General Mekonnen of Abyssinia leaned over the table in his small command tent, fingers tracing the creased surface of an old map. Lantern light flickered over the sprawl of inked terrain lines, charcoal Xs, and red arrows. The murmuring forest beyond buzzed with the low hum of preparation—swords scraped against whetstones, rifles checked and rechecked, quiet words passed like secrets.
His battalion of a thousand had camped in the clearing for two nights. Veterans of endless conflict, these soldiers were no strangers to war—but this felt different. Sharper. Heavier. As if something great and terrible stirred just beyond the trees.
His lieutenants stood close, weapons at their hips, eyes darting between the map and each other. The air in the tent was tense, but not frantic. Calculated. Focused.
"We're nearing the Adal encampment," said Lieutenant Fasil, a stocky man with soot-smudged cheeks. "They likely have fortified positions. We should make our final plans now."
