The night stretched on like an eternal abyss. Not a single soul found rest. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood, the weight of grief pressing upon the people like a shroud.

  Osei sat in his chamber, pacing like a caged beast. His mind was troubled—divided, like the very clans under his rule.

  Seven clans made up the settlement, but the most powerful among them was the Eagle Clan—a name that struck both fear and reverence. Their banner bore the proud emblem of a golden eagle in flight, a symbol of their dominance. Osei, the head of the Eagles, ruled with wisdom, but even his strength was now questioned.

  Within the Eagle Clan were Kofi, Roni, and Sawai—trusted warriors who had stood as the backbone of the settlement.

  Lima, however, was of the Red Fang Clan, a rival lineage known for their resilience and unyielding nature. They had always challenged the Eagles' authority, though recent peace had kept tensions at bay. But now, with the blood of their people spilled and their women taken, that fragile peace had shattered.

  The Meeting of Clans

  At dawn, the clan leaders gathered in the Great Hall, a circular structure built from the finest wood they could salvage. The atmosphere was suffocating.

  Lima and Kofi sat across from each other, their gazes like sharpened blades.

  Silence.

  Then, a voice cut through it like a knife.

  “We will split,” growled Yamu, leader of the Iron Wolf Clan. His burly frame shook with rage. “This settlement is doomed under weak leadership. Osei, you have failed us.”

  “Rubbish!” barked Jobo of the Storm Clan, slamming his fist on the wooden table. “Now is the time for unity, not division!”

  Insults began to fly like arrows in battle.

  “You cowards want to run instead of fight?” spat a warrior from the Black Horn Clan.

  “At least we won’t sit and wait to be slaughtered like sheep!” came a reply.

  The room was a storm of voices, each one more venomous than the last. Men who had shared food, fought side by side, and buried their dead together were now enemies in words.

  Kofi sat still, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His anger boiled beneath the surface. How could they be so blind?

  Then Osei’s voice, deep and unwavering, rose above the chaos.

  “Enough.”

  The hall fell silent.

  “We will convene for the election of a new leader,” Osei declared, his expression unreadable. “But first, we must recover our women. Anyone who speaks of division before that… is no better than the enemy that took them.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  His words carried the weight of finality. No one dared to challenge him—yet.

  A Dangerous Plan

  Lima wasted no time. He stormed over to Sawai and Kofi once the meeting ended. “We need to talk.”

  The three of them stepped aside, their hushed voices blending with the murmurs of warriors preparing for battle.

  “We should strike before they have a chance to regroup,” Lima said, his tone firm. “If we wait, they’ll be too deep in their lands for us to track.”

  Sawai crossed his arms. “And rush in blindly? That’s exactly what they’d expect.”

  Lima scoffed. “Then what? Sit here and let them breed fear into our people?”

  The tension thickened. They weaved through warriors sharpening their spears and fletching arrows.

  Then Sawai muttered something under his breath about Lima’s clan—something about their recklessness and how their women were just as headstrong as their men.

  Lima turned on him in a heartbeat, his hands gripping Sawai’s collar.

  “You say one more word—”

  Kofi stepped between them, pushing them apart. His voice was low but commanding. “Enough. We will not become like our leaders—arguing while our people suffer.”

  The fire in their eyes dulled, but the bitterness lingered.

  “The bands are being formed,” Kofi continued. “Lima, you take your own squad. Sawai, Roni, and I will lead another.”

  Neither of them argued.

  And so, at dusk, they set out in groups of thirty.

  Blood in the Forest

  The forest loomed ahead, vast and unwelcoming. The scent of damp earth filled their lungs as they moved in silence.

  Roni, sharp-eyed as ever, suddenly halted. “Wait.”

  The others gathered around him.

  He knelt, brushing his fingers against the disturbed soil. Hoofprints. Fresh. And then—blood. Dark stains that soaked into the ground like ink.

  Sawai moved ahead, his breath shallow. The scent of death thickened in the air.

  Then he saw them.

  Bodies.

  Impaled.

  Men, their hands and feet stretched out like grotesque trophies on sharpened stakes. Their mouths hung open in silent screams, eyes frozen in horror.

  Some had been gutted like animals. Others had their heads missing.

  Kofi turned away, his stomach churning.

  Lima’s group arrived moments later. Many of them spat, some fell to their knees, others turned away to hide their tears.

  “This…” Lima’s voice was hoarse. “This is a warning.”

  Kofi exhaled sharply. “No. This is a declaration of war.”

  No one spoke.

  Their safety was gone.

  Their home would never be the same again.

  Return to the Settlement

  They returned heavy-hearted, the weight of their failure suffocating.

  The settlement was eerily quiet. The fires burned low, the people watching their return with hollow eyes. They knew, even before a word was spoken, that the news was grim.

  A child, no older than five, clung to his mother’s dress. “Did you find them?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  No one answered.

  The people understood.

  The silence was worse than any scream.

  The Gathering Storm

  As night fell, preparations for war began.

  Weapons were distributed. Guards were doubled. Those unfit for battle were instructed to prepare supplies.

  And above all, the clans prepared for the upcoming election.

  For the first time in their history, the settlement would choose a leader not by bloodline, but by strength.

  Osei, though still respected, knew his time was ending. The clans wanted a warrior, a conqueror—not a peacemaker.

  Kofi watched from the shadows as men whispered among themselves, alliances forming in hushed conversations.

  Then—a distant sound.

  The unmistakable rhythm of footsteps.

  A band of figures emerged from the darkness, their silhouettes illuminated by the fires.

  They were armed. Their leader, a tall man with a scar running from his temple to his jaw, stepped forward.

  “You are not the only ones seeking revenge,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “We have a common enemy.”

  Kofi narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

  The man smirked. “We are the exiled. And we’ve come to make an offer.”

  The storm was here. And war was inevitable.