The morning sun struggled through smoke-streaked clouds over Lagos. Streets that had once roared with traffic were now eerily quiet, littered with debris and twisted metal. The Children of the New Dawn had spread their whispers through the surviving pockets of humanity. Those who had taken the glowing shards now called themselves "blessed," forming small gangs around each fragment they had claimed.
Mela's mother kept them low, crouched behind a collapsed kiosk as the cult passed by, chanting in unison. Their leader lifted a glowing shard toward the sky, murmuring something in an ancient tongue. The shards pulsed, casting long, flickering shadows that made the ruins around them look alive.
"Stay down," Ngozi whispered. Her barrier shimmered faintly around them, a subtle light just enough to obscure their presence. Mela's hands shook, clutching Amara's tightly.
From the wrecked street ahead, a shadow moved. Not human. Not entirely. A monster, its body coiled like smoke, glided silently between the debris, eyes locked on the scattered shards.
The Children of the New Dawn didn't notice — their obsession with the drops blinded them. One of them, a wiry man with a twisted grin, bent down to grab a shard glowing green, and the creature struck. It lunged silently, wrapping around the man. Screams erupted, echoing against broken walls, but only for seconds. When the dust settled, the man had vanished, leaving behind the shard pulsing faintly on the ground.
"Those drops… they're dangerous," Mela whispered. His mother nodded grimly.
They moved quickly through back alleys, avoiding roads where looters and monsters had made patrols of chaos. Occasionally, Mela spotted the shards flickering like distant fireflies — some collected by humans, others lying abandoned, glowing faintly. Each shard seemed to hum with hidden energy, a silent promise of power or death.
At one corner, another survivor group blocked their path. One man's eyes widened when he saw Mela's mother shimmer slightly — he recognized something unnatural. He smiled, reaching for a knife.
Ngozi didn't flinch. A faint pulse of light radiated outward, just enough to stop him in his tracks. The man fell back, muttering curses.
Mela's pulse raced. He wanted to help, to awaken. But nothing came. Only fear, and the faint thrum of runes beneath his skin.
Amara tugged his sleeve. "Are we safe now?"
"Not yet," he whispered. "Everywhere we go… something wants these shards, or us."
In the distance, the cult leader raised a shard again, chanting in Yoruba and pidgin: "Ẹ jẹ́ kí ìṣẹ̀lẹ̀ tuntun bẹ̀rẹ̀!" (Let the new age begin!)
Mela clenched his fists. He didn't have power yet. But he had a choice: run, hide… or start learning.
The sun rose higher, casting the ruins of Lagos in harsh light, illuminating the shards, the monsters, and the cult's growing influence.
Somewhere beneath the chaos, new powers were stirring. And soon, Mela would have to step into the fire.