The night air was cool and heavy with the scent of rain. The distant crackle of campfires flickered across the field, casting faint halos of orange against the dark horizon. Khisa walked alone through the quiet camp, his thoughts weighed down by the silence that followed every battle. The cries of the wounded had long faded, replaced by the soft hum of soldiers resting before dawn.
From behind him came a familiar voice.
"Prince Khisa," King Nzinga called, his tone steady but reflective.
Khisa turned and offered a polite bow. "Your Majesty."
"Walk with me," Nzinga said, clasping his hands behind his back. "There are things I must ask you—leader to leader."
They moved through the rows of tents, the rhythmic sound of their boots brushing against the dirt. After a long silence, Nzinga finally spoke. "Tell me the truth of the situation. All of it. No diplomacy, no titles. Just truth."
Khisa exhaled slowly, eyes on the horizon. "It's… delicate. But you deserve to know."
