The sweet scent of cake still lingered in the air as the laughter and chatter from the living room slowly faded. The family had just celebrated the girls' first day at their new school with a store-bought chocolate cake, soft and rich with swirls of icing. Now, the evening sun dipped below the horizon, and preparations for dinner began.
"Alright, let's get started with dinner," their father said, stretching lightly as he rose from the couch.
Both parents headed to their room to freshen up. The sound of running water and the soft hum of conversation flowed from the direction of their ensuite bathroom. Not long after, they emerged in fresh, casual clothes. Orika noticed how effortlessly young her parents looked—like people in their early twenties, not a 45-year-old woman and a 50-year-old man.
In the kitchen, the division of labor was seamless. Their mother moved toward the stove, tying a scarf around her head. She set water to boil and began stirring the yam flour for the amala. Their father, seated on a stool nearby, started plucking ewedu leaves from their wiry stalks.
"Where did you even get ewedu from?" Ayira asked curiously, leaning on the countertop.
"We bought it from a roadside vendor while coming back from work," her father replied.
"Don't worry, we'll have our own garden soon," their mother added, glancing at him with a warm smile.
As the steam from the pot rose into the air, she stirred rhythmically, working the amala dough into soft, stretchable perfection. Meanwhile, the catfish, a leftover from the raw batch they stored earlier, simmered in the bubbling soup on another burner.
"So, how was your first day in school?" their father asked as he reached for another bundle of ewedu.
"It was good!" Kenari piped up. "My teacher gave me a star sticker!"
"That's my boy!" their dad beamed.
"And you girls?" their mother asked.
"We met new friends. Our English teacher is very strict though," Orika said.
"And you two? How was work?" Ayira asked.
Their mom chuckled. "Same old. Patients don't change. But at least I arranged the files in the office, I can't believe their record office could be quite chaotic."
Their dad added, "My new team is young and clueless, but they're eager to learn."
Soon, the amala was wrapped in nylon and placed inside the family's special swallow cooler. Their mom excused herself and headed to the laundry room to sort dirty clothes for washing. As she picked through the pile, she pulled out Kenari's stained uniform shirt.
"Kenari!" she called out playfully.
"Yes, mummy?"
"Why is your white shirt looking like you wrestled on the playground?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I was playing football and I got pushed by a classmate," he said, sheepishly scratching his head.
She laughed softly. "I knew it. I'll soak this tonight. But you'll explain to your teacher tomorrow if it comes back stained again."
The uniforms were white shirts with sky-blue bottoms—skirts for the girls, shorts for toddler Kenari. After laundry and dinner prep, the family gathered at the dining table. The smell of the rich catfish soup mixed with the earthy scent of amala and the lightly slimy ewedu. They ate, laughed, and shared stories.
As bedtime drew near, they all moved to Kenari's room. It had become a little family tradition: bedtime stories in Kenari's room, everyone huddled together on the floor and small chairs.
Their father began to read aloud from a well-worn fantasy book. Kenari was already tucked in, eyes heavy. Ayira lay beside him on a beanbag, and soon, her soft breathing indicated she had drifted off. Orika's eyes blinked slowly as she listened.
When the story ended, their mother scooped Ayira into her arms and carried her to her room. Their father gently lifted Orika and took her to hers. They both checked on Kenari one more time before making their rounds through the house, switching off lights and locking doors.
Later that night, the house fell into silence. But the peace didn't last.
Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced the stillness. It was Orika. Seconds later, Kenari's scream followed. Both parents rushed out of their room.
Orika was thrashing in her bed, her face twisted in terror. Kenari, in his own room, was awake and crying—his tiny body trembling.
Ayira stumbled into the hallway, her eyes wide and watery. "Something's wrong," she whispered.
Their parents didn't hesitate. They comforted the children, wrapping them in warm arms. The family, unsettled and shaken, returned to the master bedroom.
Pillows were spread on the bed. Orika curled up between her parents while Ayira held Kenari's hand as he drifted back to sleep.
That night, no one returned to their rooms. The bond between them—blood, love, and something much deeper—kept them united in fear and warmth.
In her dream, Orika saw it again—the looming shadow, the glowing fangs, the whisper of something ancient. And though she didn't yet know its name, the presence of the Prime Fang Original had now taken root in her mind.