The Wrath of the Unchained
Chapter 166 - The Weight of Survival

Chapter 166: Chapter 166 - The Weight of Survival

The catacombs were cold, the air thick with dust and memory. Ancient stones curved overhead in quiet arcs, remnants of dynasties long buried. The Shadows had lit a handful of lanterns, their glow flickering against the carved walls and broken altars.

A silence lingered after the last set of footsteps echoed down the stairwell.

The king sat on a stone bench, shoulders sagging, robe torn and smeared with dust. The queen held their son close, murmuring soft prayers in Kikongo. Lord Mvemba paced nearby, jaw clenched, while the two other nobles remained seated, whispering among themselves, their nerves worn thin.

Zara stood before them, arms folded, back straight.

"I know you have questions," she said, breaking the silence. "And I know you don’t trust us. But you need to understand—if we hadn’t come for you tonight, you’d be dead by morning."

The king looked up, face still drawn with disbelief. "You expect me to believe this is a rescue?"

"No," Zara said calmly. "I expect you to listen."

The queen narrowed her eyes. "You dragged us from our chambers in the dark. Our son cried himself hoarse. You tied our hands and said nothing. And now you say you are saviors?"

Kiprop stepped forward. "Because we had no time. Not to speak, not to explain. The moment Lumingu realizes you aren’t in your beds, the city will flood with soldiers."

Lord Mvemba stopped pacing. "They’ll think we’ve been assassinated."

"Exactly," Faizah said. "That’s the point. We need to buy as much time as possible."

The king held up a hand, voice quiet but firm. "Start from the beginning. Tell me why you’re here."

Zara exhaled slowly. Then began.

"There was a plague in Buganda," she said. "Fast-spreading. Deadly. Hundreds fell to that dreadful disease. Nuri sent aid, healers, doctors and teams to investigate how it started."

The king’s brow furrowed. "I heard rumors. But Buganda blamed its own people. The rebels."

"They were wrong," Zara replied. "It wasn’t homegrown."

She stepped forward, gaze steady. "It came from you."

The chamber fell still.

The queen clutched her son tighter. Mvemba’s jaw dropped. One noble half-rose in protest before the king’s outstretched hand silenced him.

"What... do you mean?" the king asked slowly.

"We followed the chain of trade. Through infected linens. Caravans. We found traitors within Buganda and they mentioned one name Lumingu Mbemba, he offered the Buganda clan heads, power in exchange of trade routes."

The king blinked. "That’s... that’s not possible. Lumingu is a reformer, yes, but—"

"He orchestrated it," Kiprop interrupted. "With help from your priests, merchants, even some of your Portuguese allies. The plan was simple: destabilize Buganda with a plague, then use the chaos to take out their king, a puppet regime. Nuri’s intervention painted a target on our backs for ruining their plans."

Faizah spoke next. "But Nuri didn’t fall for the trap. We held Buganda together. Cured the sick. Then we traced the rot."

"And we came here," Sarai finished. "To find the source."

The king’s expression cracked. "Lumingu... he brought foreign weapons into the country, but said it was for trade. He brought missionaries... to help schools. He spoke of restoring the glory of Kongo. I thought... I believed him."

"You weren’t the only one," Lord Mvemba muttered, staring at the floor. "But I suspected something when I was removed from council meetings. When the royal guard was quietly reshuffled. When Portuguese merchants started refusing my letters."

Zara didn’t soften her tone. "Your court was hollowed out from within. If your name still carries weight among the people, it’s only because they haven’t yet been told you’re dead."

The king buried his face in his hands. His voice was hoarse. "My allies... my people... I didn’t see it."

"You weren’t meant to," Faizah said gently. "That’s the nature of coups. They keep you blind until it’s too late."

He sat back slowly, wiping his face with trembling fingers. "And now what? I’m hiding beneath the bones of my ancestors, while my kingdom burns."

The queen spoke then, softly but bitterly. "And these... Shadows. You speak of Nuri as though it were a savior. But what does Nuri want in return?"

Zara hesitated. Then looked the queen directly in the eyes.

"Nothing."

Silence again.

Zara continued, voice steady. "We are not diplomats. We are soldiers. We serve a king who believes no child should die for gold, no nation should rot from foreign greed, and no people should be sacrificed because their leaders are too afraid to act."

