Chapter 10 - The First Strike
The scent of damp earth and burning herbs still lingered in the air from the night's rituals. Though the sun had begun to rise, its warmth did little to chase away the cold weight pressing down on the village.
War was coming.
Warriors moved with tense purpose, whispering final words to their weapons, their ancestors, or themselves. Some traced protective symbols onto their skin, while others stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the treeline. They were ready—or at least, they had to be.
Khisa stood apart, watching, feeling the gravity of his choices settle on his shoulders.
Lusweti approached, his expression unreadable. "The warriors are ready," he said simply.
Khisa didn't take his eyes off the forest. "Are they ready to trust me?"
Lusweti exhaled. "Trust is won in battle. If your plan works, they will follow you without hesitation. If it fails..."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Khisa clenched his fists. There was no room for failure.
Panic gripped the village.
Mothers clutched their children, elders hobbled toward the forest, their eyes darting in fear. Some refused to move, muttering prayers to the ancestors. Others wailed, their voices rising above the commotion.