The scent of damp earth and burning herbs still lingered in the air from the night's rituals. Though the sun had begun to rise, its warmth did little to chase away the cold weight pressing down on the village.
War was coming.
Warriors moved with tense purpose, whispering final words to their weapons, their ancestors, or themselves. Some traced protective symbols onto their skin, while others stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the treeline. They were ready—or at least, they had to be.
Khisa stood apart, watching, feeling the gravity of his choices settle on his shoulders.
Lusweti approached, his expression unreadable. "The warriors are ready," he said simply.
Khisa didn't take his eyes off the forest. "Are they ready to trust me?"
Lusweti exhaled. "Trust is won in battle. If your plan works, they will follow you without hesitation. If it fails…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Khisa clenched his fists. There was no room for failure.
Panic gripped the village.
Mothers clutched their children, elders hobbled toward the forest, their eyes darting in fear. Some refused to move, muttering prayers to the ancestors. Others wailed, their voices rising above the commotion.
"We are abandoning our homes!" an old woman cried, resisting the warriors guiding her. "How can we leave everything behind?"
"We should fight!" a younger man shouted, gripping a crude spear. "Why should we run while the warriors stay?"
"It is not running," Lusweti's deep voice boomed. "It is survival."
But fear had already spread like wildfire. Some families rushed to gather their possessions, others simply stood frozen, overwhelmed.
Khisa moved through the chaos, his heart pounding. If they didn't clear the village soon, they would all be caught in the slaughter.
He stopped beside an elder who refused to move. "Grandmother, please," he said, voice firm but pleading.
The old woman shook her head, eyes misty. "I was born here. I will not die anywhere else."
Khisa knelt before her. "Then let us fight for it. But you must go. If not for yourself, then for those who still need you."
She hesitated, then, with a heavy sigh, allowed herself to be led away.
"Khisa! I don't want to leave," Naliaka cried grabbing onto his hands.
"Yeah Khisa, we will stay and fight with you." Ndengu shouted.
In his past life he never had such good friends, these kids are willing to put themselves in the line of fire to protect everyone.
With them here, his vision for the future might just come to fruition but for now he had to protect them.
"Listen, you are the best friends anyone could ask for, so just for today retreat with the others, next time I promise we will fight together."
Naliaka and Ndengu looked at him, seeing the resolve in his eyes, they chose not to cause problems anymore but in their hearts they knew, they would never run again.
Step by step, the villagers disappeared into the trees, hidden paths guiding them away from danger. The village became a ghost town.
A trap, waiting to be sprung.
The scouts returned with grim expressions.
"They are close," Simiyu reported. "Hundreds of them, mounted and armed. They will be here before the sun is high."
A ripple of tension ran through the gathered warriors. Some gripped their weapons tighter. Others exchanged wary glances.
Khisa raised his voice. "We move now! Get into position!"
Weche and his runners bolted into the trees, their lean bodies disappearing into the foliage. The rest of the warriors melted into their prepared positions—some crouched behind thick undergrowth, others hidden in camouflaged trenches. Every detail had been accounted for. The village itself was abandoned, appearing defenseless, but it was a lie.
This was their land. The enemy would learn to fear it.
Ochieng, the seasoned warrior who had once dismissed Khisa's ideas, stood nearby, his expression unreadable. When Khisa passed him, he gave a small nod. It wasn't surrender, nor was it full trust. But it was something.
His new friends, too, had their own reactions.
Weche, crouched beside him, exhaled sharply. "This is madness," he muttered. "But if we die, at least it'll be interesting."
Akolo checked his bowstring, glancing at Khisa. "No pressure," he said dryly, though his hands trembled slightly.
Mumia rested a hand on Khisa's shoulder, squeezing briefly. "No turning back now."
Khisa swallowed. "No turning back."
The first sign of the enemy was the tremor in the ground.
Hooves pounded against the earth, a dull thunder growing louder with every breath. Then they emerged—dark figures against the brightening sky, their weapons gleaming. Their confidence was evident in the way they rode, in the way their scouts rushed forward without hesitation.
Exactly as expected.
Weche and the others appeared from the trees, taunting them, drawing them in. The Angwenyi scouts pursued, eager to run them down.
"Steady," Khisa murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
The enemy charged deeper, their riders sweeping forward like a wave. The main force followed, swallowing up their scouts.
Then—
"Now!"
A sharp whistle cut through the air. Warriors hidden in the canopy yanked on thick ropes, and massive logs swung down, knocking riders from their mounts. The ground collapsed beneath others, sending them tumbling into hidden trenches lined with stakes.
Screams tore through the air.
From above, Akolo and his archers released a deadly volley, striking down those who tried to recover. Smoke began to rise, not to burn but to guide—to force the enemy into the tight corridors of the forest where warriors lay in wait.
The Angwenyi, so accustomed to open-field combat, suddenly found themselves trapped.
Simiyu and his fighters struck first, emerging from the undergrowth with spears and clubs. The fight was brutal, chaotic—clashing steel, snarling warriors, the wet sound of blades meeting flesh.
Khisa watched from a hidden vantage point, heart pounding. It was working. The enemy was confused, their numbers a disadvantage rather than a strength.
But war was never simple.
A deep, echoing horn sounded in the distance.
Khisa's stomach dropped.
Mumia stiffened. "Reinforcements."
Another force. Larger. Moving fast.
Lusweti turned to Khisa, eyes sharp. "What now, strategist?"
The warriors around them waited, breathless. Some looked uncertain, gripping their weapons tighter. The tide could still turn against them.
Khisa forced his mind to stay clear. He had planned for this.
"We split them further," he said quickly. "They are still divided. We can use that. Force them into even tighter pockets. Confuse them. Make them fight shadows instead of warriors."
Lusweti nodded. "Then go. Make it happen."
Khisa ran. The battle was far from over.