The city looked like it couldn't decide whether it belonged to the future or the past. Terraced domes rose above the streets, their roofs blooming with hanging vines and small trees. These small hills of silver and green had surfaces etched with faint lines that seemed almost to move when you weren't looking.
The streets were made of smooth, dark stone that gave off a low hum underfoot, and above them rolled sleek carriages framed in polished metal and glass. Having clear panels like car windows revealed people seated inside, calm and unbothered, as the vehicles drifted through the air without wheels or sound.
Dominic hadn't known it then, but this would be one of the last calm moments he'd have for a while.
***
Three hours earlier.
The manga had slipped out of Dominic's hand and was resting awkwardly on his face, its pages spread like wings. The ceiling fan above made that thuk-thuk-thuk noise again, its usual sound whenever NEPA had brought light after a long blackout. His phone alarm had been buzzing for five minutes, but Dominic was too lazy to reach for it.
He finally sat up, blinking away sleep, the manga sliding off his lap. The title on the cover, Starlight Shogun, glared up at him, mocking him with the one thing he was trying to avoid: stories about journeys and battles and leaving home.
"Ugh," he muttered, scratching his hair. "Why am I even doing this to myself?"
He'd been reading manga all night, pretending he was too invested in the plot to think about the fact that he was leaving for boarding school that morning. His bags were already packed—two worn-out travelling bags sitting in the corner, waiting like quiet judges.
Dominic stood up and looked around his small room: posters, books, gamepads, the cheap metal table with one leg shorter than the others. It all felt different today. He'd spent a good chunk of his life sleeping in this room, and now, for the first time, he'd be away for weeks. Maybe months.
He took a deep breath and opened his door slowly, letting the sound of early morning Owerri[1] drift in. A distant generator hummed from next door. Someone was frying akara[2] by the roadside. There was that faint smell of rain even though the clouds were still dry.
He stepped out into the narrow hallway and made his way to the sitting room.
There was Ifeoma, his twelve-year-old sister, sitting cross-legged on the couch, watching a cartoon on Africa Magic Kids. She was braiding the white streak in her hair, the one that grew from the back and looped around to just above her left eyebrow.
"Morning," Dominic said, rubbing his eyes.
"Morning," she replied without looking up. "Mummy said to tell you the food's almost ready."
"You're still braiding?"
"Yep. I'm making it like the girl in Wakfu."
Dominic smiled faintly. Ifeoma had a whole creative process when it came to her hair. She said the white parts, caused by her vitiligo, made her look like a "fantasy character." She even said it like a badge of honor.
Dominic had it too—just a patch of white hair above his right eyebrow, though his was subtler. He never really cared about it, but sometimes strangers would stare too long.
He turned toward the kitchen. The smell hit him first: pepper stew and fried plantain. His mum was standing by the stove, her wrapper tied tight, stirring a pot like she was preparing for a feast.
"Morning, Mum."
She looked over her shoulder and smiled. "My traveler is awake."
Dominic chuckled softly and leaned on the doorframe. "Smells good."
"It's your farewell dish," she said, flipping a piece of plantain with expert precision. "Your last taste of home before you go and start forming big boy in that school."
Dominic smiled, but there was a small knot in his stomach. "Yeah, about that…" He exhaled. "It's weird. Leaving again. It's not the first time I've had to say goodbye to everyone at school, but this...just feels heavier."
His mother turned off the stove and faced him, her face soft but tired. "I know, Nna[3]. I know it's been a lot. But we'll be fine."
She sighed, wiping her hands on her wrapper. "You know things have been tough since your dad passed. That's why we had to come back home. Living in the States wasn't something we could manage anymore."
Dominic nodded. He'd been barely thirteen when they left the U.S. for Nigeria. Back then, everything had felt like an adventure—a new start. But it had been three years of grinding, of starting over.
His mum placed a plate of fried plantain on the counter and looked up at him. "Your uncle really came through for us. Getting you into that school was no small thing. He convinced the director to let you attend for free."
"Yeah," Dominic said quietly. "Guess I owe him big time."
"You don't owe anyone anything," she said quickly, touching his cheek. "You've worked hard. You're brilliant, and you're my son. You remind me every day that everything is going to be alright."
Dominic grinned. "Oh, don't make it emotional, Mum."
She laughed, swatting at him with the kitchen towel. "Go and tell your sister to stop braiding and eat before the food gets cold."
Back in the sitting room, Ifeoma had switched to another cartoon, something loud and colorful. Dominic sat beside her and poked her arm.
"Come eat."
She made a face. "You're leaving today."
"Yeah."
"Then you better write everything down while you're there. I want all the details when you get back. Dorm life, food, fights, crushes—everything."
Dominic laughed. "Sure. I'll make a report for you."
He looked around the sitting room. The same fan that had been squeaking since forever. The faded curtains. The small table with a framed photo facing the wall.
