CHAPTER 158: CHAPTER 158- THE WEIGHT OF AN NATION

The sun was still low in the sky when Khisa dipped his reed pen in ink and began to write.

His chamber was silent, save for the chirping of birds beyond the open balcony. Three guards stood outside the door, still as statues. But within the room, everything moved—thoughts, strategy, purpose.

He wrote in careful strokes, his handwriting swift but steady.

To Zuberi, Shadow Guard

Your decision was bold. And correct.

Letting the spy go was a gamble, but it served two purposes: first, it exposed a breach we now know how to watch for. Second, it sent a message. Nuri is not some village they can walk into and destroy. We are order. We are unity. We are sharp steel.

The man you let go—Mbuta—will be followed for a short while longer. Then, the pursuit will pass to the squad in Kongo.

I am dispatching a support unit to reinforce our efforts beyond the western border. They will move quietly, with cover granted by the Kabaka himself. With Buganda’s cooperation, they will shelter near the edge of the forestlands between our nations and another between Kongo and Buganda. They are not to engage unless provoked. They are to observe. If Lumingu so much as breathes in this direction, I want to know.

Once Faizah and Kiprop are fully rested, they will re-enter Kongo and take command. Ensure they are well-briefed.

Nuri does not wish for war. But if war must come, we will know exactly where to strike.

He paused.

Then added, in his own hand—no formal titles, no stamps:

You’ve made me proud.

Khisa.

He sealed it with grey wax and handed it to the waiting courier outside, who vanished like wind through leaves.

Khisa stood by the window for a long while afterward, watching the eastern horizon. The sky was brighter now, glowing gold against the rooftops of the capital. Somewhere down below, someone was laughing. The city was alive.

But shadows moved at its borders.

And now, Nuri would follow them.

Later that morning, Khisa sat once more at the council table, a fresh scroll unfurled before him. This one would be addressed to the shadows deep in the forest—the stewards of Nuri’s unseen guard.

He began:

To Naliaka and Ndengu,

Your report on the proposed identification system was well received. The ingenuity shown by Sefu at the Northern Gate speaks volumes of the minds you are nurturing. I am proud. This is the future we dreamt of.

However, as much as I wish to implement this system immediately, reality demands caution.

He paused, glancing across the chamber. The air was thick with the smell of clay ink and drying scrolls. From outside came the distant clang of hammers—another home being built, another wall reinforced.

He continued:

Nearly every district is stretched thin. The smiths are working day and night—minting coins, forging ploughs and blades, fitting the army with proper armor. The roads are incomplete, and much of the Nuri Abyssinia highway still lies under layers of brick and timber. The capital itself is still a skeleton in some places.

For a proper identification system to function, it must be trusted. Not just by our soldiers, but by the people. Traders, farmers, elders, children. We cannot ask them to use what they do not yet understand.

What we need is not just tokens or symbols—but instruction. A system that comes with teachers. A campaign that rolls out with training sessions, town by town, region by region.

For that, we must wait.

My decision is this: We will begin the rollout six moons from now, when the highway is complete and the capital is fully constructed. By then, we will have more runners, better road access, and enough peace to train each district without chaos.

In the meantime, continue using the current system in your sectors. Test it. Refine it. When the time comes, you will lead the charge in teaching the nation.

But know this.

Waiting comes with risk.

He dipped his reed again.

Spies may slip through. Others may try to exploit our openness. Remain vigilant. Tighten the Watcher network, continue random questioning, and implement the rotating symbol system where possible.

Six months is not far. But much can happen in half a year.

We are Nuri. Let the shadows shield the light.

He signed it and sealed it with the royal crest—a sun rising over water.

As the courier left, Khisa lingered at the doorway, eyes trailing the runners as they disappeared toward the forest roads.

He whispered to himself, not for the first time:

"May these systems hold... until the people are ready."

With the runners dispatched to Naliaka and the forests, Khisa turned to one last letter. This one required more than tactical precision—it demanded heart.

He took a fresh scroll and inked the words slowly, thoughtfully. Each word carried not just information, but sentiment.

To His Majesty King Lusweti,

Protector of the Shores, Torchbearer of Nuri,

My greetings from the heart of the rising capital.

Khisa paused and smiled faintly at the honorifics. He could almost hear Lusweti grumbling about them—"Protector of the Shores? Really, Khisa?"

He continued:

I write to inform you that the situation in Kongo is developing. Faizah and Kiprop have returned from their first mission with troubling news—there are plans to sabotage us from within, using our openness as a weapon. But I assure you: the Shadow Guard has responded swiftly.

A spy was discovered and released under watch, in hopes that fear may accomplish what violence would escalate. Additional reinforcements are already moving, with permission from the Kabaka of Buganda to use their borderlands as a staging ground. All of this... we owe to the network you helped build.

But there is something more important I wish to share with you.

The capital—our capital—is nearly complete.

Khisa glanced out the window at the skyline taking shape: domes of stone, towers capped with brass, workers hoisting beams with songs on their lips.

In six moons, the final gate will rise. The highways will stretch from sea to forest. And on that day, we plan something grand—a coronation. Not merely a crown, but a rebirth.

I ask that you begin preparations to return inland. The coast is secure. The navy strong. Our commanders in Malindi are capable and loyal. The time has come to move the heart of our government where it belongs—among the people.

The capital will not only house our throne, but our future: the ministries, the court, the school of scribes, the war council. Let the scribes walk where the farmers walk. Let law grow alongside trade and song and steel.

You laid the first stone, Father. I only cleared the path. But now we must walk it together.

We await you—with honor and great pride.

Your son and servant,

Khisa Lusweti

He folded the letter carefully and sealed it with twin suns: one for the east, one for the rising center.

Then he handed it to a trusted royal courier, a grey-cloaked rider waiting just outside.

As the horse galloped toward the coast, Khisa stood at the balcony again, watching the stone veins of the city stretch outward like the roots of a great tree.

"It’s almost time," he said softly.