1195-07-15

CLANK

The clash of weapons rang out, sharp and unrelenting. The savanna sun bore down on us, merciless and heavy, but it is surely worse for them—their gleaming armor baking them alive as it trapped the heat. For us, the light linen tunics and bare skin offered some reprieve, though the weight of battle made every breath a struggle.

We fought with what we had: iron spears, stone-tipped blades, and bows strung with fibers from the savanna. Crude in their simplicity, yet enough to hold our ground. The enemy's general emerged from the chaos, his presence commanding. He is young, with striking blonde hair that seemed to catch fire in the sunlight. His armor, polished to a blinding sheen, bore the emblem of a lion on his chestplate—a symbol of strength and dominion. Around him, his soldiers moved in a disciplined formation, their blue and yellow armor gleaming as their shields locked in unison.

But even they faltered under the weight of our numbers. Their advance slowed as we began to overwhelm them, pushing forward in a relentless tide. We were a proud people, hardened by years of struggle. To fight is our way of life; peace is a luxury we had long since forgotten.

This is Ghar—the vast expanse of the savanna our home. Its golden plains stretched beyond the horizon, dotted with round wooden huts of mud and thatch. The watchtowers we built, tall and lean, offered a commanding view of our lands. Our weapons, though simple, spoke of a resourcefulness honed over generations. Spears with polished wooden shafts and tips carved from obsidian or flint glinted in the sun. Daggers with bone handles rested at our sides, close and ready for when the fight moved too near.

I didn't know why they came or what they hoped to gain, but it didn't matter. No invader would take this land—not while I still breathed. As I fought on the front lines, my mind wandered to my sons, K and L, back in Zandu. Zandu, the proud heart of Ghar, the city my father defended before me, and his father before him. My name—Addo—is not merely given; it is earned when I united the tribes under one banner.

WHOOSH.

An arrow grazed past my ear, a whisper of death. I ducked, barely dodging its bite, and caught a glimpse of the enemy general laughing as he pushed forward. The tide of battle turned against us. Their discipline, their steel—it is a force unlike any we'd faced. Still, we fought. Every blade we swung, every spear we threw, is driven by an unyielding pride.

Then came the pain.

The arrow struck deep into my shoulder, forcing me to drop my konda—my trusted blade. Blood spilled hot and fast, staining the dry earth at my feet. I fell, knees hitting the dirt, but my warriors surged around me, their shields rising to protect me. I wanted to rise, to keep fighting, but my body betrayed me.

The battle raged on, a storm of clashing steel and ripping flesh. My men gave their lives to hold the line, to protect their land, to protect me. Another arrow found its mark, and the world around me dimmed.

I wasn't the man I once was, I realized. Time had taken its toll. My mind still burned with the fire of a leader, but my body… My body is too old for this life. As my vision blurred and consciousness slipped away, one thought remained:

We are a strong people. And no matter what comes, Ghar will endure.

The fight is over. The outcome is unclear, obscured by the staggering casualties on both sides. The only thing left to witness is the enemy general—stripped of his armor, a fallen dragon among the ruins.

"What should we do with him, Addo?" one of my generals asked, his voice steady but laced with the weight of the moment.

"Bring him to Miso," I replied, my voice rough but clear. "There, I'll decide what to do."

Another general moved swiftly, grabbing the defeated man by the arm and tossing him onto a nearby horse with brutal efficiency. We marched on, the pain in my body a constant, pulsing reminder of my age and battle. But I refused to let my men see weakness. I would remain upright.

Miso lay to the north, a vital city of Ghar where much of our trade with distant lands—like Tobe and Maranona—passed through. Unlike the other tribes, whose homes were little more than wooden walls and thatched huts, Miso is a city of grandeur. It is a symbol of Ghar's power, a place of commerce, strength, and military might. Here, stone and brick replaced mud and wood, and the architecture is a fusion of practical fortifications and artistic expression. The city is built to withstand siege and to showcase Ghar's wealth and influence. With its easy access to water and abundant clay deposits, it thrived where others struggled.

We passed through the heart of the city, the streets alive with the sounds of life. People lined the roads, their voices lifted in praise, their hands waving palm fronds in the air.

"Glory to Ghar!" one man with red eyes shouted.

"Another victory!" cried a woman.

As we made our way to the palace at the end of the main road, I dismounted, my legs heavy and my body aching. The palace rose before us, a towering structure of clay and stone, its architecture reminiscent of the great pantheons of old—though grander, more fortified. The market square surrounding it buzzed with activity. Stalls overflowed with wares, the air thick with the scent of spices and metal. Vendors called out to us, offering goods forged from the finest materials.

Copper gleamed in the sunlight, shaped into tools and ornaments that symbolized the resourcefulness of our people. Bronze weapons—sharp, strong, and deadly—stood as a testament to our craftsmanship and progress. Traders peddled gems: golden-brown tiger's eye, prized for its strength and courage, and garnets, deep red, woven into tribal adornments.

I pushed through the crowd, the cheers of the people barely audible now, focused only on the task ahead.

"Bring the prisoner to the throne room," I commanded.

As I ascended the steps to the palace, the familiar faces of my sons greeted me. K, my heir, stood tall at 15, his expression a mixture of admiration and uncertainty.

Beside him, L, though only five, is unusually tall for his age, his wide black eyes filled with curiosity. Behind them stood Tiana, the woman I had loved for so many years. As soon as she saw me, she ran forward and wrapped her arms around me.