Faizah stepped forward. "Nuri doesn’t want your land. We don’t want your throne. But we will not stand by while another nation is poisoned."

The king tilted his head. "So... what, then? You’re vigilantes?"

"No," Kiprop said. "We’re Nuri’s shadow. We move in silence, so others can speak freely."

The queen looked skeptical. "And your king? Does he know you risked everything to save strangers?"

"He does," Zara said. "Because he taught us to do exactly that."

The king stared at them all, eyes searching. "So you came to investigate... and found a dying kingdom. Why save us? Why not let it fall?"

Zara lowered her head for a moment, choosing her words. Then:

"Because we’ve seen what happens when good people do nothing. Because every kingdom that falls to silence is another domino in a war none of us can afford to lose. Because if Kongo burns, Buganda will follow. And Nuri after that."

"Then what do you want from me now?" the king asked. "You’ve hidden us. What next?"

"Hope," Faizah said softly. "We need you to stay alive. That’s it. The people still believe you’re king. If you vanish, Lumingu wins."

"Then we strike?" Lord Mvemba asked, fire returning to his voice. "We gather arms, call the loyalists—"

"No," Zara cut in. "Not yet. The coup is too far along. Too many listen to Lumingu now. We need time. Time to change the story. To sow doubt. To expose the truth."

Kiprop nodded. "You’re not out of this yet. But we bought you a chance. That’s more than most get."

The king was quiet for a long time. Then he stood.

He looked to the queen. She nodded faintly.

He looked to his son. The boy was asleep in her lap.

Finally, he turned back to Zara.

"Tell your king," he said, "that Kongo remembers who came for us in the dark."

Zara’s throat tightened.

"I will."

Lord Mvemba stepped forward, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice was rough but calculated. "If what you say is true... and I have no reason now to doubt it... then we will need more than hidden tunnels and whispered stories. We’ll need allies. Soldiers. Voices in the court who can still be swayed."

"We’re working on it," Kiprop said. "But we need names. You know these people. Who among your council might still stand with the king if they knew the truth?"

Mvemba paced, then stopped. "General Kazadi. He’s loyal—has served three reigns. But Lumingu’s men sidelined him with a foreign assignment weeks ago. He’s in the interior. We’ll need to reach him fast."

"There’s also Bishop Malembe," the queen added reluctantly. "He’s proud. Arrogant. But not corrupt. If he learns the king lives, he may intervene—if only to preserve the image of divine order."

"And the common people?" Faizah asked. "What do they believe?"

Mvemba hesitated. "That the king is sick. That Lumingu is helping ’manage’ the court while he recovers. The priests have begun praying for a new era... without naming names."

"They’re softening them," Sarai murmured. "Preparing them for the shift."

The queen spoke again, more sharply this time. "You say you’ll change the story. But who will believe you? The people trust their priests. Their nobles. Their soldiers. All of whom are now owned."

Zara met her gaze. "Not all. And besides, stories don’t need to be believed right away. They just need to spread."

"How?" the queen demanded. "With what voice?"

Kiprop pulled a folded cloth from his tunic and unwrapped it. Inside lay a small strip of parchment bearing the golden seal of Nuri.

"We’re already sending word to our prince. He will not let this stand. And when the truth comes, it will come with strength."

The king stepped forward, eyes heavy with regret. "And what will that strength look like? Occupation? Annexation?"

Zara shook her head. "No. Our prince does not conquer. He frees. If Kongo rises again, it will be by your people’s hands—not ours."

Lord Mvemba watched them with new eyes now. Suspicion still glimmered behind them—but so did something else. A flicker of hope.

"If you are what you say you are," he said slowly, "then you’ve given us a second chance. But know this—if we fail, the backlash will be merciless."

"We know," Zara said.

"And if we succeed," the queen added, her voice quieter now, "what becomes of Kongo’s place in this world? After what we’ve done—to Buganda, to ourselves..."

Zara paused.

Then she knelt—not as a soldier, but as a daughter of Africa speaking to another.

"If we succeed... then Kongo becomes the first kingdom to rise again with clean hands. And the last to ever kneel to foreigners."

The queen stared at her.

Then, slowly... nodded.

The catacombs remained still. Cold. Waiting.

But in that moment, beneath the weight of kingship and betrayal, a fragile alliance was born.

And with it, the hope of a continent.

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