The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 112 - Into the Unknown

The day of deployment had come.

In the Assab square, lit by the pale light of the setting sun, Prince Khisa stood at the front, flanked by Princess Azenet, Prince Tadesse, and Commander Tesfaye. Before them, a sea of disciplined bodies stood in perfect formation—the Shadows, cloaked and still, and the fifty chosen soldiers, handpicked for their loyalty and skill.

Khisa stepped forward.

"The mission you are about to embark on will test you in ways you’ve never faced before. You will stand by while atrocities unfold in front of you. You will not intervene. You will not react. You will endure."

His voice was steady, calm, but underlined with gravity.

"This mission will save thousands. We have taken every measure to ensure secrecy—but anything can go wrong. Steel your hearts, men. Let’s save as many as we can and build this kingdom together."

The Shadows and soldiers saluted in unison.

Under cover of night, they slipped into the darkness, each squad dispatched according to their orders. They were ghosts now, operating in silence across land and sea. All but one group had departed.

The Drift Squad—Musyoka, Akumu, and Tiriki—stood waiting, their bags ready, faces calm but tight. Their mission was the most unpredictable. They would live among monsters, sailing with merchants who trafficked in flesh, attending slave auctions, pretending to be buyers. It was a months-long operation fraught with danger, uncertainty, and loneliness.

Inside the command tent, Khisa stood over a map with Commander Tesfaye, the three Shadows at his side.

"Tomorrow the merchants arrive," Khisa began. "Tesfaye arranged for them to ’sell’ us slaves. You three will act as liaisons, posing as buyers. They don’t know the full plan. Each believes their deal is unique. That’s how we’ll keep the network secret."

Tesfaye stepped forward, his tone grave.

"We used the shadiest merchants we could find—those already dealing with the Ottomans and Adal. That keeps the operation masked. But that also means you’ll be in the belly of the beast. One mistake, and you won’t make it back."

The three Shadows exchanged glances. The weight of it all settled in their chests.

"I should’ve picked a checkpoint," Tiriki muttered, cracking a grin.

The others snorted softly in agreement.

Khisa looked at them, the edge of worry in his expression.

"I would never ask you to risk your lives. If you want to back out, we’ll find another way."

"No, Your Highness," Musyoka said firmly. "Our job is crucial. We might even learn more about the enemy this way. I’ll do whatever it takes to survive."

"That’s right," Akumu added. "I’ve come too far to get killed by some oily merchant."

Khisa nodded. "You have the sea charts. I taught you how to navigate. You know the checkpoints. If anything goes wrong, get to the nearest one. Once you secure slaves, head to Nuri. My father needs the manpower—and he needs to know about the Ottoman expansion. We must be ready for anything."

The three nodded, understanding the unspoken truth. This wasn’t just a mission. It was a thread holding the entire operation together.

They left the tent, hearts heavy.

That night, the port of Assab was quiet save for the sea’s lullaby and the creak of sails. The Drift Squad sat near the water, sharing a bottle of sour date wine they’d bartered from a local trader. The stars overhead blinked quietly as if listening.

"I don’t know why, but I thought it would feel more exciting," Tiriki said, staring at the horizon. "All this cloak-and-dagger stuff. But right now it just feels... lonely."

"It is lonely," Akumu replied, his arms behind his head. "But once this is over, once the war ends—I want to farm again. I used to grow sugarcane with my mother. Maybe I’ll do that."

Musyoka gave a wistful smile. "I want to teach. Strategy, movement, war arts... not for battle, but for the next generation. We’ve bled enough."

"What about you, Tiriki?" Akumu asked. "Don’t say farming, you’d starve in a week."

Tiriki laughed. "Nah, not farming. I’ve got my eye on that blacksmith’s apprentice back home—Wambui. When this is over, I’m going to ask her to marry me."

Akumu gave a low whistle. "You? Settling down?"

"I’m full of surprises," Tiriki said with a grin.

Musyoka’s gaze remained on the sea. "Let’s stay alive long enough to see those dreams through."

The laughter faded into a peaceful silence, the kind that wraps around old friends when words are no longer needed.

Tomorrow they set sail to the unknown. But tonight, they were still in Assab. Still together.

And that was enough.

Dawn broke over Assab with a hushed solemnity.

