The sky over Obalumo still carried the bruises of dawn when El stood at the rusted compound gate. Dust clung to his trousers, but it wasn't the dirt that weighed him down—it was something heavier pressing on his spirit.
The Corolla was gone—towed away in silence. His phone screen was cracked from the crash, completely dead. But none of that was what made his hands shake.
It was the voice.
That presence.
That thing.
He knocked softly on the gate.
It swung open before his knuckles could land again.
Mama.
She stood there in her faded blue wrapper, scarf tied firm on her head. Her eyes weren't surprised—they were heavy, carrying a sorrow that already knew what had happened before hearing it.
"Elijah Sotonye," she whispered.
Only she called him that. Only she spoke his names like they were prayers.
"Where did you sleep last night?"
El opened his mouth, but no words came. She searched his eyes. Looked past them, deeper. Then, she did something he didn't expect.
She smiled.
But it wasn't joy. It was that quiet, knowing smile mothers wear when they sense their son has stepped into something eternal.
"I dreamt last night," she said, holding his hand. "I saw your body in the middle of the road. But it wasn't bleeding. It was shining. Like fire. Like oil."
El froze.
"I saw a man too. Dark as shadow, standing close, holding a staff."
El's legs weakened.
"He said, The boy is marked. His calling has begun. He will not fight with fists, but with fire."
The air hung still for a moment. A neighbor's rooster crowed. From the kitchen, a kettle whistled.
"Come inside," she said softly, pulling him in.
The house carried a thick atmosphere. Not of smoke, but of something spiritual. Candles sat in corners. A bottle of anointing oil rested on the table. A Bible lay open to Jeremiah 1:5:
Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee…
"Mama," El finally spoke, sitting down. "I saw something. At the club. After the accident. A… shadow. It spoke."
She nodded calmly. "You saw the Sentinel. The Watcher. He only comes to those God has called out of fire."
"I don't understand."
"You will."
She rose, went to a small wooden chest near her bed, and unlocked it. From inside, she drew out a torn, leather-bound journal—her late father's. A priest. A seer. A man who had cast out demons in this same land long ago.
She placed it in El's hands.
"Your grandfather saw the same shadow. He called it the Gatekeeper of Mantles. Once it appears, the bearer is no longer ordinary."
El opened the journal. On the first page, one line was written:
Afflictions feed on altars.
He lifted his head. "What does that mean?"
Mama Sotonye sat close, her face turning grave.
"It means you've been chosen to fight the spirits behind what we call 'normal.' Poverty, sickness, shame, madness—these are not just conditions. They are beings. Old beings. They live on blood, secrets, and sin."
El's throat tightened.
"And they've already noticed you."
Outside, across the road…
A hunched figure lingered in the shadows, watching the Sotonye compound.
Its eyes weren't eyes at all—just burning slits.
It hissed once, then burst into black smoke, vanishing before the morning sun could reach it.