With everyone working together, the fire was put out quickly. Smoke still curled into the sky, the air thick with ash and the sour tang of charred wood. The villagers moved like ghosts through the soot-streaked ruins, coughing and whispering prayers.
The village was in disrepair—homes scattered haphazardly, mud walls crumbling, and thatched roofs caved in. At the center, the communal hall stood partially blackened, scorched beams creaking under their own weight. Khisa squinted through the haze and caught sight of a burnt marking etched into one of the walls.
A cross.
"Is that what I think it is?" he muttered.
[Correct. During this time in the previous timeline, the Adal Sultanate was at war with the Christian Ethiopian Empire, otherwise known as Abyssinia.]
Ayaan's voice echoed inside his mind.
"Damn, those missionaries worked fast. How did they even get this far inland?" Khisa's brow furrowed in concern.
He sighed. "It's only a matter of time before they reach Nuri."
