Muzi moved through the shadows of Mbabane like a ghost. The world thought he was dead. Let them.
The streets of Sdwashini had spat him out—but Nhlangano was calling.
> "Lay low. Regain strength. You are not ready to face them yet."
Maphanga's voice echoed in his skull.
He needed to get out. Far from Tibo. Far from betrayal.
But Muzi had nothing—no phone, no cash, no ID. Just the fire burning in his chest and a whispering voice only he could hear.
---
At Sihlangu Bus Rank, the smell of roasted meat mixed with diesel fumes.
He spotted a crate of tickets beside a sleeping kiosk worker. Sweat glistened on the man's forehead. The crate was unguarded.
Muzi hesitated. Then moved.
Quick fingers. Light steps. One bus ticket to Nhlangano now rested in his pocket.
He didn't smile. It didn't feel like victory. It felt like survival.
> [Stealth: +1]
"System's got jokes," he muttered.
---
He boarded the bus just before sunrise, blending with the quiet crowd.
Old women in shawls. Miners heading home. A child staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
Muzi pulled his hoodie over his head and leaned against the window as Mbabane faded behind him.
> "Your path begins now."
---
Hours passed.
Nhlangano greeted him with cold wind, dust, and silence. Fewer eyes. Fewer buildings. But danger still hung in the air like smoke.
Muzi stepped off the bus with nothing but fire in his veins.
He would lie low. He would grow.
And when the time was right, he would bring the Umnyama name back into fear.
Not just for revenge.
But for legacy.
---