Chapter 1: The First Spark
The silence of the temple compound was heavy, a suffocating blanket woven from incense smoke and ancient reverence. For seventeen-year-old Omotara, it was the worst kind of Friday night. The air itself felt thick with expectation, pressing down on her shoulders like the ceremonial gele she was supposed to be wearing.
She was supposed to be in the sacred antechamber, preparing the ceremonial chalk and purifying the bronze bowls for the full moon ritual. Instead, she was crouched by her bedroom window, her breath held tight in her chest, one eye on the moonlit courtyard below. The dún-dún drum had begun its slow, hypnotic call, a sound that usually resonated in her bones. Tonight, it felt like a chain.
Her phone, tucked under her thigh, vibrated.
Kemi:If you activate the Igi Orisa wards, I swear I'm leaving you here. My cousin is already side-eyeing me.
Omotara:Five minutes. Tell your cousin to park three streets down. Mama's chanting is unusually loud tonight.
Kemi:Unusually loud? She's probably calling on the entire pantheon to find you. Hurry up! The party is LIT. Deylan is even here.
Omotara's heart gave a traitorous little jump at Deylan's name. The boy from her Literature class who talked about post-colonial theory like it was a sport. He didn't know she existed. How could he, when her world was chalk circles and river deities?
Her mother, Iya Nla, was not just a priestess; she was the regional High Priestess, a woman whose voice could command spirits and whose gaze could still a room. Tonight's purification ceremony was critical for the community's spiritual balance. Omotara, as the designated Arugba (sacred vessel) and apprentice, was supposed to lead the procession. But Omotara didn't feel sacred. She felt like a fraud in white lace, a battery for a power she didn't understand and didn't want. She hated the endless purity rites, the smell of woodsmoke and stagnant river water, and the crushing weight of a destiny she never asked for. Most of all, she hated the quiet, probing looks from the other initiates, as if they could see the rebellion simmering just beneath her skin.
Tonight, I'm just Omotara. Not Arugba. Not an apprentice. Just a girl.
She slipped out the window, her movements silent from years of practice, dropping onto the moist grass below. The compound was eerily still, the high walls casting deep shadows that seemed to watch her. As she scaled the outer wall—a move perfected over months of planning—she focused solely on the sound of the traffic and the distant, thrumming pulse of bass from the city. She locked her mind onto the promise of Kemi's laughter, of music that demanded movement, not meditation. She actively pushed back against the faint, intrusive spiritual energy that always hummed around the compound, a sensation like cobwebs against her skin.
When her feet hit the cracked pavement of the side street, it felt like freedom. She sprinted the three blocks, her sandals slapping against the ground, until she saw the familiar, slightly battered Toyota. Kemi flung the back door open before Omotara could reach for the handle.
"Get in, runaway priestess!" Kemi whisper-yelled, her eyes wide with adrenaline and mischief. She yanked Omotara inside. The car smelled of air freshener and Kemi's vanilla perfume.
"Drive, cousin, before her mother turns us all into frogs!" Kemi commanded the young man in the driver's seat, who shook his head with a long-suffering sigh but pulled away from the curb.
Kemi immediately turned in her seat, her beaded braids clicking. "Let me look at you." She scrutinized Omotara's jeans and simple top. "Okay, not temple-wear. Good start. But we are fixing your energy. You look like you're about to be struck by lightning." She rummaged in her purse and produced a small tube of shimmery gloss. "Here. War paint."
Omotara applied it, her hands trembling slightly. "She's going to know, Kemi. The moment I walk back in, she'll just know."
"So? You'll be grounded for a century. Big deal. You'll have memories of an actual life to keep you company." Kemi's expression softened. "Look, Tara. You spend every day in that compound. You owe yourself one normal night. One night where you're not responsible for anyone's spiritual wellbeing. Just your own."
"What if I don't know how?" Omotara whispered, the confession startling her.
Kemi grabbed her hand, squeezing tight. "Then you follow my lead. We dance. We laugh. We maybe talk to Deylan. We act like the teenagers we're supposed to be. Deal?"
The knot in Omotara's stomach loosened a fraction. "Deal."
Part II: Finding the Current
The party was a sensory explosion, a world away from the silent compound. It was held on the rooftop patio of a high-rise in Ikoyi, overlooking the lagoon. The air was thick with the driving beat of Afro-pop, the sizzling scent of suya from a corner grill, and the collective, carefree energy of a hundred teenagers who wore their futures lightly.
Omotara felt instantly out of place, a monochrome photograph thrust into a vibrant painting. Her eyes kept darting to the full moon, now a mere decoration in the sky, and her ears, trained to listen for subtle shifts in energy, were assaulted by the cacophony.
"See? Nobody is chanting. Nobody is judging. Just… vibe!" Kemi shouted, grabbing her hands and pulling her into the swirling mass of dancers.
For an hour, Omotara let Kemi lead. She mimicked her friend's movements, let the rhythm disarm her mind, and laughed when Kemi made silly faces. She drank a sweet, fizzy soda and let the noise wash over her. For precious minutes, the constant, low-grade anxiety of the temple faded into the background. She was just a girl at a party.
