The sun hung low as Khisa, Tadasee, and their entourage finally arrived back in Assab. Dust clung to their cloaks, and the sea breeze offered little comfort. But the tension that followed them all the way from Gondar had shifted—there was a quiet confidence in their gait.
The bait was set.
Whispers would reach the traitors soon enough. A web of rumors, forged alliances, and false vulnerabilities had been carefully sown. Now, they just had to wait for the trap to spring.
Khisa stood at the edge of the rebuilt harbor, watching merchant ships arrive with goods and secrets. He turned to Tadasee, his voice low.
"Now we see who comes hunting."
Northern Abyssinia — Outside the Adal Camp
General Mekonnen sat atop his horse, staring across the gorge at the final Adal stronghold. Tents dotted the cliffs, black flags snapping in the wind like defiance incarnate.
His officers reported skirmishes at night—sharp, sudden, and deadly. The Adal warriors were not retreating. They were cornered.
