The Hausa line wavered. Bubakar's breath came ragged, his arms heavy, but his heart — his heart roared. The copper taste of blood on his tongue only sharpened it. All around, the chaos of battle no longer felt like noise; every movement, every shout, every enemy was clear.
A rush unlike anything he had ever felt surged through him — not just pride, not just survival, but a fierce, almost intoxicating hunger. He slammed his spear against his shield, bellowing his cry again:
Bubakar:
"MI LA TSUA NYA!"
The sound tore from his throat like thunder, and this time the warriors around him did more than answer — they charged.
Nupe riders drove in from the flanks. Foot soldiers, hearts ignited, pushed forward with reckless strength. Bubakar felt himself swept along, leading without thinking. The Hausa ranks faltered, then broke entirely, scattering toward the river in a storm of dust and panic.
Bubakar didn't notice the ache in his back or the sting of the arrow's graze — he only felt the pounding of his pulse, the glory of the chase, and the fire that told him he was not done yet.
Bida Palace — Morning
The palace courtyard shimmered under the first light of day, its high mud-brick walls painted with shadows. The Etsu sat on the carved ebony throne, his gaze fixed on the dust-covered rider kneeling before him. The man's voice trembled with excitement.
"My Etsu, I bring word from the western border — from your brother's camp. The Hausa were driven back. Your nephew… Prince Bubakar… fought like a lion! His cry — 'Mi la tsua nya!' — split the air. The warriors say it struck the enemy's hearts as surely as their spears."
A murmur rippled through the gathered courtiers. Some smiled in approval, others hid their expressions behind stiff dignity.
Bubakar's mother, standing slightly behind the Etsu's dais, pressed a hand to her lips. Tears welled, glinting in the morning light. Relief washed through her — her son had survived his first battle — but it was laced with the bitter knowledge that this would not be his last.
The Etsu's expression did not soften. He merely nodded once.
"Bravery is good," he said. "We will see if it endures."
Her heart tightened. She knew those words were both pride and warning.
---
Western Border Camp — Dawn
The battle haze of yesterday still clung to Bubakar's mind like smoke. His body throbbed with aches, the worst a long gash running from his shoulder to his ribs, now bound in stiff, blood-speckled linen. Every movement pulled at the wound, reminding him of the Hausa spear that had nearly ended him.
The camp was a restless sprawl of men, horses, and the smell of sweat, iron, and boiled millet. The ground, churned to mud by a hundred hooves, squelched under his boots. His first full day living among warriors, and already the drums of glory sounded fainter than they had in his dreams.
In every direction, men groaned under makeshift awnings. Blood seeped through hastily wrapped bandages. A boy no older than twelve stared blankly at the sky, his arm gone from the shoulder. Bubakar's jaw tightened — the stink of rot and crushed herbs made the air feel heavy.
He sat by the water barrels, carefully sanding a split in his spear's shaft, when voices drifted from behind the tents.
"They say he rode into the thick of it without hesitation," a soldier said, voice low but edged with awe. "A lion's heart, that boy."
"A lion's heart can still be foolish," another replied sharply. "He's the Etsu's son — of course he gets the best horse, the finest armor."
Then came the voice he knew too well. His half-brother, Umaru, stepped into view with a thin smirk.
"A prince who gets himself sliced open like a goat at Eid? Maybe next time he should roar after the enemy is dead."
Laughter broke from a few nearby men. Bubakar looked up, his eyes hard and cold, the corner of his mouth twitching into the faintest, dangerous smile. Umaru's smirk faltered for just a heartbeat before he walked away.
---
Later That Day — The Raid
By midday, a dust-covered scout galloped into camp with urgent news: a Hausa camel caravan had been spotted following the river road — loaded heavy with sacks of grain, dried fish, and salt, guarded by only a few armed men.
The commander, Ndako — a scar-faced veteran whose eyes missed nothing — crouched over a rough map scratched into the dirt.
"We will bleed them slowly," he said. "Cut the food from their bellies before we break their backs."
Bubakar was chosen to ride with the raiding party. The forest trails swallowed them quickly, the air thick with damp earth and the sharp smell of wet leaves. Horses splashed through narrow creeks, hooves muffled in the mud.
When the Hausa caravan came into view, it wound along the riverbank in slow rhythm — tall, pale camels swaying under the weight of bulging sacks, bells tinkling faintly in the wind. Dust drifted around them like a pale veil.
Ndako raised two fingers: half the men would circle wide to draw the guards into the trees, the rest would strike for the camels.
Bubakar was ordered to hold the flank — but when he saw a gap in the enemy line, his pride surged faster than thought. He spurred his horse forward, cutting across the path to seize a laden camel.
For a heartbeat, it worked — until a hidden archer stepped from behind a boulder and loosed an arrow. It grazed his temple, tearing flesh. His vision flared white. The startled camel bellowed, rearing, and its lead rope snapped free. A pair of Nupe warriors sprinted to catch it before it bolted into the river shallows, nearly being trampled in the process.
By the time the dust settled, the Nupe had the grain — but two men lay wounded, and their flank had been dangerously exposed.
---
That Night — The commanders Judgment
In the commander's tent, the oil lamp burned low. Ndako sat cross-legged, his face unreadable.
"You showed courage," he said finally. "But courage without discipline feeds the enemy more than it feeds your people."
The words cut deeper than the arrow. Bubakar lowered his gaze, biting back the instinct to argue. Ndako's eyes lingered on him a moment longer before he returned to his scrolls.
Outside, the campfires glowed like tired stars. Bubakar sat alone in the shadows, his spear across his knees, blood still drying in his hair. He had chased glory. What he found instead was its price — and the heavy shadow of responsibility.
Bubakar stared at the dirt for a long moment, then let out a low "Tch…" under his breath.
"I gave us victory… and still, I'm made to bear the losses."
He spat into the dust, the firelight catching the defiance in his eyes before he looked away.