The square was empty now. No fanfare, no speeches. The soldiers had left in the night like smoke slipping through fingers. Only Prince Khisa remained, staring over the port from the edge of the command tent, eyes dark from little sleep.

The city around him buzzed with the rhythms of trade once again—barkers shouting, crates unloaded, camels groaning under heavy loads—but beneath it all, an uneasy tension hung in the air. The enemy still didn’t know Nuri’s hand had moved.

Commander Tesfaye approached from behind, hands clasped.

"Deployment went smoothly. No eyes on us," he said.

Khisa nodded, silent for a long moment. "Good."

A ship’s horn echoed across the port. The first of the merchant vessels had arrived.

Khisa turned. "Let’s go. I need to see them off myself."

They reached the dockyard where the Drift Squad stood in the shadows, cloaked and unremarkable. One by one, the merchant vessels were slipping into the harbor, anchors dropped like quiet thunder.

Three ships. Three fates.

Khisa approached Musyoka, Akumu, and Tiriki, a rolled parchment in hand for each of them.

"These letters are for my father," he said. "Tell him everything. Not just about the slaves. Tell him about the growing Ottoman presence, the merchants, the whispers in the alleys. He needs to prepare for what’s coming. We have other merchants to handle vessels going into our checkpoints, yours are the only ones that will deal with Nuri."

Each of them took a letter, tucking it securely beneath their garments.

Akumu looked out at the ships. "You sure you trust these men?"

Khisa’s expression darkened slightly.

"Only a few. The merchant taking Musyoka is an old contact. He’s helped us move supplies before. Greedy, but discreet."

He pointed across the dock to a wide-hipped dhow painted in faded red. "That’s his vessel. Don’t trust his crew, though. He rotates them constantly."

Musyoka gave a curt nod and moved toward the ship.

"Akumu," Khisa continued, pointing at a sleeker, narrower ship flying no colors, "yours works both sides. Ottoman and Abyssinian. He’s in it for the coin. He’s the most likely to betray us if it means more gold—but we’ve lured him with just enough pay to keep him honest, for now."

Akumu smirked. "Then I’ll keep one hand on my blade the whole trip."

"Tiriki’s," Khisa said, looking to the third vessel—a filthy, creaking monstrosity with rust on the anchor and a crew that looked like pirates more than traders—"is the most dangerous."

Tiriki raised an eyebrow. "Figures."

"The merchant is named Fawzi. He smuggles people, opium, and information. We chose him because he’s invisible to the Ottomans. He knows the dark corners of this world. He’ll sell his own mother for silver... but he hates the slavers. That’s the only reason we can use him."

Tesfaye added, "He doesn’t trust anyone. Keep your identity tight. Be cruel when you must. Act like you belong among them."

Tiriki nodded solemnly.

Khisa looked at them, his voice low. "You’ll be alone. You won’t see each other again until this mission is over. But I will be thinking of you. Every day."

The three saluted him—shoulder to chest, then to the sky.

No more words were needed.

Musyoka boarded first. His ship was organized, quiet, with a crew that didn’t ask questions. The merchant gave him a nod and pretended not to know him as he passed, but there was a flicker of understanding in his eyes. Trusted, but cautious.

Akumu boarded next. His ship smelled of salt and sweat. The crew watched him too long, sizing him up. The merchant greeted him with a slick smile and gold-capped teeth, handing him a ledger like they’d known each other for years.

"You’ll have to earn your keep," the man said. "Slaves don’t move themselves."

Akumu played the part. "As long as they’re fresh and strong, I don’t care what happens to them."

The merchant grinned and waved him aboard.

Tiriki’s ship was last.

Fawzi stood at the edge, chewing on a bone and eyeing Tiriki like a stray dog.

"You got gold?" he asked.

Tiriki tossed a small pouch without flinching.

Zuberi caught it mid-air, tested the weight, and grunted. "Welcome aboard. Stay out of the crew’s way. They’ve killed for less than a word."

Tiriki climbed the ramp, heart steady, eyes already hardening into the mask he’d have to wear for months.

From the pier, Khisa and Tesfaye watched the three ships pull away one by one, sails billowing in the ocean wind, their silhouettes vanishing into the sea like phantoms.

"They’ll survive," Tesfaye said quietly.

"They have to," Khisa replied. "The future of this war might be riding with them."

And just like that, the Drift Squad disappeared—into danger, into secrecy, into the belly of the beast.