Chapter 68 - The Weight of Hope
The year according to the Gregorian calendar is 1551. It has been nine years since Khisa transmigrated.
The war between Kilwa and Nuri had ended the previous year. The once-thriving coast was now a place of slow recovery—charred villages being rebuilt, graves freshly dug, and scars hidden behind hopeful eyes. Lusweti, King of Nuri, had remained behind at the coast, ensuring the healing process was not just physical, but spiritual and political as well.
Construction of the road to Nuri had begun. Dust rose each morning as laborers cleared paths through rocky ground and dense thickets. From both ends—coast and capital—they worked tirelessly, building what would become the lifeline of trade and travel. Children had finally returned to school, their laughter slowly returning to village paths. Trade resumed cautiously, though not without confusion. Arab and Indian traders, long familiar with the bustling markets of Kilwa, were taken aback by the sight of its fractured glory.
Lusweti met them personally.
"Trade will continue," he assured them, his tone calm but firm. "Let not the flames of war scare you off. Nuri stands strong."
He made a polite yet pointed request—they were to bring news from beyond the shores, updates from distant lands. Lusweti wouldn’t trust them blindly, not yet, but information was a form of armor. Whatever they shared could buy Nuri time to prepare. Before they left, he asked one final thing.
"Tell the world," he said, "that Nuri is a haven. For the lost. For the broken. For those who seek redemption."
He never mentioned the vast resources buried in Nuri’s soil. Gold, iron, fertile lands—they were Nuri’s secret, and another war would break them if it came too soon. His people needed peace. They needed time to heal and grow strong.
Lusweti summoned General Malik to his office, a stone chamber lined with maps, weapons, and scrolls from across the region.
"We need to bolster our defenses by the water," he said. "The merchant vessels and warships we captured from Almeida—those are gifts we can’t ignore. We need trained sailors."
"No one knows these waters better than our fishermen."