Then, Kemi spotted the tray of exotic cocktails. "Ooh, mocktails! I'm getting us some. Don't move!" she declared, and vanished into the crowd.
Omotara, feeling suddenly anchorless again, drifted toward the railing that overlooked the dark, rippling lagoon. The relative quiet was a relief. She took a deep breath, trying to memorize the feeling of the cool night air on her skin, the laughter behind her—a stark contrast to the solemn prayers at home.
This is what normal feels like, she thought. This is what I'm missing.
It was here, staring at the water, that the chaos broke.
The commotion started near the entrance—raised voices, a shatter of glass. A group of guys, loud and boisterous, pushed their way through, their laughter aggressive. Omotara instinctively backed up, her retreat clumsy in the crowd, and stumbled hard into someone solid.
A strong hand instantly steadied her, gripping her elbow firmly but gently, preventing a fall.
"Whoa, sorry about that," a deep voice rumbled, close to her ear. It was a voice that commanded attention, smooth but with an underlying strength.
Omotara turned, and everything—the noise, the music, the shimmering lights—seemed to fade into a dull, distant hum.
The boy holding her was stunning. He was tall, with skin the rich, dark hue of polished mahogany, and his eyes were a startling, intense amber that seemed to catch and refract the city's glow. He wore confidence like a second skin, an innate authority that felt both exciting and unnerving.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his smile devastatingly charismatic, revealing a dimple in one cheek.
Omotara felt a strange, immediate physical reaction. Her heart hammered against her ribs, and the quiet, familiar pulse of energy she always felt near water—a priestess's affinity—suddenly spiked. But this was different. It wasn't a calming flow; it felt like an anxious, electric coil tightening in her stomach, a silent alarm.
"I—I'm fine," she managed, her voice barely audible over the music. She subtly tried to pull her arm back, but his grip, though gentle, was steadfast. "Thanks. Sorry for bumping you."
He released her elbow, but his gaze remained locked on hers, curious and intense. "It was definitely me. Too busy trying to avoid my family's security detail." He chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that inexplicably heightened the electric feeling in the air around them. "I'm Tayo."
"Omotara," she replied, all her carefully rehearsed casual greetings fleeing her mind.
"Omotara," he repeated, as if tasting the name. "A name with weight. I haven't seen you around before. Are you friends with the hosts, or are you just here for the chaos?" His amber eyes flickered over her face, missing nothing.
She felt a sudden, desperate need to impress him, to cement herself in this world. "Oh, I—I'm with my best friend. We actually ditched a super boring, super serious family thing to be here. A whole… ceremony." She waved a hand, attempting nonchalance.
Tayo's grin widened, showing a flash of perfect teeth. "A ceremonial ditching. I respect that. I'm new in Lagos myself. Just started at Lagos Met on Monday."
Omotara's jaw dropped slightly. "Lagos Metropolitan? No way. So am I! I mean, I'm a sophomore there."
"Then it seems like fate intervened tonight," Tayo said, a hint of genuine surprise in his tone. His gaze dropped to her hands, and he reached out, not for her hand, but for the simple silver ring on her thumb. He touched it lightly with his index finger and thumb. "Maybe you can be my tour guide. Show me where to find the best jollof on campus."
His touch was brief, but a sharp, static-like jolt passed between them, so palpable Omotara almost gasped. The coil in her stomach tightened into a knot. What is that?
Before she could form a reply, a sudden, blinding flash of greenish-yellow light exploded from the far side of the rooftop. It wasn't electrical. It was violent, unnatural, and sizzled as it scorched the decking, releasing a plume of acrid, chemical-smelling smoke.
Screams, real and raw, tore through the party atmosphere.
"What was that?!" Omotara gasped, her priestess instincts snapping to the forefront, analyzing the energy—it was wrong, corrosive, dead.
Tayo's charming smile vanished, erased in an instant. His expression transformed into one of sharp, lethal focus. His posture shifted from relaxed to poised, like a predator sensing danger. He wasn't scared; he looked prepared, his amber eyes scanning the panicked crowd with strategic precision.
"Omotara, listen to me," he commanded, his voice dropping, losing all its boyish warmth, becoming hard and deep. "You need to find your friend and get out of here. Now."
He moved with startling speed, shoving her firmly but protectively behind him, putting his body between her and the source of the attack. The fun was irrevocably over. Her rebellion hadn't just risked her mother's wrath; it had plunged her into a path of something ancient, dark, and violently awake.
Peering over Tayo's shoulder, her gaze found the source. Standing amidst the chaos, untouched by the panic, were two figures. Their eyes glowed with the same sickly yellow light as the unnatural fire. Their movements were jerky, wrong, as if their bones didn't fit together. The smell that wafted from them was of damp earth and decay.
One of them raised a claw-like hand, and another bolt of that corrosive energy screamed across the rooftop, shattering a glass table.
A cold certainty settled in Omotara's soul, colder than any river water she'd ever been purified in.
This isn't an accident,she realized, the training she'd tried to suppress rising up in a wave. This is an attack. And he knew it was coming.