The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the training yard. Another day of brutal exercises had left Njuwa aching and exhausted, but his mind remained sharp. Every moment, every glance, every routine in the fortress—he studied them all. Because if he wanted to escape, he needed answers. And those answers lay with one man.
Kifo.
The man was a ghost within the Baron's fortress. He rarely spoke, rarely trained with the rest, and was never punished, no matter what happened. The other slaves whispered of him in hushed voices, calling him the man who wouldn't die. Some said he had tried to escape five times and survived each failure. Others believed the Baron kept him alive as a warning—proof that defiance led only to suffering.
But if anyone knew how to break free, it was him.
Njuwa just had to find a way to get close.
---
That night, while the barracks fell into silence, Njuwa remained awake. He knew Kifo wasn't kept with the other slaves, but he had seen where the guards led him after training—a small chamber near the storage houses. It was a privilege, but also a cage. And every cage had a key.
Slipping through the sleeping forms of the other boys, he reached the far end of the barracks, where a loose plank offered a narrow opening to the outside. He had tested it before, prying it slightly loose when no one was watching. Now, he squeezed through, emerging into the cold night air.
The fortress loomed around him, silent except for the distant sound of guards making their rounds. He kept low, moving through the shadows, his heart pounding with every step.
The storage houses weren't far, but they were heavily patrolled. He needed a distraction.
Glancing around, he spotted a pile of old firewood stacked near one of the kitchens. He took a deep breath, picked up a small rock, and threw it hard against the pile.
The sudden crash echoed through the yard.
Voices rose in alarm as a nearby guard hurried over.
Njuwa didn't wait. He slipped around the corner, hugging the wall of the storage house. The chamber where Kifo was kept was just ahead.
He reached the door and pressed his ear against it. Silence.
Steeling himself, he pushed it open.
The room was small and dimly lit, a single candle flickering on a wooden crate. And there, sitting against the far wall, was Kifo.
He was older than Njuwa had expected—perhaps in his thirties. His body was lean but covered in scars, each one a mark of survival. His eyes, sharp and dark, met Njuwa's with a quiet intensity.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Kifo smirked. "You're either very brave or very stupid, boy."
Njuwa swallowed, keeping his voice steady. "I need to know how to escape."
Kifo chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You and every other fool in this place."
"I'm not a fool," Njuwa said firmly.
Kifo leaned forward slightly. "No? Then tell me—what makes you different from the rest?"
Njuwa hesitated. He could lie, spin some tale about his strength or determination. But something told him Kifo would see through it.
So he told the truth.
"Because I won't die here," he said. "I don't care what it takes—I will not be a slave forever."
Kifo studied him for a long moment. Then, to Njuwa's surprise, he laughed.
"Good," he said. "Because the only ones who escape are the ones who refuse to accept their fate."
He gestured for Njuwa to sit. "You want to know how to escape? Then listen carefully, boy. Because freedom isn't given—it's taken."
And as the night stretched on, Njuwa listened to the man who wouldn't die.