The morning Zeila accepted the alliance, Kafi didn't celebrate.
Amir did.
The sailors did.
Half the city did.
Kafi stood on the shore, watching the tide roll in as if the waves were messengers carrying whispers from his past life. The horizon looked endless, but to him, it was a map, a corridor, a hundred doorways waiting to be opened.
Zeila was his first doorway.
Now came the next step.
The Gulf of Aden.
If he could secure trade routes there, the Ottomans would notice him. Arabian merchants would follow. Wealth would flood into both Zeila and Ajuuran. And more importantly, Africa would be negotiating from strength, not begging like some forgotten corner of the world.
He crossed his arms and breathed deeply. Salt air, camel dung, incense smoke. The smell of a world about to shift.
Amir approached, eating a roasted fish like it owed him money.
"You've been staring at the water for twenty minutes. You planning to become a mermaid?"
"Mermaids don't exist."
"Neither does an eleven-year-old controlling a coastline, but look where we are."
Kafi didn't smile, but a slice of pride warmed his chest. He turned toward the docks where his ship rested, polished and balanced. Not too big, not too small. Built for speed and cargo. An African design improved with tricks from his past life.
The crew stood ready.
They weren't soldiers.
Not yet.
They were sailors, traders, and adventurers from Ajuuran and Zeila—skeptical of the young heir but respectful after hearing what the elders said about him.
Captain Warsame stepped forward, tall as a mast, beard streaked with gray.
"Young master," he said, bowing slightly. "We are prepared to reach the Gulf. But we'll need clarity on what goods you want us to carry."
"Frankincense," Kafi said confidently. "And coffee. A lot of it."
Warsame blinked. "Coffee? That strange little bean that makes people too awake?"
Kafi nodded. "The Ottomans will love it. Arabia too. They just don't know it yet."
Amir whispered, "You sound like a sorcerer predicting the future."
Kafi shrugged. "I'm predicting human nature."
He ordered the crates loaded: fresh incense and gum resin collected from inland traders, a hundred sacks of the first coffee beans harvested from Ajuuran lands, and spices he had bought from passing caravans. The crew worked fast. They wanted to see if this boy's grand talk actually led to something.
As they moved, Elder Jibril approached, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
"You plan to send your first fleet into the Gulf," the old man said. "Ambitious."
Kafi bowed. "We need to show Zeila is ready for more."
"And what do you expect in return?"
"Trade agreements. Foreign merchants. Partners. We don't need dominance." He lifted his chin slightly. "We need respect."
Jibril studied him long. He'd lived enough years to know when someone's ambitions were real. "Your heart beats for Africa, doesn't it?"
Kafi inhaled sharply. "Africa has been underestimated for too long. If the world is going to trade with us, we decide the price. We decide the terms."
A slow smile touched Jibril's lips. "Then sail, young heir. Make them see us."
Kafi turned to Amir. "Come on. You're coming with me."
Amir's eyes widened. "Why? I get seasick. I throw up in straight lines."
"You need experience," Kafi said. "If we're building a future empire, I can't have you crying on land."
"I'm already crying inside," Amir muttered as he climbed aboard.
The ship pulled away from the dock, cutting softly through the waves. Zeila slowly shrank behind them, white walls glowing in the sun. Ahead, the vast Gulf of Aden glittered like polished metal.
Warsame shouted commands, the crew adjusted sails, and the wind caught them like a blessing.
Kafi stood at the bow.
His age didn't matter.
His body was small, but his mind was centuries older.
He watched the sea stretch open, revealing routes that would shape nations.
"This water," he murmured, "connects us to the world."
Amir joined him, gripping the railing. "We're really doing this, aren't we?"
"We are," Kafi said. "And this is just the first voyage."
The ship cut forward, swift and confident.
The incense smoke from the crates drifted into the air, carried toward Arabia.
The coffee beans rolled softly inside their sacks, unaware they were about to start a cultural revolution.
And the crew looked at Kafi with something close to belief.
Not because he was born heir.
Not because he was a child prodigy.
Because he had a vision big enough for the whole coast.
The Gulf awaited.
And beyond it, the Ottomans, the Red Sea routes, the world itself.
Africa wasn't silent anymore.
It was on the move.