Dawn cracked over the valley, golden light spilling across treetops like spilled oil. The Adal camp below stirred with the grumbling rhythm of men who'd grown too used to power. Their fires were smoldering embers, their laughter crude and careless, echoing off the surrounding cliffs. They numbered just over a thousand—armed with rifles, curved swords, and the bitter confidence of those who had gone unchallenged for too long.
The Abyssinian army crept through the ridges above, crouched low in the tall grass, the scent of wet soil and tension heavy in the air. Mekonnen crouched at the cliff's edge, scanning the camp through a spyglass. Lieutenant Hana joined him, jaw tight.
"Ready?" Mekonnen asked.
"As we'll ever be. Scouts marked three watch towers, and prisoners are kept near the southern edge, near the low boulders. Guards rotate every hour."
"Good. When the fighting starts, take your unit and get them out. Don't look back."
Hana nodded. "We'll burn the cages if we must."
