Ndabuko remained on his knees in the dirt, clutching the bloody spear. Breathing had become nominal, there was now a heaviness in Ndabuko's chest. The dead were all around him spread like confetti on the desecrated ground. Bodies were turned grotesquely, as if caught in motion, frozen in the moment of terror or defenseMen, women, and children.. None had been spared. There were no victors in the fight, only sustenance. His heart raced still yet did so to a different rhythm, a different beat, which seemed to surpass the fear. It had become something deeper possibly rage, or mourning fused with confusion. It was a knowingness - that he had killed and yet had survived, and he had done this all at an instant of a waking moment in a world that was not his. Hands that had felt too strong, or too able, had saved a life. Had taken others. And those hands now trembled, no longer from physical exhaustion, but from carrying the burden of everything they had just accomplished. The silence

Ndabuko stood from his knees, hands paused over the training spears he had been sharpening, the whetstone still warm on his hand. The air felt charged, heavy with an unspoken threat, and he scanned the tree line, his pulse quickening. Around him, the boys in the camp stirred, their chatter fading as they sensed the shift. Warriors on the clearing's edge tightened their grips on weapons, eyes narrowing as they peered into the forest's depths. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting. Then the silence broke like a dam giving way. A sharp, guttural cry echoed from the trees, cut off abruptly, followed by the rattle of spears and the heavy thud of footsteps against the earth. "Raid!" a voice bellowed from the direction of the river, raw with urgency. "They're coming from the valley!" The camp erupted into chaos, a whirlwind of motion and noise. Boys, still groggy from sleep, scrambled to their feet, some clutching training sticks, others frozen in place, eyes w

The council gathered fast, warriors were circling the fire with sharp eyes and tense shoulders. No one wasted words. The flames cracked, shadows shifting over faces hardened by battle and loss. Ndabuko stood with them, he was no longer an outsider as people originally said or even assumed he was. His voice carried now and his presence was for sure indeed was undeniable. The clan was watching and expecting to see if he would rise higher. Ndabuko clenched his fists, staring at the flames. ‘Wow, this is overwhelming, I never imagined I’d ever be sent back to the past, living the way our elders and ancestors once did. It’s rough, tougher than the life I had in the future, or my past which is the future from here, that’s for sure’ Ndabuko spoke softly to himself. Chief Bheka stood at the center, his broad frame silhouetted against the flames, his voice resonating with a gravitas that silenced the murmurs of the gathered men. "The northern tribes grow bolder," he said, hi

The journey to the Mthethwa settlement stretched longer than Ndabuko imagined. The trail baked under the sun, the dust clinging to his ankles and the air dry in his throat. His spear weighed heavy against his shoulder, and his small bundle of belongings pressed against his back. He told himself with every step, ‘This is where warriors are forged. If I fail here, my name will die before it even begins.’ When he finally reached the gates of the encampment, the sound of drums throbbed through the air. The settlement pulsed with life, young men sparring, elders watching from shaded seats, the sharp thud of spears striking wooden posts. Yet the moment he crossed into their space, silence fell. Eyes turned toward him, sharp and unwelcoming. Mthethwa youths, some his age and others older, sized him up with sneers curling across their lips. Their bodies already bore the marks of training, scars, hardened muscles, postures that dripped with confidence. They looked at him as though prey h

“Quiet!” King Dingiswayo’s voice thundered through the open space, silencing the crowd instantly. His presence alone demanded attention, his tall frame and sharp eyes sweeping across the gathering like a storm. The warriors of the Mthethwa clan, both young and seasoned, straightened their backs and fixed their eyes on him. Dingiswayo raised his hand, pointing directly at Ndabuko. “Step forward, boy. Introduce yourself properly, in full, like a real man should.” The crowd shifted, whispers running like fire. All eyes turned to Ndabuko as he stepped out, his chest rising and falling, his jaw clenched. He drew in a breath. “I am Ndabuko Dlamini, son of my ancestors, bearer of their strength. I came here to sharpen myself, to stand as a warrior among the Mthethwa.” Murmurs rose among the people. Some smirked, others nodded in approval. Dingiswayo’s eyes narrowed, studying him with a quiet intensity. “You came here to sharpen yourself, you say. That is good. But words are only wo