Njuwa sat cross-legged on the cold floor, his eyes fixed on Kifo. The flickering candle cast long shadows across the chamber, making the older man's scarred face look even more severe.
"If you want to escape, you must first understand what's stopping you," Kifo said, his voice low but firm. "Strength alone won't break these chains. You need patience, intelligence, and above all—control."
"Control?" Njuwa asked.
Kifo nodded. "Over yourself. Over your emotions. Over your actions. Slaves act on impulse. Warriors act with purpose."
Njuwa frowned. He had spent his entire life reacting—first to the raid that destroyed his village, then to the cruelty of the Baron's fortress. He had never thought about control.
Kifo leaned forward, his sharp gaze piercing. "What do you know about your enemy?"
"The Baron's men?"
"Not just them. The system. The fortress. The routines. Escape isn't about breaking walls—it's about finding cracks."
Njuwa thought back to the past few weeks. The guards rotated shifts at dusk and dawn. The kitchen staff were overworked and barely noticed the slaves. The storage house locks were old, rusted. Small details, but they painted a larger picture.
"I know the guards switch shifts every six hours," Njuwa said slowly. "I know the kitchens are a weak point. And I know that no one pays attention to the ones who are too weak to fight back."
Kifo smiled faintly. "Good. You're learning."
Njuwa sat up straighter, feeling a flicker of hope.
But Kifo's expression turned cold. "Now tell me—what do you know about yourself?"
The question caught Njuwa off guard. "Myself?"
"Yes. Your strengths. Your weaknesses. What makes you dangerous, and what makes you vulnerable."
Njuwa hesitated. He wasn't the strongest among the slaves. He had no great fighting skills. But he was quick. He observed. He adapted.
"I can think fast," he said finally. "I can read people."
Kifo nodded. "That's a start. But knowing is different from using."
He reached behind him and pulled out a small wooden stick, tossing it toward Njuwa. "Attack me."
Njuwa blinked. "What?"
"Attack me," Kifo repeated. "Right now."
Njuwa tightened his grip on the stick. Kifo didn't look particularly strong, but the scars on his arms told a different story. Still, if this was a test, he had no choice.
He lunged forward, aiming for Kifo's ribs.
The older man moved like a shadow.
In an instant, Njuwa found himself flipped onto his back, the breath knocked from his lungs. His stick clattered to the floor.
Kifo crouched beside him, shaking his head. "Predictable. You attacked straight on, no feint, no deception. Try again."
Gritting his teeth, Njuwa grabbed the stick and stood. This time, he faked a strike to the left before pivoting to the right.
Kifo blocked it effortlessly.
Faster than Njuwa could react, Kifo twisted his arm, forcing him to drop the weapon again.
"You're thinking like a brawler," Kifo said. "Not a warrior."
Njuwa groaned, rubbing his wrist. "Then teach me how to fight."
Kifo studied him. "Fighting isn't about swinging a weapon. It's about knowing when to strike and when to wait. When to move and when to stay still. It's about using what you have, not wishing for what you don't."
Njuwa swallowed his frustration. "Then what do I have?"
Kifo smirked. "Speed. Instinct. Intelligence. But those mean nothing without control."
Njuwa exhaled sharply. "So how do I learn control?"
Kifo's eyes gleamed. "Pain."
---
The next few nights were brutal.
Kifo didn't go easy on him. Every lesson was a test, every mistake punished with a swift strike or a painful lock. But Njuwa learned. He learned how to move without wasted motion, how to strike where it hurt the most, how to predict an opponent's next move.
And most importantly—he learned how to endure.
By the fourth night, he could last longer in a fight. By the fifth, he landed his first successful counterattack. It wasn't much—a simple deflection—but Kifo gave a rare nod of approval.
"Better," he said. "But not good enough."
Njuwa wiped the sweat from his brow. "Then what's next?"
Kifo's smirk widened. "Now, we stop playing games."
He stood and gestured to the candle. "Blow it out."
Njuwa frowned but obeyed. The room plunged into darkness.
A heartbeat later, Kifo attacked.
Njuwa barely had time to react. He felt a rush of air, the whisper of movement. He ducked, just in time to avoid a strike to the ribs.
"Good," Kifo's voice came from the shadows. "But not fast enough."
Njuwa spun, searching for his opponent. He couldn't see anything. His ears strained, listening for the slightest shift.
A flicker of sound—right side.
He dodged.
A fist grazed his shoulder instead of slamming into his jaw.
Njuwa grinned.
Then Kifo swept his legs out from under him.
Njuwa hit the floor hard.
"Never celebrate too soon," Kifo murmured.
Pain flared through Njuwa's back, but he ignored it. Instead, he focused on what he had learned.
Close your eyes. Feel the air. Listen.
Another movement—left side this time.
Njuwa rolled before the attack could land.
Kifo chuckled. "You're getting it."
They trained like that for hours, until Njuwa could barely stand. But when they finally stopped, he felt something new burning inside him.
Strength.
Not just the strength of muscles, but the strength of knowing.
He wasn't just reacting anymore. He was controlling.
And that meant he was one step closer to freedom.
---
As dawn approached, Kifo sat beside him, breathing heavily.
"You have potential," he admitted. "But skill alone won't save you."
Njuwa glanced at him. "Then what will?"
Kifo's expression darkened. "A plan."
Njuwa's heartbeat quickened. "Do you have one?"
Kifo was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he said, "I did. Once."
Njuwa caught the unspoken words. It failed.
But Kifo was still here. Still alive.
And that meant there was still a chance.
"Then we make a new one," Njuwa said. "Together."
Kifo studied him, then smiled. "You really don't give up, do you?"
"No," Njuwa said, eyes burning with determination. "I don't."
Kifo nodded. "Good. Because if we're going to escape this place, we'll need to do something no one has ever done before."
He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper.
"We're going to start a war."