The night passed with an eerie stillness, the kind that made even the rustling leaves sound like whispers of unseen spirits. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore was the only lullaby that accompanied the settlers' sleep.

  But as the first rays of sunlight crept over the horizon, a young lad, barely in his early teens, stirred. His name was Kamau, and like every morning, he trudged towards the crystal-clear beach to wash his face, letting the salty air cleanse the fatigue of the night.

  As he splashed the cool water onto his skin, something made him pause. A prickling sensation crawled up his spine, an unshakable feeling that he was being watched. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.

  Across the shore, standing motionless like a specter, was a man.

  He was unlike anyone Kamau had ever seen. His skin was lighter, almost sun-kissed bronze, his hair tied in a loose knot. But it was his armor that struck the deepest chord of fear. A polished breastplate, adorned with unknown markings, glistened under the morning sun. His sleeves, a deep crimson, rippled in the sea breeze, and in his hands, he gripped a long spear.

  Kamau's breath hitched. The man’s eyes bore into him, a cold, calculating stare that seemed to strip away his very soul.

  Then, with a swift motion, the stranger pulled back his spear as if ready to strike.

  Instinct screamed at Kamau’s feet to move, and he dove to the side just as the weapon whistled through the air. His heart hammered against his ribs. He spun back to the shore—but the man was gone. As if he had never been there.

  All that remained was an arrow embedded in the sand, its shaft pointing like an omen.

  Kamau snatched it up and bolted towards the settlement.

  The elders gathered in a tight circle, their expressions grave as Kamau relayed what he had seen. His hands trembled as he held out the arrow.

  Kofi took it, his sharp eyes narrowing as he examined the weapon. “The wood is different from what we’ve seen,” he murmured.

  Sawai, crouching beside him, took the arrow and ran his fingers along its length. His brow furrowed in deep thought. “It’s light, yet sturdy… the balance is impeccable.” He tapped the arrowhead against a stone. A faint metallic clang rang out. “Iron.”

  Murmurs spread among the elders.

  “This means… we are not alone here,” one of them finally spoke.

  A heavy silence fell. The weight of the revelation pressed upon them, turning the morning air thick with dread.

  It was Lima who finally shattered the tension, clapping his hands together with his usual unbothered air. “Alright! So, we’re not alone. That’s fine. But first, we eat. We can’t think on an empty stomach.”

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  Kofi exhaled, rubbing his temple. “You and your food…”

  But he wasn’t wrong. They needed their strength.

  “Elders,” Kofi turned to them with a respectful nod, “may we study the arrow? If we understand their weapons, we can prepare.”

  The elders exchanged looks before Osei gave a slow nod. “Do what you must.”

  And so, while Lima led a group of fishermen to secure food, Kofi and Sawai set to work.

  They took the arrow apart piece by piece, studying its construction with precision. The iron arrowhead, they noted, was thin but razor-sharp, allowing for deep penetration. The fletching was made from some kind of hawk feather, ensuring accuracy.

  “This level of craftsmanship… they are experienced,” Sawai muttered.

  Kofi nodded. “But look at this.” He pointed to the base of the arrowhead, where a fine crack ran through the metal. “It’s strong, but not unbreakable.”

  Sawai’s eyes widened with realization. “If we use a harder material… we can make something even deadlier.”

  They scoured the shore, searching for anything that could be reforged. Then, Sawai stumbled upon something. A cluster of jagged, black stones glistened in the sand.

  Obsidian.

  Kofi picked one up, running his finger along its edge. It sliced through his skin with ease.

  “This,” he grinned, “is our answer.”

  By midday, when Lima returned triumphantly with a haul of grilled fish, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of what Kofi and Sawai had created.

  Neatly lined before them were rows of arrows—sleeker, deadlier. The obsidian tips gleamed in the sunlight.

  Lima let out a low whistle. “Well… we’re in business.”

  As the day wound down, Kofi walked through the settlement, observing the faces of his people. Despite their survival, the weight of uncertainty hung heavy.

  Their eyes spoke of unease.

  Osei soon called him aside, eager to discuss trivial matters—who had been quarreling with who, whose hunting skills were lacking, idle gossip.

  Kofi listened with patience, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

  Then—

  A scream.

  The air shifted, thick with the scent of burning wood.

  Kofi bolted towards the sound, his pulse pounding.

  Flames roared into the night sky. The women’s quarters were ablaze.

  From the shadows emerged mounted men, their torches casting demonic silhouettes. They moved swiftly, cutting through the settlement with terrifying precision.

  Shouts of alarm rang out.

  Osei, once composed, now stood frozen in horror. “Defend the settlement!” he roared.

  The men sprang into action, grabbing whatever weapons they had.

  Kofi turned to Sawai. “The arrows—NOW!”

  Sawai didn’t hesitate. She grabbed a bundle of the newly made arrows and sprinted towards the fighters.

  Kofi climbed onto a vantage point, his heart racing. He nocked an obsidian-tipped arrow, drawing the bowstring back with steady breath.

  He let it fly.

  A mounted attacker toppled from his horse with a guttural cry.

  Another arrow.

  Another man fell.

  The settlement became a battlefield.

  Lima fought fiercely, wielding a spear like an extension of his own arm. Sawai stayed close, distributing arrows as fast as she could.

  But it was not enough.

  The attackers were too many. They set fire to more huts, smoke suffocating the air. They cut down anyone who stood in their path.

  Then—an even greater horror.

  The raiders seized the women and younger girls, dragging them onto their horses.

  Kofi’s stomach twisted in rage. He loosed arrows with deadly precision, dropping one captor after another.

  But there were too many.

  By the time the raiders retreated into the night, the devastation was clear.

  Too many dead. Too many taken.

  The flames crackled, illuminating the wreckage.

  And in the silence that followed, as Kofi stood among the ruins, his hands clenched into fists.

  “This,” he murmured, his voice trembling with fury, “is war.”