The plan was underway. Soldiers trained with vigor in the scorching Assab sun, the clang of weapons and barked orders blending into the salty air of the bustling port town. Rows of refugees and freed slaves lined the makeshift shelters as aid trickled in.
Assab, once a quiet port town, had swelled with the influx of refugees and liberated slaves. Different languages, customs, and fears clashed beneath the surface. Khisa had sensed the tension brewing and knew it would boil over if left unchecked.
Princess Azenet moved with grace and determination through the town, her white linen robes billowing gently in the sea breeze. She had accepted Khisa’s request to oversee internal affairs, and though daunting, she approached it with a resolute heart. The town’s population had tripled in just a few weeks, with survivors from raids, freed slaves, and rchants flooding the port. Different tribes and languages clashed. Tempers flared over food, customs, and even places to pray.
Azenet convened daily etings under a large baobab tree near the port, where people of different tongues gathered. With the help of scribes and translators, she listened to their concerns. She encouraged won to form cooperatives for weaving, soap making, and preparing als. Children were gathered and taught basic phrases in both Amharic and Swahili, promoting unity. When tensions rose between groups, she called the elders to diate disputes.
"We cannot afford division," she had told them firmly, addressing a crowd of weary mothers and suspicious young n. "This is a place of healing, not conquest. You are not enemies—you are survivors, and in ti, citizens of sothing greater."
She also worked with the local clergy to establish a modest church in the heart of Assab. Services were held every other day, accompanied by songs of hope. For many, it was the first ti in years they had heard scripture in their own tongue. The church not only served as a place of worship but also as a beacon of unity in a fractured community.
Princess Azenet walked the bustling streets of Assab, accompanied only by a translator and two guards. The salty breeze rustled her veil as she paused to speak with a group of freed won who were setting up a communal kitchen. One woman spoke halting Amharic, while another used gestures and a blend of Sudanese Arabic.
Azenet crouched to their level, listening intently. "You are safe now," she said gently, voice soft but assured. "You’ve lost so much, but you have not lost yourselves. Help rebuild this place into a ho. Not for one people, but for all."
A few won nodded slowly. One wept quietly. Another handed Azenet a carved wooden spoon, worn smooth with age. It was an offering of thanks.
As she walked away, Azenet fought the tightness in her chest. They follow because they are desperate, she thought. But one day, they must follow because they believe. I must be worthy of that.
Later that evening, she returned to the newly built church overlooking the harbor. The stained wood glowed in the sunset. Children played nearby while elders sang hymns in mixed tongues. Azenet sat with a group of won sewing blankets. She spoke less, listened more. Her na passed from mouth to mouth—not with reverence, but with familiarity. That was what she wanted.
anwhile, among the troops stationed on the outskirts of Assab, camaraderie blood like firelight in the cold. They ca from all corners of Abyssinia and beyond—so forr slaves, others once enemies. Now they sparred, shared stories, and passed roasted corn and dried at between tents.
"What’s the point of stealth if you sound like a dying goat every ti you breathe?" one of the Shadow Guard teased a new recruit.
"Maybe I was a goat in my past life," the recruit retorted, earning a round of laughter.
They trained hard, bled together, and laughed even harder. Trust was their strongest weapon.
anwhile, Prince Tadesse shadowed Khisa. Though lacking in martial talent, he applied himself seriously to matters of logistics and diplomacy. During their conversations, Khisa noticed traces of arrogance in Tadesse’s thinking.
"They’ve told since I was a child that no one can question ," Tadesse said one morning, sipping tea.
Khisa raised an eyebrow. "That’s how puppet kings are made. They want you blind, so you’ll never see the strings."
Tadesse looked shaken. "But I thought the nobles—"
"—are essential, yes. But so would rather rule through you than let you rule at all. Stand on your own, or you’ll doom your people."
" I want to be more than a puppet," Tadesse whispered.
"Then stop dancing to their tune," Khisa said, firmly but kindly. "Stand on your own. Lead with your head and your heart. They will call you disloyal, but your people will call you just."
Tadesse was silent for a while, then nodded. "Then teach . If I must wear the crown, I want it to be earned."
"You just took your first step."
Back in the capital, Emperor Gelawdewos sat in his study, buried in docunts. General konnen stood beside him, arms folded.
"How dare they do this?" the Emperor muttered, his voice tight. "I grew up with these n. Now they sell out the kingdom?"
konnen said nothing.
"How dare they?" he growled. "These are n I sat beside! Drank with! And they sell our people like livestock?"
General konnen remained steady. "Your Majesty, the paper trail doesn’t lie. Massive transfers—gold, slaves, weapons. They’ve been arming our enemies, and your own brother’s seal appears on so of the docunts."
"Even my brother," Gelawdewos added bitterly. "Is this a bid to usurp the throne?"
"We can’t move against them yet, Majesty," konnen replied. "The nobles are too entrenched. Even with evidence, tearing them out now would unravel the kingdom. Their heirs are too young or too weak."
Gelawdewos sighed. "I know. But it must be an option. For Abyssinia to survive, we must root out traitors, no matter how high they sit."
They shifted the conversation.
"Any word from the camps?"
"Three identified," konnen said. "One in the valley to the west—smallest but ard with cannons and holding hundreds of slaves. The others are in the forest to the south and the mountains to the north. We suspect they’re waiting for a signal."
"And our supply situation?"
"Prince Khisa has been raiding Ottoman vessels. A shipnt just arrived from Assab—enough weapons and powder for a battalion. The n are training daily. Khisa’s Shadow Guard routines were adapted. They’ve picked up stealth tactics—useful for flanking and infiltration."
"You saw them train right?" the Emperor asked.
konnen nodded. "Before the Assab operations began. I’ve never seen soldiers like them. They move like wind. Discipline in every motion. What kind of training did they endure?"
Gelawdewos’s voice dropped. "He could’ve crushed us. Joined the Ottomans, claid the Red Sea, and left us in ruins. Instead, he chose to fight beside us."
"Perhaps he sees more in Abyssinia than we do," konnen said.
The Emperor rose. "Then let’s give him sothing worth fighting for. Gather the army. March on the valley. Free the enslaved. Burn the camp. And when you’re done, take everything they own. Then move on to the rest."
konnen saluted. "As you command, Your Majesty."
This battle would be crucial—not just for victory, but for redemption.
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