Chapter 18 - A Kingdom is Born
The battlefield was long behind them, but the war for unity had only just begun.
At dawn, the village gathered under the vast sky to bury their fallen.
Mothers wept over sons who would never return. Fathers stood silent, hands clenched in quiet grief. Warriors mourned their brothers-in-arms, their gazes heavy with loss.
Lusweti stepped forward, his voice solemn.
"We honor those who fell so that we could stand here today. Their names will not be forgotten. Their sacrifice will not be in vain."
The crowd murmured in agreement, some nodding, others whispering prayers to their ancestors.
Twenty-four cows were slaughtered in their memory, their blood returning to the earth in tribute. That night, a great fire was lit, and the people feasted—not in joy, but in remembrance. Songs were sung, not of sorrow, but of warriors whose names would be carried through generations.
Yet, even in this moment of unity, the weight of what was to come loomed over them.
The next morning, as the sun cast its golden glow over the land, Lusweti and the elders gathered before the people. Khisa stood beside him, his presence steady.
Lusweti raised his hand for silence.
"The time for division is over," he began. His voice was strong, unwavering. "From this day forward, we are no longer Abakhore or Angwenyi. We are one."