The Wrath of the Unchained

Tesfaye sighed, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he looked at Khisa—this young man from another kingdom who spoke like he’d walked the warfronts of a hundred lifetimes. He didn’t want to admit it, but respect was slowly building in him like a reluctant fire.

Khisa leaned forward, his eyes sharp and certain. "We need information. We need to know their routes, every path, every unmanned land."

Tesfaye narrowed his eyes. "What do you suggest?"

"First and foremost, we need to learn about the enemy. Information is our greatest strength," Khisa replied calmly. "We need people in the ports. Someone who can blend in. Merchants, fishermen, traders. Since the Adal and Ottomans have taken them, for now, they’re the keys to everything. Your squadron should focus on taking them back."

Tesfaye snorted. "It’s impossible. We don’t have the manpower, and the few soldiers we can rely on are stretched thin."

Khisa didn’t flinch. "Even a towering wall can collapse with one loose stone."

Tesfaye folded his arms, the weight of responsibility settling deeper on his shoulders. "You speak with confidence, but do you truly understand what you’re proposing? These ports—some have been lost for years. Generals before you have tried and failed."

Khisa stood and walked toward the map pinned to the wall. He touched a spot with the edge of his finger, almost reverently. "Which ports are under foreign control?"

Tesfaye hesitated. The room went still. Officers exchanged glances. Sharing that information was no small thing—it could unmake Abyssinia if it fell into the wrong hands.

Khisa’s gaze didn’t waver.

Tesfaye exhaled slowly, the burden clear in his eyes. If I trust him, and he turns, it’s over. But if I don’t, we stagnate. We lose more ground. We lose everything.