The air inside the fortress was changing. Fear still hung over the slaves like a storm cloud, but now, there was something else—something more dangerous. A sense of expectation. Of waiting.
Njuwa could feel it. He saw it in the way the slaves moved, the way their gazes lingered a little too long on the guards, the way their hands clenched into fists when they thought no one was watching.
The attack on the overseer had been the first spark. But sparks alone wouldn't burn down the fortress. They needed more.
They needed a fire.
---
That morning, as the slaves were herded to the workyard, a new presence loomed over them.
The Baron had sent his Captain of the Guard.
Sir Garron was a towering man with a permanent scowl, clad in dark steel armor that gleamed under the sun. He stood before the slaves, hands resting on the pommel of his sword. His gaze swept over them like a wolf surveying sheep.
"Listen well," he said, his voice like grinding stone. "There has been disobedience. A fool attacked an overseer. A thief has stolen food. Lies and whispers crawl through these walls like rats."
His eyes locked onto a group of slaves in the front.
"I do not tolerate rats."
With a swift motion, he drew his sword. Before anyone could react, he struck.
A scream cut through the air. A slave crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his chest.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Njuwa clenched his fists so hard his nails bit into his palms. Every muscle in his body screamed for him to act—to do something, anything.
But he didn't move.
Sir Garron wiped his blade clean on his cloak. "There will be no more mercy. Disobedience will be met with death. Remember that."
Then he turned and strode away.
The slaves were dismissed to their duties, but no one spoke. No one even dared to breathe too loudly.
But Njuwa knew the truth.
The Baron had just made his greatest mistake.
He had turned fear into rage.
---
That night, Kifo found Njuwa sitting in the corner of their barracks, staring at the wooden floor.
"The Captain's a brute," Kifo muttered, sitting beside him. "But he doesn't realize what he's done."
Njuwa didn't answer immediately. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, steady. "They hate him now."
Kifo nodded. "Hatred is useful. Fear makes people run. Hatred makes them fight."
"We need a plan," Njuwa said. "We're running out of time."
Kifo's eyes darkened. "Then let's finish what we started."
---
The next two days were spent preparing.
Kifo and Njuwa moved carefully, whispering in the darkness, spreading instructions among the most trusted slaves. They knew who would stand with them and who would fold under pressure.
Jengo, the young boy who had caught Njuwa at the storage house, proved more valuable than expected. He was quick, clever, and eager. He carried messages, kept watch, and helped convince others to join.
"How do you know who to trust?" Jengo asked one evening as they worked to loosen the wooden planks of the storage house.
Njuwa glanced at him. "I don't."
Jengo frowned. "Then what if someone betrays us?"
"Then we make sure they don't get the chance," Njuwa said.
Jengo swallowed hard but didn't argue.
By the third night, everything was in place.
And the fire was ready to burn.
---
The Breaking Point came at sunrise.
It started with the kitchen slaves. They had mixed the morning porridge with spoiled grains, causing half the guards to fall ill.
Then came the water supply—somehow, it had been tainted with a foul-smelling herb, making it undrinkable.
The guards were already frustrated when the next blow landed.
One of the wooden beams near the armory had been weakened over time—Kifo had been working on it for weeks. That morning, when a patrol leaned against it, the entire structure collapsed. Three guards were buried beneath the rubble.
Panic spread like wildfire.
The Baron's men scrambled to restore order, but the slaves had been waiting for this moment.
A shovel cracked against the back of a guard's skull.
A sharpened farming tool was driven into an overseer's gut.
Someone lit a torch.
And the fortress burned.
---
The first minutes were chaos.
Some slaves hesitated, too afraid to believe it was real. Others fought blindly, attacking anything that moved.
Njuwa had no weapon, but that didn't stop him. He ducked beneath a swinging blade, grabbed a fallen spear, and drove the blunt end into a guard's knee. The man howled, collapsing.
Kifo moved like a shadow, his dagger flashing in the firelight. He cut down an overseer, then disappeared into the smoke.
"Njuwa!"
Jengo's voice.
Njuwa turned just in time to see the boy struggling against a soldier twice his size. The man had Jengo by the throat, lifting him off the ground.
Without thinking, Njuwa lunged.
He slammed his shoulder into the guard's side, knocking him off balance. Jengo fell, gasping for air.
The soldier recovered quickly, swinging his sword. Njuwa barely dodged, the blade slicing through his sleeve.
Then Jengo acted.
He grabbed a fallen rock and smashed it against the soldier's head. The man crumpled.
Jengo stared at his bloodstained hands, shaking. "I… I killed him."
Njuwa grabbed his shoulder. "You did what you had to. Now move!"
They ran.
The fortress was in complete disarray. Fires raged. Slaves fought. Guards fell.
And then—the bell rang.
A deep, thunderous sound.
Reinforcements.
The Baron's elite soldiers.
Njuwa felt the shift in the air. The rebellion had started strong, but if they didn't move now, they would be slaughtered.
"Kifo!" he shouted.
The older man appeared through the smoke, his face grim. "It's time."
They sprinted toward the storage house. The weakened wooden planks had been pulled apart, creating a gap just wide enough for someone to slip through.
"Go!" Kifo ordered, shoving Jengo through first.
Njuwa followed, crawling through the gap, the rough wood scraping his skin.
Behind him, he heard the clash of steel. Screams.
Kifo was still outside.
"Kifo!" Njuwa turned, but a hand grabbed him, yanking him forward.
"Keep moving!" Jengo urged.
Njuwa's heart pounded, but he knew Jengo was right.
He ran.
The three of them emerged on the other side of the fortress walls, breathless, covered in soot and sweat.
Freedom.
But not safety.
The Baron's men would come for them.
The war was far from over.
And Njuwa was just getting started.