to Massawa, then get these to Naliaka and Ndengu. They need to reach Nuri."

Tesfaye squinted at the sealed rolls. "What’s in them?"

Khisa met his gaze. "A fighting chance."

He explained. "Those are ship blueprints. I’ll help build a navy here too—in exchange for partnership and an alliance. This is my show of good faith."

"Blueprints?"

Khisa nodded and moved swiftly to the back of the room, grabbing the bundle of large sheets. "I drew them last night. Ship schematics—both heavy-class and lightweight vessels. Designs that combine speed and firepower. Modified hulls for better wave resistance. Reinforced decks for heavy cannons, compartments for hidden soldiers. Weapons that we can easily make."

Tesfaye watched him, half-incredulous. "You think that’s enough to fight the Portuguese and the Ottomans? They’ve been mastering naval warfare for centuries."

Khisa turned, his eyes now glowing with resolve. "No. But I don’t need to beat them at their game. I need to outmaneuver them. Speed. Surprise. Cunning. We build smaller strike ships to raid their supply lines. Hit-and-run tactics. Sink a few of their transport ships and take the weapons. Gunpowder, cannons, blades—we’ll take it all."

Tesfaye didn’t respond immediately. He just stared, long and hard. Then turned and nodded to a guard outside the door.

"Send for the pigeon handler. It’s time the king knew what we’re dealing with."