"Every scar holds a story, every silence hides a scream. We walk forward smiling, but behind the eyes—secrets burn. And when the past finally calls… no heart is ever ready"
THE MYSTERY LOST CITY
CHAPTER 01 LOADING...
My name is Pazzo. People joke that it sounds like "Puzzle." Maybe they're right. My life has always been a puzzle—missing pieces, strange corners, shadows that never line up.
Papa died in 2021. That single year carved a scar so deep it still bleeds. Death doesn't knock—it rips the door off its hinges and leaves you staring at the ruins. He was our backbone, our roof, our shield. And when the roof collapsed, the rain fell on me first.
I became the man of the house. Not by choice. By force. Mama carried her pain silently, wrapping it in prayers that never seemed to reach the sky. My little sister still believed the world was soft, and I let her keep that illusion. Someone had to.
But me? I learned fast. The world is not soft. The world is a weight that breaks your shoulders. When you decide to stand for truth, you learn to stand alone.
Summer 2023. I walked out of university with my degree in History and Literature pressed against my chest. My heart was loud, my dreams louder. I thought I was a superhero ready to rewrite the society I hated. Riches. Change. Glory. I believed all of it was waiting for me just outside the gate.
Reality laughed in my face. Jobs don't wait for dreamers. Museums don't pay for passion. The rent didn't care about my degree. The fridge didn't care either. Every rejection letter felt like a knife saying, We don't need you.
Then came Sunday. November 19th, 2023. The day that shifted everything.
I had gone to meet one of my favorite lecturers. A man I respected—not for his titles, but for the way he made history breathe. To me, he wasn't just a teacher; he was a mirror of what I wanted to become. Sharp. Respected. Untouchable.
We met in a quiet hotel tucked in a side street of Kigali. The kind of place where curtains are heavy, light is golden, and whispers sound louder than shouts. He spotted me before I even reached his table.
"Pazzo!" His voice carried warmth, like a father's. He shook my hand firmly, eyes scanning me up and down. Then he chuckled. "Still drinking? Still smoking? Still chasing girls instead of chasing wisdom?"
I smiled, embarrassed. "Some things don't change, sir. But I'm trying. I'm… looking for a job in a museum. Something steady."
He leaned closer, laughter gone. His face turned stone.
"Life is not steady, Pazzo. Life is a rope. You either tie yourself down or you hang. If you want to rise, you must leave something behind. Sacrifice. Discover. Write. Break walls. Do what no one has dared. That is the only way you will own history—and with it, wealth, respect, power."
I blinked, thrown off. "Straight to the point, sir."
"If I had your years again," he whispered, "I'd change everything."
Then he reached into his bag. His hands trembled slightly, like the decision wasn't easy. He pulled out a folded piece of paper—old, cracked, smelling faintly of dust and time. He slid it across the table like contraband.
"This," he said, "is not just paper. It's a door. And doors, Pazzo, are dangerous."
I unfolded it carefully. The edges were frayed, the ink faded but still breathing secrets. Lines twisted into unfamiliar symbols. Coordinates scribbled in haste. My fingers traced a strange mark, a circle with jagged edges, something between a sun and an eye.
The room around me faded. My lecturer's voice turned distant. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat.
That night, I couldn't sleep. The map burned beneath my pillow, as though whispering in a tongue I didn't understand. But I knew.
This wasn't just history.
This was a key. A key to a city lost to time.
And keys never appear unless there's a lock waiting.
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