"You got my Taji all bloody!" she complained, her voice a blend of concern and frustration as she took the red and purple cloak from my shoulders, examining it.

I smiled, brushing her hair back from her face. "I'm fine, Tiana."

"I also have to add another dot," she muttered, shaking her head as if in disbelief. "What will I do with you?"

"Get cleaned up first," she quickly said, pushing me away gently.

I nodded, too tired to argue, and made my way inside the building. The halls of Miso were lined with glittering gems. At the end of the hall, the throne room awaited—a place where the leader of Miso, the heart of Ghar, made decisions that rippled across the savanna.

I took a moment to clean myself up, covering the remnants of battle with a dragon leather cloak, the rugged material a reminder of Ghar's unyielding spirit. Once I was presentable, I left my chambers to see the prisoner. My thoughts wandered as I made my way through the corridors. The war had raged for nearly a hundred years. Was this a sign that they, too, were growing weary? Or had they finally found a common cause? I couldn't help but wonder what is to come.

As I walked into the throne room, the weight of the centuries seemed to press on my shoulders. I sat in silence, contemplating the future of Ghar. What would we do? Where is this war taking us?

CREAK.

The heavy door to the throne room slowly opened, interrupting my thoughts. My general entered, leading the captured general in tow. With a bow, he presented the man to me before retreating, leaving us alone.

The prisoner is dressed in the custom clothing of Ghar: a robe adorned in powerful blues and reds, reflecting the strength and pride of our people. Two rags lay at my feet—one blue and one red, his red eyes matched the clothes he was given.

I studied him carefully, my voice cold. "What is your name, general?"

"Mathew, my king," he replied, bowing low in respect.

"What do you think I should do with you?" I asked, my tone measured.

"My king," he said, his voice calm despite the tension in the room, "there is a fine line between demonstrating strength and provoking disaster."

"You question my strategy, Mathew?" I raised an eyebrow, irritation creeping into my voice.

 "Ghar has endured too much to cower before threats."

He met my gaze with a steady look. "What if they find common cause against you?"

I leaned forward. "And what would you suggest?"

"Release me, and in return, I will carry whispers of Ghar's power."

I paused, considering his words. "Do you see something I don't?"

"The winds are shifting, my king," Mathew said. "Old enemies may find themselves in alliances."

"Very well," I said, frustration building. "But you... your riddles grow tiresome."

"Ghar's strength lies not in its throne," he continued, "but in its unity."

I stared at him, the weight of his words hanging in the air.

"I'll allow your freedom," I said finally, standing up, "but Ghar is as unified as ever under me."

"A broken unity," he muttered, his eyes flickering with a mix of defiance and something else, something I couldn't place.

I tossed the blue rag toward him, a silent dismissal.

"Leave," I commanded.

When he left I sank into my chair, my mind clouded with the weight of the war. Mathew 's words still echoed in my mind, and though I'd allowed him his freedom, I couldn't help but wonder what he knew—what he saw—that I didn't. The war had reached its peak, and relations with Tobe and Ahk could not have been any worse. Wara, as always, remained silent. 

Hours passed. Mathew had been released, sent by boat, his fate now uncertain. I tried to push away the lingering unease, but it clung to me, heavy and unrelenting.

Just as I leaned back on my throne, exhausted, K and L entered, their youthful faces a small comfort in the midst of the chaos. I was about to speak to them when I heard the distinct sound of marching feet—heavy, deliberate. A few dozen, perhaps ten or more. My instincts kicked in, and without thinking, I told my sons to hide, to stay out of sight. 

The room filled with tension as my generals stormed in.

"What have you done, releasing that prisoner?" one barked.

"Holding onto foreign prisoners is a sign of strength!" another shouted, his voice thick with frustration. "Letting him go makes Ghar look weak—like prey to our enemies."

I steeled myself, meeting their fury with cold resolve. "Strength is not in chains, but in how we are seen as a nation," I replied.

"Do we want to be respected as equals, or do we want to remain pawns, dependent on foreign nations?"

The tension in the room escalated as the generals grumbled amongst themselves, their voices a rising chorus of discontent. Then I noticed him—Krain, my most trusted general, the one who had stood by me from the very beginning. He lingered in the back, his eyes downcast.

"Respect? Unity has brought us nothing but attack after attack," one said, his voice bitter. "When Ghar is divided into tribes, no one dared bother us."

I stood, my hands gripping the arms of the throne as I faced the room. "So you would prefer chaos?" I asked, my voice steady despite the rising anger.

"A fractured land, fighting among itself while the world moves forward? That's not strength. That is stagnation."

"Our people live as servants to foreign powers because of you, Addo," one said. "You've betrayed them!"

Before I could react one of the generals lunged forward, his motion a blur. The glint of steel caught the light, and before I could raise my hand to defend myself, the dagger struck. A searing pain exploded in my chest, and the room seemed to shift around me.

"Edict: … NO"

I refuse. I won't cast it. I can't slaughter the men who helped me get this far.

The world slowed to a crawl as I staggered back, the blood pouring from my wound, staining the floor beneath me. 

Krain… please, I begged in my mind. Please protect my family.

The last thing I saw before my vision blurred completely was Krain's face, his eyes locked with mine. And then, just as the world tilted into darkness, I heard one final voice.

"Where are these countries you cling to? These rulers who offer their protection?"