Njuwa crouched behind a pile of discarded crates, heart pounding as he processed what he had just overheard. A rebellion. It was dangerous, reckless—even foolish—but it was also an opportunity.
He had spent the last few days learning the fortress, the people within it, and the brutal system that held them in chains. Now, a crack had appeared in the foundation, and he needed to decide what to do with it.
The two figures continued their whispered conversation, oblivious to his presence.
"The guards are stretched thin," the first voice muttered. "If we strike during the grain shipment next week, we can slip out unnoticed."
"Slip out?" the taller figure scoffed. "You still don't understand, do you? There is no slipping out. We either kill our way free or we die trying."
Njuwa exhaled slowly. He had suspected as much. No amount of sneaking would get past the Baron's men. If they wanted to escape, they had to fight.
But were they strong enough?
Before he could listen further, the shorter figure tensed. "Did you hear that?"
Njuwa ducked lower.
The taller one cursed under his breath. "We can't risk being caught. Go back."
Without another word, the two disappeared into the darkness.
Njuwa waited several breaths before moving.
Carefully, he retraced his steps, slipping back into the barracks undetected. He lay down, pretending to sleep, but his mind raced.
A rebellion meant chaos. Chaos meant opportunity.
But it also meant blood.
Was Jua strong enough to survive it?
Could he afford to take the risk?
---
The next morning, the routine continued. Training was harsher than ever. More boys collapsed under the weight of exhaustion, and the whips of the overseers showed no mercy.
Njuwa trained harder than before.
If a battle was coming, he had to be ready.
Toro noticed. "You're pushing yourself more than usual," he muttered after training. "Something on your mind?"
Njuwa hesitated. He had learned to be careful with his words, but Toro was different. He wasn't just another slave; he had experience. And more importantly, he had survived this long.
So he tested the waters.
"If an escape was possible, would you take it?" Njuwa asked, keeping his tone neutral.
Toro's gaze sharpened.
"Depends," he said slowly. "A lot of people dream about escape. Most of them are dead now."
"So you think it's impossible?"
"I think it's foolish if you're not ready."
Njuwa let that sink in before asking, "What would it take to be ready?"
Toro studied him. Then, instead of answering, he threw a question back. "Are you asking because you're curious… or because you know something?"
Njuwa kept his face still.
"Curious."
Toro smirked. "Liar."
A tense silence settled between them. Then Toro sighed.
"Listen, new blood. Escaping this place isn't about running. It's about surviving long enough to fight back. And if you really want to know how to do that…" He glanced around before lowering his voice. "You need to talk to Kifo."
Njuwa frowned. "Who's Kifo?"
Toro leaned closer. "The man who should've been dead five times over."
---
Njuwa spent the next few days watching, listening, and waiting for his chance.
He had heard whispers of Kifo before—a man who had survived the Baron's pits longer than anyone else. Some said he was unkillable. Others said he had once been a warrior from the Eastern Clans, sold into slavery after losing a great war.
Either way, if he wanted to know more about escape, Kifo was the man to find.
The problem was getting close.
Unlike the rest of the slaves, Kifo wasn't kept in the general barracks. He was valuable, which meant he had privileges. That also meant he was watched carefully.
But if there was one thing Njuwa had learned, it was that even the strongest chains had weak links.
And he was going to find them.
Because no matter what it took…
He would not die a slave.