Chapter 216: Chapter 216 - Under the Same Sky
The morning in Lusimba was gentle.
Tadesse had risen early, long before the palace stirred fully to life. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet earth and growing grain. Workers were already in the fields, their laughter traveling easily across open space.
He walked alone.
Lusimba was not like Abyssinia.
In his homeland, even during peace, there was tension woven into the air, watchtowers scanning horizons, merchants whispering of raids, soldiers sharpening blades out of habit rather than necessity.
Here, the people moved differently.
Children ran barefoot between homes. Farmers argued cheerfully over irrigation gates. Women sang while grinding grain.
They felt... alive.
Not surviving.
Living.
Tadesse slowed his steps.
War had carved itself into Abyssinia’s identity. Entire generations had grown up with conflict as background noise. Even before the Adal and Ottoman pressures intensified, internal betrayals had weakened the throne. Nobles had plotted. Ports had fallen. Trust had fractured.
He had once been insulated from all of it.
A spoiled prince.
Concerned with silk, horses, poetry, and courtly admiration. He had known war only through polished reports and exaggerated tales told by generals seeking favor.
Until Khisa.
He remembered that day vividly.
The deck of the ship rocking violently beneath his feet. The smell of salt and smoke. Pirates swarming from the mist.
Khisa had dragged him aboard against his will.
"You cannot rule men whose fear you do not understand," Khisa had said.
Tadesse had nearly died that day.
He had watched an Abyssinian sailor... no older than himself, fall into the sea with an arrow in his chest.
For the first time, war had not been a concept.
It had been blood. Screams. Loss.
That day had cracked something open inside him.
And through that crack, responsibility had entered.
Now, Abyssinia stood differently. The navy rebuilt. The ports reclaimed. The army reorganized. His father more confident than he had been in years.
The people spoke of the future again.
And Tadesse knew, with uncomfortable honesty, that much of that shift had begun with a foreign prince who refused to sit still.
As he walked, he studied the irrigation channels cut into Lusimba’s soil. The system was simple but efficient, redirected streams feeding multiple fields at once, wooden gates controlling flow. Farmers worked together, adjusting water levels without shouting, without chaos.
There was structure here.
Order born from cooperation, not fear.
A small ball rolled across his path, bumping lightly against his foot.
He looked down.
A group of children froze, staring up at him.
One of them,a girl with dust on her cheeks, gathered the courage to speak. "Can we have it back?"
Tadesse smiled faintly and nudged it toward them.
Instead of retreating, they tugged him into their game.
Moments later, he found himself running, robes hitched up, laughter escaping him before he could stop it. The children shrieked as he dramatically collapsed after missing a catch.
He hadn’t laughed like that in years.
"Finally managed to shake off Azenet, I see."
Tadesse turned.
Khisa stood a short distance away, leaning on his cane but standing straighter than the day before. There was color returning to his face.
"My mother dragged her off to meet the villagers," Khisa said, smiling.
Tadesse chuckled and walked over.
"She was truly anxious when we received news of your injuries," he said more seriously. "She cried during the journey. For the record... I was also very concerned. So was my father."
Khisa’s expression softened.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "I’m glad you came with her."
They walked together toward a large tree at the edge of the fields, settling beneath its shade.
For a while, neither spoke.
Then Tadesse exhaled.
"I could never do what you do."
Khisa raised an eyebrow.
"March into battle for people you barely know," Tadesse continued. "Convince hostile nations to trust one another. Throw yourself into danger so others can escape."
"You make it sound far more dramatic than it is," Khisa replied lightly.
"It is dramatic," Tadesse insisted. "I’ve spoken to your soldiers. I visited the infirmary. I met Faizah."
Khisa’s jaw tightened slightly at her name.
"She told me what happened," Tadesse continued. "You chose to lead an army yourself to redirect their attention so your people can escape. Most rulers would not."
He stared toward the horizon.
"In most kingdoms, as long as the emperor and his heir survive, sacrifice is considered acceptable."
The words lingered heavily between them.
Khisa tapped the ground lightly with his cane.
"I think otherwise," he said.
Tadesse turned to him.
"Rulers make decisions," Khisa continued, "and we must bear the burden of those decisions. But it is the citizens who make the kingdom."
He gestured toward the fields.
"Without the farmer, there is no food. Without the builder, there is no palace. Without the soldier, there is no border."
He met Tadesse’s eyes.
"My life is worth the same as theirs."
Tadesse frowned slightly. "That is not how thrones are preserved."
"No," Khisa agreed calmly. "It is how kingdoms are."
The wind rustled through the leaves above them.
"Soldiers fight for their families," Khisa went on. "I do the same. This kingdom is my family. If that means standing on the front lines beside them, then that is where I belong."
Tadesse studied him for a long moment.
Then he laughed softly, shaking his head.
"I may be older than you," he said, "but I admire you greatly."
Khisa rolled his eyes. "Careful. If Azenet hears that, she’ll never let me forget it."
Tadesse smiled.
"While I am here," he continued, "I intend to learn. Not just about irrigation. Not just about trade. But about leadership."
Khisa leaned back against the tree trunk.
"You already learned the hardest lesson," he said. "Once you saw the truth, you did not turn your gaze away. You chose to look."
The sun dipped lower, casting long golden shadows across Lusimba.
The children resumed their game nearby.
Farmers began packing tools. Smoke rose gently from cooking fires.
Two princes sat beneath a tree.
Once divided by pride and circumstance.
Now simply brothers sharing silence under the same sky.
