The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 91 - Tides of the Unknown

As Khisa pushed the limits of innovation on the docks of Assab, overseeing the expansion of Nuri’s naval forces, storms brewed quietly in distant corners of the region. While he charted blueprints and supervised the fitting of steel-hardened hulls, the enemies of progress began stirring, blind to the force that now gathered against them.

Back at the Massawa Port

Ottoman General Qasim, known among his ranks as The Iron-Hand, scowled at the parchment clenched in his grip. His weathered fingers tightened with frustration. The letter was stamped with urgency, ink smudged by hasty hands—details of a missing Ottoman war vessel bound for Massawa. It had vanished without trace, carrying both weapons and slaves meant to fuel the coming invasion.

"Delayed. Again," he growled, pacing the length of his stone chamber. His armor clinked with each determined step. The delay had thrown off their timeline, and worse—his superiors in Constantinople were breathing fire down his neck. The empire’s wrath, once aroused, was relentless. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

He snapped his fingers. "Commander Bashir!"

A nervous man rushed in. "Yes, General?"

"Find out what happened to our vessel. Now."

Hours later, Bashir returned, pale and sweaty beneath his turban. "General... the reports say the ship was... attacked. By pirates."

"Pirates?" Qasim’s voice rose dangerously. "You mean to tell me we have sea scum interfering with my fleet?"

Bashir swallowed. "Y-yes, sir. They’ve hit multiple vessels, all carrying weapons or slaves. They bear no flags. No allegiances. What should we do General?"

Qasim slammed his fist against the stone wall. "What kind of stupid question is this?" he barked when Bashir asked for instructions. "Take our fastest ships. Find them. Sink them. But leave one of them alive—I want our weapons back. And I want answers."

Bashir bowed and stumbled out, already shouting for sailors.

Gondar – Royal Compound

Far inland, Emperor Gelawdewos was deep in thought. His candle burned low, barely lighting the sea of scrolls and letters strewn across his desk. Ink stained his fingers, and fatigue lined his eyes. Every parchment seemed to carry whispers of betrayal—names, dates, missing resources, shifts in loyalty.

His eldest daughter entered quietly. Her name was Azenet, "serenity," her beauty quiet and regal, with sharp eyes that mirrored her father’s intensity. Her long, braided hair shimmered in the candlelight as she approached.

"Father," she said softly, "you should rest. You’ve barely slept since your return from Shewa."

Gelawdewos didn’t look up. "There is no time for rest, Azenet. Every minute we fall behind, they tighten the noose."

She sat across from him. "What did you learn in Shewa?"

The Emperor finally looked at her, the weariness in his face offset by a glimmer of hope. "We have a fighting chance, my dear. A new ally. A young prince from a kingdom in the south. He may be the saving grace for us all."

"Which kingdom?" she asked.

"The Kingdom of Nuri."

Azenet frowned. "I’ve never heard of it. Are you sure he’s truly on our side, Father? What if he’s a spy sent by the Adal?"

Gelawdewos smiled faintly. "That was my thought too. But there was something in his eyes... fire. Purpose. It made me believe again."

"What could a man like that possibly teach you, Father?"

"That young man and his squad—men and women—took out entire Adal camps. They saved hundreds. He and Commander Tesfaye rooted out spies from Shewa and beyond. And his efforts continue even now."

Azenet raised an eyebrow. "He sounds like a myth."

"You haven’t heard the half of it. He’s in Assab now, building a navy. Faster ships. Sharper weapons. He showed me his designs, his vision. And for the first time in a long while... I felt hope."

"I trust your instincts, Father," Azenet said, her voice softening. "But this man... allowing women to fight? How dishonorable."

Gelawdewos chuckled. "That’s exactly what I told him. You know what he said? ’This land belongs to them as well. If all the men fall, would we leave them defenseless? We might as well give them a choice now.’"

She blinked, surprised by the logic. "You agreed?"

"Reluctantly. But the more I see of him, the more I believe we must adapt. That’s why I want you and your brother to go to Assab. Learn from Prince Khisa. His ways may be strange, but they could be the difference between victory and extinction."

Azenet exhaled deeply. "If you say so, Father. I will trust your judgment."

Kilwa Coast – Dockside

After nearly two months at sea, Naliaka and Ndengu stood on shaky legs as their vessel finally reached land. The coast of Kilwa loomed ahead like a dream—the white sands kissed by foamy waves, vibrant spice markets beckoning beyond the walls of the port city.

Their clothes were threadbare, their skin weathered by sun and salt. The blueprints they carried—sacred plans for ship design and weaponry—were sewn tightly into the lining of their tunics, close to their hearts.

"Land," Naliaka whispered, shielding her eyes against the bright light. "I never thought I’d be this happy to see it."

"Or to get off this damn ship," Ndengu grunted. "If I ever smell salted fish again, I’ll jump back into the ocean."

Their journey had been brutal. One night, a pirate ship had rammed them. They had hidden among crates of grain, pretending to be slaves. Another time, a suspicious sailor caught Naliaka eyeing the captain’s map—she only escaped punishment by feigning illness and vomiting convincingly over his boots.

One evening, a rogue vessel had approached under the cover of darkness. The pirates had boarded their merchant ship. Naliaka had clutched a hidden blade, trembling beneath her disguise, ready to fight—and ready to die. But Ndengu had stopped her with a barely perceptible shake of the head. Not yet. Not here.

They had watched in silent horror as the pirates looted the cargo hold and left, never noticing them huddled among sacks of rice and smuggled spices.

A fourth encounter nearly ended them when a Turkish patrol boarded, demanding identification. Ndengu had distracted them with a brawl among the crew while Naliaka stuffed the blueprints into a crack in the hull.

Now, as they were unceremoniously shoved off the merchant vessel, they found themselves limping toward the city gates.

"We can’t drop our disguises yet," Naliaka murmured. "Not until we find King Lusweti. One wrong move, and these people will turn us in."

"I know," Ndengu replied, glancing over his shoulder. "But let’s move quickly. This city is full of eyes."

Kilwa was bustling—vendors yelling in Swahili, the scent of spices and roasted meat drifting through the air, while children dashed between donkeys and carts. Drums beat in the distance. The city’s energy was intoxicating, but danger lurked beneath its charm.

Naliaka pulled her cloak tighter. "We need a safe place to regroup. Then we find the King."

"Right," Ndengu said, eyes narrowing. "Let’s vanish into the crowd."

They slipped into the pulse of Kilwa, two shadows among thousands, carrying knowledge that could change the tides of war.