The stone-walled cell was dimly lit, its air thick with the chill of mistrust. Though unchained, the group sat quietly, aware of the weight of suspicion hanging over them. The rough stone beneath them scratched against their travel-worn clothes, and the heavy silence was occasionally broken by distant footfalls echoing through the corridor.
Commander Tesfaye Getaneh stood at the entrance, arms crossed, his brow furrowed in a mix of irritation and uncertainty. His uniform, though crisply worn, was damp with sweat at the collar. A long scar ran down the side of his neck—old but still angry-looking. His hand rested on the hilt of his curved blade, as if it gave him balance in a kingdom tilting out of his control.
"I don't care who you claim to be," he said sharply, voice echoing against the stone. "Nuri? Never heard of it. And you show up with warriors dressed like legends and expect a warm welcome? This reeks of Adal trickery."
