Njuwa sat in the darkness, his back against the cold stone wall, Kifo's last words echoing in his mind.
"We're going to start a war."
He had expected a plan of stealth—slipping out under the cover of night, evading the guards, and vanishing into the wilderness. But a war? That was madness.
Yet, as he stared at Kifo's face, illuminated only by the faint moonlight slipping through the cracks in the wooden door, he saw no hesitation. Only certainty.
"You don't mean an actual war," Njuwa said cautiously.
Kifo smirked. "Not the way you think. We can't fight the Baron's forces head-on. But war isn't just swords and blood—it's disruption, chaos, turning the system against itself."
Njuwa considered this. He had spent weeks observing the fortress, watching how things worked, how the guards treated the slaves, how the overseers controlled the food rations and supplies. He had seen how cracks already existed within the system.
"Explain," he said.
Kifo leaned forward. "A fortress is like a body. It needs food, discipline, and control to function. If we attack its limbs—disrupt the food, spread fear, weaken the discipline—the body crumbles. If we make the guards question their safety, if we make the overseers paranoid, if we make the Baron's men fear the night…"
A slow realization dawned on Njuwa. "Then they start making mistakes."
"Exactly," Kifo said. "And mistakes create opportunity."
It was brilliant. It wasn't about brute force—it was about turning their captors' own strength against them.
Njuwa's mind raced. The fortress wasn't invincible. The kitchen workers were overworked and resentful. The guards were lazy and predictable. The slaves—desperate and hopeless—needed only the right spark.
A war of shadows. A war of whispers. A war of fear.
"But how do we start?" he asked.
Kifo's grin was sharp. "First, we plant seeds of doubt. We make the guards distrust one another. We spread rumors—whispers of escape attempts, false betrayals, stolen rations. A little paranoia will set them on edge."
Njuwa nodded. "And the slaves? They need something to believe in."
"Fear can break men, but hope can unite them," Kifo said. "If they see that defiance is possible, they will follow."
The plan was dangerous. If they were caught, they would be tortured, maybe even executed. But Njuwa had already chosen his path. He would rather die fighting than live as a slave.
Kifo stood, stretching. "Tomorrow, we begin."
---
The first step was simple: a missing ration.
During the midday meal, when the slaves lined up for their thin bowls of porridge, Njuwa slipped a handful of food from one bowl into another. It wasn't much, barely noticeable—until two slaves fought over it.
"You stole my food!" one of them accused.
"I didn't!" the other protested.
The overseer, already irritated from the sweltering heat, lashed out with his whip, striking both men. "Silence! Any more trouble, and you'll both be thrown in the pits!"
Murmurs spread through the crowd. The overseers were quick to punish, but their cruelty had become routine. What was different this time was the seed of distrust planted between the slaves.
That night, Kifo struck again.
One of the guards, a burly man named Joram, found his boots missing. He accused another guard of stealing them. The argument turned into a shouting match, which led to blows. By morning, Joram had been reassigned to an outer post, away from the fortress.
"One less watchful eye," Kifo muttered, satisfied.
The disruptions continued. A rusted water bucket mysteriously broke, spilling its contents and delaying the morning patrol. A pair of training weapons went missing, causing the Baron's men to suspect an armed uprising. A whisper spread among the slaves that an escape had already been attempted—and that the Baron had hidden the truth to maintain order.
Panic. Confusion. Doubt.
And then came the moment Njuwa had been waiting for.
---
A week later, under the cover of night, Njuwa crept toward the storage house.
Kifo had told him about a weak spot in the wooden wall—one that had been ignored by the fortress workers. If they could widen the hole, it would serve as an escape route.
Njuwa reached into the loose plank, fingers brushing against the dry wood. He wiggled it carefully, loosening it further. If they had another week, it would be large enough for a person to slip through.
But then—
A voice.
"What are you doing?"
Njuwa spun, heart hammering.
A boy stood behind him, barely older than him—one of the younger slaves, Jengo. His eyes were wide with curiosity, but also fear.
If Jengo raised the alarm, everything would be ruined.
Njuwa hesitated, then took a step closer. "You want to leave this place, don't you?"
Jengo blinked. "Of course. But—"
"Then listen," Njuwa whispered. "We have a plan. But if you say anything before it's time, the Baron's men will kill us all."
Jengo swallowed, looking uncertain. "You're really going to escape?"
"Not just escape," Njuwa said. "We're going to break this place."
Jengo's breathing quickened. He was afraid—but he was also intrigued.
Njuwa made his voice softer. "You can be part of it. Or you can walk away and pretend this conversation never happened."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Jengo nodded. "I want in."
Njuwa exhaled. "Good. Then you follow my lead."
Jengo's arrival changed everything. If one slave knew, others would know soon. The movement was growing faster than expected.
Njuwa returned to Kifo, explaining what had happened.
The older man chuckled. "Rebellion spreads like fire. Once it starts, it's impossible to stop."
"But we don't have enough time," Njuwa said. "The Baron's men will notice soon."
"Then we move to the next stage," Kifo said.
Njuwa frowned. "Which is?"
Kifo's expression turned dark. "We make them bleed."
---
The next day, an overseer was found unconscious in the training yard. Someone had struck him from behind with a wooden pole.
No one confessed.
The guards punished ten slaves at random.
But something had changed.
The fear in the slaves' eyes wasn't just fear anymore. It was something else. A flicker of defiance.
Njuwa watched as they whispered among themselves, glancing at the guards with something other than terror.
Kifo leaned beside him. "It's begun."
Njuwa nodded. The seeds had been planted. The cracks in the fortress had begun to spread.
And soon—
They would break the whole damn thing apart.