The night was alive.
The Shadows had waited, watched, and prepared — every step, every patrol, every weak wall mapped out in silence. Now, at last, the plan moved.
Kiprop crouched near the edge of the western ridge, the faint glow of the compound flickering below. Zara's signal flashed once — a small, deliberate spark in the darkness.
It began.
A small explosion cracked through the still air, followed by another, and another — carefully placed charges meant to confuse, not destroy. Sparks danced across the northern courtyard, lighting up panicked faces as servants screamed and scattered.
"Fire! Fire in the stores!" someone shouted.
Within moments, alarm bells clanged through the compound. The Restorers, Soares' foreign soldiers, rushed out from their barracks. Some tripped over each other in the confusion, their heavy boots pounding against the cobblestones.
"Form lines! Move, damn you!" a commander barked, his accent sharp and guttural.
