The Mthethwa group moved cautiously through the thickening dusk, the horizon painted with streaks of crimson and gold. Gondi led, his posture calm and unyielding, every step deliberate, every sense alert. Shaka walked close behind him, spear at his side, eyes scanning the treeline with calculated precision. Ndabuko followed, his breath steady, though his mind raced, the System humming softly in his head. Sonjana brought up the rear, a storm of unspoken tension coiled in his shoulders, his eyes darting between the shadows as if expecting an ambush at any moment. “Keep your eyes open,” Gondi said, his voice low but commanding. “The Zwides are not like other clans. Their cunning is as sharp as their blades, and their patience… longer than most can endure.” Ndabuko’s mind clicked. This is why the System warned me. Could this be the clan it showed me—the ones who annihilate everything in their path? He glanced at the distant glow of fires from the Zwides’ encampment, the faint smell

The night air carried a stillness that felt wrong. The Mthethwa group had left Zwide’s village before sunset, and now the moon hung low, casting pale light across the brush. The hyenas that Zwide’s people kept were still in everyone’s minds. Their eyes, their sounds, the way they moved so freely among the Zwides—it left an unease none of the Mthethwa could shake off. Gondi walked at the front, his spear balanced loosely in his grip, his eyes scanning the trees. Behind him, Ndabuko, Shaka, and Sonjana kept close. No one spoke. The silence pressed down until even the crack of twigs under their sandals felt too loud. The System stirred inside Ndabuko’s head. Warning: Multiple hostiles detected nearby. Ambush probability: 90%. His heart kicked hard against his ribs. He looked around quickly but didn’t speak out. Instead, he stepped closer to Gondi and lowered his voice. “Something’s wrong. I feel eyes on us.” Gondi gave him only the smallest glance. His face didn’t shift, but

The ride back to the Mthethwa village was long and quiet. Gondi led the way, his posture stiff, eyes scanning the horizon as though expecting trouble to appear from nowhere. Shaka rode beside him, silent as always, but Ndabuko noticed his jaw tight, hands gripping the reins so firmly the knuckles shone white. Sonjana trailed slightly behind, his usual bravado muted, replaced by the raw, simmering frustration from their encounter with Mkhuba and the Zwides. Ndabuko wiped the sweat and dust from his face, trying to shake off the remnants of adrenaline. The System hummed softly in his mind. Warning: Zwide’s actions are deceptive. Exercise extreme caution. He shivered slightly. Zwide wasn’t a normal clan chief. The way he presented peace while keeping his intentions hidden felt like a trap waiting to spring. Ndabuko kept glancing at Shaka, wondering if even the future king felt the same unease. Shaka’s eyes were unreadable, but there was a tension in his shoulders that spoke volum

Zwide leaned forward with that cold smile of his, the one that never quite reached his eyes. Sonjana stood before him, shoulders tense but head high. This was a meeting he had sought out alone, sneaking away while Gondi, Shaka, and Ndabuko were still distracted within the Zwide homestead. None of them noticed his absence, or so he hoped. “You are wasted under Dingiswayo,” Zwide said, his voice low and smooth, like oil sliding over stone. “You fight with passion, yet you are treated like dirt. Overshadowed by an outsider and a boy who does not even belong here. Shaka, Ndabuko… they are praised while you are mocked.” Sonjana swallowed hard, his pride stinging as the words cut deep. Zwide’s eyes narrowed, promising fire. “But with me, it will be different. I can give you more than respect. When the time comes, I will see to it that Shaka and Ndabuko are removed, one way or another. You, Sonjana, will sit where you should—at the top. A leader. Perhaps even a king.” For a heartbeat,

Ndabuko lay sprawled on the warm slope of the mountain, the spear at his side, his body trembling with exhaustion. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face and back, his chest rising and falling in ragged gasps. For the first time in hours, he let himself fully rest, letting the heat of the sun and the ache in his muscles press against him. He closed his eyes, letting the wind carry away the dust on his skin, and memories crept in, soft at first, like whispers across the years, and then sharper, pulling him back to a life he had once called home. He was a boy again, small and untested, standing in the kitchen while Nomvula stirred a pot of something fragrant and warm. The candlelight flickered against the walls, painting the room with shadows that danced like spirits. She had always loved stories, and that night, she spoke of their great-grandfather, a warrior who had stood against impossible odds. “He never faltered, Lwazi,” she said, voice steady but soft, “even when everyone else th