Smoke drifted lazily from a mud-built drinking place at the edge of town.

Low walls held in the noise, but not enough to hide it.

Laughter spilled out. Shouts followed. Clay cups clinked against each other in uneven rhythm.

Inside, men sat and squatted around low tables. Some already drunk. Some pouring more. Women moved in and out, carrying calabash bowls with practiced ease.

The air was thick with noise.

A man slammed his cup down. Another nearly fell over laughing.

Amid all of it—

Not hidden. Not central.

An older swordsman sat alone.

His face was weathered. His beard scruffy. A sword wrapped in cloth rested beside him.

He poured drink from a large clay jug into a calabash bowl.

The bowl was empty.

He squinted into it. Tilted it. Shook it slightly.

Nothing.

He turned it upside down.

Still nothing.

He frowned.

“…Eh?”

He peered inside again, as though it might be hiding something from him.

Across the room, a large untouched bottle sat near a group of loud men.

His eyes locked onto it.

Hard. Focused.

He checked his pocket. Turned it inside out.

Empty.

A sigh left him.

Slowly, he rose to his feet.

Unsteady. Drunk. But controlled.

Women passed back and forth, ignoring him completely.

He drifted closer to the bottle, moving casually, pretending to sway more than he needed to.

His hand edged toward it.

Closer.

Closer—

A man’s laughter cut short.

“Hey—!”

He stood up fast.

“Hey! Kai! Barawo!”

Another lunged forward and grabbed the old swordsman’s arm.

The room broke apart instantly.

Men shouted. Chairs scraped. Women scattered.

The old swordsman twisted, still holding the bottle.

Before the fight could fully erupt—

A sharp whistle cut through everything.

SOLDIERS stormed in. Armed. Barking orders.

Panic spread. Cups spilled. People ran.

The man gripping the swordsman held on tighter.

The old swordsman calmly tore his sleeve free and slipped out of the hold.

Bodies crashed into each other as the room descended into chaos.

He ducked low.

His hand brushed the ground—

A small sack of coins.

Gone in an instant.

He tucked it away smoothly.

Bottle still in hand, he slipped through the crowd like he had always belonged there.

Soldiers shoved past him. Close. Too close.

They never saw him.

Outside, in a narrow alley, he pressed his back against a mud wall.

His breathing remained steady.

Soldiers rushed past without noticing him.

He lifted the bottle and took a long drink.

Then exhaled, satisfied.

A soft whistle left him as he walked away.

The bottle stayed in his hand.

His sword bumped lightly against his side.

Elsewhere, in a small mud room, quiet returned.

Duniya lay on a mat.

Dim light. Stillness.

Then—

His eyes snapped open.

He sat up suddenly.

His foot planted against the ground as he tried to stand—

—and his body failed him.

THUD.

He dropped back down.

A girl rushed into view.

“Ah! Kai—no no! Don’t move!”

She dropped beside him quickly, flustered.

“You are blind now. Why you dey rush like this?”

Duniya’s face hardened.

“…Who are you?”

She froze. Then straightened, looking down at him.

A sigh followed.

She knelt again and took his hands gently.

He stiffened at the contact.

She held them anyway. Firm. Kind.

“Do you remember… the boy you helped?”

Silence.

“The one they beat. The one you saved.”

She swallowed.

“I am his sister.”

She stood, brushing dust from her knees.

“Do not move. I am going out.”

She turned to leave.

“…My sword.”

She answered casually without looking back.

“Oh. It’s there.”

She stepped outside.

Duniya sat alone.

“…Eh. Where?”

The market stretched wide under the sun.

Noise filled every corner. Vendors shouted. Donkeys pushed through the crowd. Dust rose with every step.

She moved through it carefully, clutching a small bundle.

She stopped at a stall.

“Come, girl! Fresh grain!”

She hesitated.

Counted the coins in her palm.

Somewhere else in the same market, a man walked with no real direction.

The rogue swordsman.

Drunk. Steady and unsteady at the same time.

A small sack of coins dangled loosely from his hand.

He whistled as he moved.

He nearly bumped into someone.

“Eh… sorry, sorry…”

Then—

The rhythm of the market broke.

People began to move faster.

Voices rose over each other.

“Shehu is coming!”

“The young master!”

“That arrogant bastard!”

Stalls closed quickly. Mothers grabbed their children.

The rogue stopped, confused.

“Eh? What is this now?”

He caught a woman lightly by the arm.

“Sister—what is happening?”

She panicked immediately.

“Please! Run before he comes!”

“Who?”

“The young master. Shehu.”

The rogue raised a brow slightly.

“…Ah.”

Then he moved with the flow, slipping behind stacked baskets and hanging cloth.

The street emptied.

Shehu entered with four guards.

Anger sat clearly on him.

His jaw was tight. His eyes sharp.

People lowered their heads as he passed.

He scanned the street slowly.

Like something searching for prey.

Ahead, Zainab stood at a stall.

A malam spoke to her, smiling.

“Ah, Zainab, you’ll make me poor with your bargaining!”

She laughed softly.

Shehu saw her.

A small gesture followed.

“Bring her.”

A guard moved immediately, grabbing her.

The malam stepped forward.

“Hey! What are you—”

The strike came fast.

He fell.

Zainab was dragged forward.

She trembled, but her eyes held.

Shehu lifted her chin, studying her like something owned.

“Kyakkyawa…”

“Who are your parents?”

“They died in the war.”

His smile widened.

Something darker beneath it.

All the better.

“Hmmm.. I turn eighteen tomorrow.
You will be my first.”

Zainab shook her head desperately.

“Please… let me go.”

Two women rushed forward.

“Please, master! She is a good girl!”

A guard moved to strike them—

Then everything broke again.

Movement from the side—

The rogue swordsman stumbled forward, misjudging his step.

His hand caught Zainab’s arm instinctively.

Not planned. Not heroic.

Just motion.

A guard seized him instead.

But Zainab slipped free.

And ran.

The rogue moved wildly as the guards came at him.

Loose. Off-balance. But somehow effective.

A guard reached for his takoba—

The rogue’s calabash smashed into the man’s wrist.

The blade never left its sheath.

“She’s getting away!” Shehu’s voice cut through everything. “Get me that girl!”

A strike hit the rogue hard.

The guard ran past him in pursuit.

But the rogue recovered quickly.

He grabbed the man, yanked him back—

Then ran.

In a dark alley, he pulled Zainab into shadow.

A hand covered her mouth gently.

They stayed still.

Guards rushed past the entrance.

“Search there! Move!”

Their footsteps faded.

Silence crept back in.