In a dimly lit hut in the heart of the Buganda Kingdom, the scent of burning herbs hung heavy in the air. Shadows danced along the bark-covered walls as Kabaka Nakibinge Kagali sat cross-legged beside his katikiro, his Prime Minister. A bowl of steaming millet porridge sat untouched between them, its surface already forming a film. Outside, drums beat softly in the distance—a signal from a nearby village, but even the rhythm sounded uncertain, troubled.
"I fear these clan wars are not entirely of our own making," Kabaka murmured, his voice laced with unease. "It feels... engineered. As if someone is fanning the flames for their own gain."
The katikiro nodded solemnly, his brows furrowed. "We have long-standing tensions, but this level of bloodshed? It is unlike us. Perhaps a foreign hand moves in the shadows."