The photo showed him, his mum, and his dad holding a baby Ifeoma. His dad's smile looked just like Dominic's—sharp and easygoing. But something odd stood out. The potted mandrake plant that had been in that same spot for years was right in front of the photo, its small leaves covering half his father's face.
That plant had been there since before his dad passed. His mum always said it was a "special one." It had outlived its normal lifespan. Mandrakes were supposed to last just two or three years, but this one had been thriving for almost a decade.
He ate quickly, said his final goodbyes, and slung his bag over his shoulder. His mum hugged him tight. Ifeoma gave him a dramatic salute.
"Go and make us proud, Oga[4] Boarding School."
"Yes, ma."
Dominic wore a plain white T-shirt with the word "ORIGINAL" printed boldly across the front in black block letters, paired with grey joggers that hung loose at the ankles. His black rubber slippers made soft, quick slaps against the floor as he moved. It wasn't much of an outfit, just something comfortable for the trip.
He stepped out into the morning light. The street was already waking up. A keke rumbled past, loud and shaky. The air smelled like dust, rain,
and fried akara.
He adjusted his black cap over his low tapered hair and started walking. His shoolbag felt heavier than usual, like it knew this wasn't just another day.
He'd walked almost a block when something made him glance back. His house sat quietly behind the short concrete wall that fenced their compound.
And then he saw it.
Someone—no, something—jumped over the fence and slipped into the house.
At first, Dominic thought he was seeing things. But seconds later, the figure came back out, fast. He was carrying something small but familiar.
The mandrake plant.
Dominic froze.
"What the hell—"
The stranger moved like he knew exactly where to go, leaping over the wall again and landing silently on the other side.
Dominic dropped his bags. Instinct took over.
"Hey! Stop!" he yelled, sprinting forward.
The figure darted into the street, slim, dressed in a grey jumpsuit that hugged him like a second skin. It shimmered faintly in the sun, like metal that wasn't quite metal. The outfit looked very tight but strangely comfortable.
Dominic chased after him, dodging a keke that honked in surprise. "Thief!" Dominic exclaimed.
People turned, startled, but the thief was fast. He cut through the open-air market nearby.
Dominic followed, weaving between stalls of vegetables, secondhand clothes, and roasted meat. A sausage roll hawker tried to stop him. "Ahn-ahn, wetin happen?" But Dominic just waved him off and kept running.
He could still see the thief—a flash of grey ahead, slipping through the crowd.
Dominic's lungs burned, his slippers slapped the ground hard, but he didn't care. The mandrake plant had been his father's. He wasn't letting anyone take it.
The thief turned sharply into an alley. Dominic followed.
The alley was narrow, lined with walls stained by old posters and rainwater. He expected the thief to come out the other end, but he didn't.
Dominic stopped, panting. "Where—"
Then he saw it.
The thief stepped straight into the wall. Not through a door. Into it.
For a second, Dominic's brain refused to process what he'd seen. The wall rippled like water, swallowed the figure whole, and went still again.
He blinked. "Nah…nah, that's not possible."
He took a step closer. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out and touched the wall.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, Dominic felt himself falling.
He tumbled through a tunnel of light, through colors that didn't exist, through whispers that sounded like memories.
He felt like he was dissolving, like every memory he'd ever had was being unpacked and rewound.
Then he landed.
Hard.
Right in a bed of soft, glowing flowers.
"Ow…"
He groaned and sat up, brushing pollen off his shirt. The air smelled strange—sweet and electric, like rain on metal.
He looked up.
Everything was…vibrant. Above him stretched a sky that wasn't quite blue. It shimmered between silver and turquoise. Buildings rose in the distance, smooth domes covered in green vines, their surfaces alive with faint moving lines.
And yet—he wasn't part of it.
His skin, his clothes, even his shadow—were all drained of color. He looked like someone had cut him out of a black-and-white photo and dropped him into a living painting.
The ground beneath him wasn't soil—it was dark, glassy stone that hummed softly when he stood up.
A floating carriage passed overhead, silent and sleek, its glass panels revealing unbothered passengers seated inside.
Dominic turned in a slow circle, taking it all in. The city looked like something out of one of his manga—half futuristic, half ancient.
It was beautiful, but it didn't make sense.
He took a step forward, and the hum beneath his feet deepened, almost like it recognized him.
Dominic swallowed hard. "What…what is this place?"
The air around him shimmered, and a faint breeze brushed past, carrying the scent of unknown flowers. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear bells—or maybe music.
He exhaled, half-laughing, half-panicking.
"Did I just get Isekai'd?"
The words came out before he could stop himself. He blinked, looked around again, and laughed nervously. "No way. That's…no. That doesn't happen in real life. Only in those extremely niche anime that no one watches but tends to have surprisingly good animation."
He sighed, staring at the strange horizon. "And I didn't even finish that manga."
[1] A city in Nigeria.
[2] A snack made out of beans.
[3] A word from the Igbo language that literally means "father". However, in this context it can mean "my boy" or "my dear son".
[4] A word from the Igbo language that literally means "boss".