The Wrath of the Unchained-Chapter 89- Ashes and Saltwater

They returned to the cove as the sky bled orange into the sea, the wind carrying the scent of salt, ash, and blood. Their stolen pirate vessels creaked with damage, torn sails flapping, hulls bruised—but nothing that couldn’t be mended.

Crates of stolen gunpowder and captured weapons were stacked high along the shore. The wounded were tended to, while the dead were laid out beneath makeshift shrouds. A quiet hung in the air like mourning smoke.

Khisa gathered the soldiers, carpenters, and shipwrights for funeral rites. A small raised platform had been built near the shore, the ocean behind him crashing like distant drums. He stood beside Tesfaye, his cloak fluttering in the sea breeze, ash from a burning fire pit swirling around them.

He looked over the gathered crowd. Tired faces. Bloodied bandages. Silent tears.

Then he spoke.

"Today we mourn those who have lost their lives in the fight.

Each life gave us one more chance to win this war.

I know you are scared. Uncertain of our future.

Looking past that fear is not easy, and it never will be.

So I say this—fear today.

Doubt today.

But tomorrow... grip your weapons. Grip your hammers. And fight.

We are facing something greater than all of us.

We may not live to see the outcome of our efforts.

Some of us may never see our children grow.

But know this—your life matters.

What you do today will be remembered for generations.

Your names will live on.

The lives you save will live better lives because of your sacrifice.

We fight so that our children don’t have to.

So cry. Scream. Mourn.

But tomorrow, stand tall, men of Abyssinia.

We are not done yet."

There was silence at first—then a single soldier thumped his fist to his chest. Another followed. Then a third. And soon the entire group was echoing the gesture, a low hum of unity rising into the sea air.

Khisa stepped down from the platform. A young soldier—barely more than a boy—approached him, eyes red.

"Prince Khisa... my brother died today."

Khisa looked him in the eye. "What was his name?"

"Getahun."

"Getahun will be remembered. And so will you. You have a home in this kingdom. And a purpose."

The boy nodded, his lip trembling. Then he turned and rejoined the others.

Later, inside a canvas tent heavy with salt-soaked maps, Khisa and Tesfaye sat by a flickering lantern.

"That was well said, Prince," Tesfaye offered.

"I just said what I felt," Khisa replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "We always need to remind ourselves that our soldiers are human. They’re not tools for war. They have hopes. Dreams. I can’t promise to bring all of them home—but at least, knowing that their names and lives will be cherished... it’s something."

Tesfaye nodded. "Wars are hard on everyone. I have lost too many to count, even I was moved by your words. Thank you Prince Khisa." He paused slightly and continued, "We should tell the Emperor about the captain’s log."

"Yes, we should... but not just yet. Right now, Abyssinia is overwhelmed. We’re barely holding it together. We still have the three Adal camps to worry about—three thousand soldiers, well-armed."

"The best strategy," Tesfaye said thoughtfully, "is to take them down one by one."

"I agree. But let the Emperor handle that. My Shadows are stretched thin. There’s only so much I can do. For victory, we have to work together."

Khisa leaned over the map, tapping the coastline.

"You and I will focus on this port. We need to secure it fully as a naval base. Start building ships. We can use timber from the nearby forests. And we’ll need to buy supplies—trade where we must."

Tesfaye frowned slightly. "Do you think the Emperor will be able to take back the kingdom? It’s already this bad after years. How sure are you he’ll succeed?"

Khisa looked up, his expression calm but firm.

"He will succeed... because he has to."

Flashback: Shewa Palace, Weeks Ago

Before Khisa left for Assab, he had one final meeting with Emperor Gelawdewos.

"Your Majesty," Khisa said, bowing slightly. "We rely heavily on secrecy and infiltration. We must tread carefully."

"What are you saying?" the Emperor asked, brows narrowing.

"You need to look into your nobles," Khisa said, voice steady. "Anyone and everyone with rank. We need to know who has been feeding Adal information."

The Emperor’s expression turned dark. "Are you suggesting my people are traitors?"

"I’m not suggesting. I’m telling you. There are traitors in your midst."

"How sure are you?"

Khisa stepped forward, eyes cold.

"Your kingdom is crumbling from within.

Spies litter your towns.

Your ports are overrun by foreigners.

Your enemies camp freely within your borders.

I don’t need more proof."

The Emperor clenched his jaw. The truth was bitter. Those he had grown up with—trusted—were tearing Abyssinia apart from within.

Khisa continued. "Find the traitors. Break the lines of communication. Use every dirty trick you can—cut off supply lines, poison water, break them from the inside."

"What will you be doing?" the Emperor asked.

"The war will also be at sea. Let me handle that. Send me your former navy officers. I’ll train them into an elite force."

"You want to draft civilians too?"

"As long as they can hold a weapon, they can fight."

"No!" the Emperor roared. "Women will never fight in my kingdom. They’ll only get in the way."

Khisa’s eyes narrowed.

"That is foolish. This kingdom belongs to them too.

If the men fall, who will defend it?

Give them the option.

At least train them. It’s better than pretending they’re useless."

The Emperor hesitated. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

"Fine. I’ll send navy veterans and some young men and women to Assab."

"Good. Once we secure the Ottoman vessel, I’ll bring the weapons to you. Then you begin the campaign."

The Emperor nodded slowly. "Thank you for giving us a fighting chance."

Khisa turned, his cape catching the wind, and left to begin his journey to the sea.