Chapter 31 - A Cry From the East
The sun cast golden rays over Nuri, illuminating a kingdom thriving beyond imagination.The year according to the Gregorian calender is 1550,in eight years, its population had surged from 8,000 to nearly 20,000. The land now stretched from the western highlands to the central plains, a vast and diverse territory teeming with life. Trade routes flourished, the roads were well-maintained, and the people walked freely, proud of the progress they had built with their own hands.
Nuri had become a beacon of hope.
The introduction of Swahili had made communication effortless among the many cultures within Nuri's borders. Dutch, too, was becoming a language of trade, with over 60% of the population now literate. The Nuru currency had strengthened significantly, solidifying Nuri's position in regional commerce. The military had grown as well, with well-manned outposts marking every corner of the kingdom. Even the Watchers had become a force to be reckoned with, ensuring peace and order in every settlement.
In the capital, joy filled the air. Lusweti and Nanjala had welcomed their second child—a girl named Ayuma Lusweti. Her birth was celebrated by all, a symbol of Nuri's bright future. The kingdom's people were prosperous and content.
But not all rejoiced in this peace. Matenje and his faction lurked in the shadows, dissatisfied with the stability Lusweti had brought. Every attempt to disrupt the order was swiftly dealt with by the Watchers, yet he remained patient, waiting for the right moment.
Far from the capital, at the easternmost outpost of Nuri, Commander Akolo stood watch. He had earned his place through years of dedication, known for his sharp mind and unwavering loyalty. His post was the first line of defense against any threat from beyond Nuri's lands.
That evening, as the sun dipped beyond the horizon, a commotion arose at the border.
Akolo and his men rushed to investigate. There, stumbling through the dust, was a boy—no older than fifteen, his clothes tattered, his feet bleeding from travel. His breath came in ragged gasps, eyes darting in fear.
"Water," he croaked in fluent Swahili. "Please... water."
Akolo signaled for his men to bring a waterskin, watching the boy closely. The way he spoke—clear, confident—this was no child of Nuri.
"Drink, boy," Akolo said, crouching beside him. The boy gulped desperately before food was placed in his hands. He ate like a starving animal.