The Wrath of the Unchained

Inside the command tent, the air pulsed with tension. Maps and scrolls littered the table, but all Khisa and Tesfaye saw was a thousand unseen dangers.

Khisa placed a marked map between them, his voice low and deliberate.

"This is the plan," he said. "We create a false river beneath the enemy’s nose. A hidden network. Checkpoints, disguised as merchant stations, placed between Massawa, Zeila, and Assab. We also need a few on deserted Islands. The slaves will move along this invisible route, checkpoint by checkpoint, until they reach freedom."

Tesfaye leaned in, scanning the map carefully. "Each checkpoint?"

"Operated by trusted agents," Khisa said. "My Shadows. Small teams. They’ll oversee transfers, control the flow, and ensure that the right people—our people—make it through."

"And the merchants?" Tesfaye asked, wary.

Khisa’s face hardened.

"We handpick them. Men with ambition, yes—but men who fear our wrath more than Ottoman gold. Gold alone won’t keep them loyal. Fear will."

He stabbed his finger against the table.

"If even one merchant betrays us—if they believe the Ottomans offer a better reward, or a safer future—this entire plan collapses. Thousands of lives will be lost. Abyssinia itself might be exposed and we will be wiped out under their might. I am not naive enough to believe in human kindness. I want to, but with thousand of lives on the line, I simply can’t. "

Tesfaye frowned. "We’ll have to make examples, Khisa. Publicly, if necessary."