The Wrath of the Unchained

Night had fallen over Assab, the stars hidden behind a veil of wind-swept dust and sea mist. The coastal air was thick with anticipation, as if the land itself was holding its breath. From the upper balcony of the command tower, Khisa stared out toward the black horizon, his jaw tight, fingers curled along the railing.

Behind him, the hum of the port had dimmed. Only a few torches burned near the dockyards where slave ships had once anchored freely. Now, they were under Khisa’s quiet control—checkpoints, merchants, false deals, and dangerous lies, all weaved into a fragile web.

"Couldn’t sleep?" came a voice from behind.

He didn’t need to turn. He knew it was Azenet.

"No," he murmured. "Not tonight."

She walked up beside him, her silhouette glowing softly in the torchlight. "I thought you’d be celebrating. The plan is finally in motion."

Khisa exhaled. "There’s no celebration in sending people you love into danger."

"You trained them, didn’t you?" she asked gently.

"For years," he said. "Fought with them. Bled with them. I know their strengths and flaws better than anyone. But this mission..." He paused, the muscles in his jaw flexing. "This mission is something else. It’s not a battlefield. It’s lies and masks. Waiting. Pretending. Getting close to evil without flinching. I don’t know if I trained them for that."

Azenet watched him silently for a moment. "They trusted you enough to go."

Khisa finally turned to her, eyes shadowed by the torchlight. "That’s what makes it worse."