The lecture hall was too bright, too warm, and too full of people who had definitely slept more than three hours in the past two days.
David sat in the back row, his face half-hidden behind the collar of his Barcelona jersey. The 2004/2005 long-sleeve was his favorite—Ronaldinho, number 10, the year magic had a uniform. The black baggy jeans were soft from too many washes. The white Jordans were new, bought with money he hadn't earned yet but had already spent.
His hair was fresh too. Low taper fade, the edges sharp, the tips rolled. He'd gone to the barber that morning, sat in the chair for an hour, and watched pieces of the past week fall to the floor.
The bruises didn't fall.
They stayed, hidden under foundation and concealer that Praise had shown him how to apply. "Just until they heal," she'd said. "You don't want to scare your coursemates."
He'd laughed at the time. Now, sitting in Structural Mechanics, watching the lecturer derive equations that felt like ancient Greek, he understood what she meant.
He wasn't scared.
He was tired.
His sketchbook was open on the desk, hidden behind a textbook he hadn't opened once. His pencil moved in quick, sharp strokes—not notes, not diagrams.
A manga page.
Ivie, mid-spin, her combat knife flashing, a dozen cement clones crumbling around her. The lines were rough, unfinished, but the motion was there. The weight of her body. The arc of the blade. The expression on her face—calm, focused, almost bored.
She doesn't have a Gift, he thought. Just training and faith reinforcement. Just will.
The lecturer droned on. David kept drawing.
"Psst."
A nudge to his ribs.
David looked up. CJ was sliding into the seat beside him, his well-kept afro brushing the top of the seatback. He was dressed sharp—corporate, but with swag. A button-down with the sleeves rolled, dark jeans, loafers without socks. He looked like he'd just come from a meeting and decided a lecture was more important.
"You look like death," CJ whispered.
"You look like a LinkedIn profile," David whispered back.
"Rude."
"Accurate."
CJ grinned, settling into his seat. He pulled out a tablet, stylus already in hand. "Left Mechatronics to come see you. You should feel honored."
"I feel nauseous."
"Same thing."
The lecturer paused, glanced at the back row, decided he didn't want to know, and continued.
CJ leaned closer. "You've been gone, bro. Like, actually gone. Your phone was off for two days. Your roommates said you just... disappeared."
"I was around."
"You weren't."
David's pencil stopped. He looked at CJ—really looked at him. The concern in his eyes. The slight frown.
"I'm fine," David said. "Just... family stuff."
"Your parents?"
"Yeah."
The lie sat between them, small and ugly. David hated how easy it was becoming.
"He's lying."
Israel slid into the seat on David's other side, his voice calm, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world and was happy to spend it here.
He was wearing a suit.
Not a corporate suit—a philosophy suit. Dark grey, slightly rumpled, the kind of suit that had opinions about Kierkegaard. His hair was neat, his beard was neat, his glasses were round and gold and made him look like he was about to explain why nothing mattered.
"Israel," David said. "What are you doing here?"
"I walked."
"From the Art faculty?"
"It's not far."
"It's across the campus."
"I had time." Israel adjusted his glasses. "And I wanted to see the boy who came back from the dead."
CJ snorted. "Dramatic much?"
"He's been gone for days, CJ. His phone was off. His roommates hadn't seen him. His social media was silent." Israel tilted his head, studying David. "For someone who draws monsters, you've been very... absent."
David's pencil twitched.
"I've been working on a project."
"A project."
"A manga."
"The one about the half-vampire?"
David blinked. "How do you know about that?"
"You told me. Months ago. Before you started... whatever this is." Israel gestured vaguely at David's face, at the concealer, at the exhaustion he couldn't hide. "You said you wanted to finish it by the end of the year."
"I still do."
"Then why haven't you been drawing?"
David didn't have an answer.
CJ cut in, his voice lighter, trying to break the tension. "So, the date. How was it?"
David's face did something complicated. A smile tried to form, got confused, and settled somewhere between embarrassment and genuine happiness.
"It was... good."
"Just good?"
"Really good."
"Tell us everything."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I left in the middle of it."
CJ's jaw dropped. Israel raised an eyebrow. Even the lecturer paused, glanced at their corner, and decided he definitely didn't want to know.
"You left," CJ said slowly, "in the middle of a date?"
"A friend needed me."
"What friend?"
"You don't know him."
"Then introduce me, because I need to have a conversation with him about priorities."
David laughed—a real laugh, tired and warm. "It's fine. She wasn't mad."
"She wasn't mad?"
"She's... too good for me, honestly."
"Obviously. You're not wrong but you don't have to say it."
"CJ."
"I'm just saying. You left in the middle of a date. Most girls would have walked out."
"Jane's not most girls."
"Jane?" Israel leaned forward. "Pharmacy student? 300 level? Really pretty, natural plait hair with white tips?"
David stared at him. "How do you know her?"
"I don't. But I've seen her in the library. She reads poetry. Neruda. Rumi. The kind of stuff that makes philosophy students feel inadequate."
"She reads Neruda?"
"She annotated it, David. In pen."
David's smile widened. "Yeah. She's... yeah."
CJ and Israel exchanged a look. The kind of look that said this kid is gone.
The lecture ended.
David gathered his things, the sketchbook tucked under his arm, the textbook untouched. His phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
GTBank Alert: ₦200,000.00 received from COVENANT TRUST.
Message: Your first weekly pay. Welcome to the team.
New balance: ₦204,722.00
David froze.
Two hundred thousand naira. His account had never seen that much money. His parents had never sent that much money at once.
"Bro?" CJ waved a hand in front of his face. "You good?"
David opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"I need to make a call," he said.
He walked out of the lecture hall, his friends trailing behind him, his phone already dialing.
Jaron answered on the second ring.
"David."
"Did you send me two hundred thousand naira?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"It's your weekly pay. Rookies start at two hundred. You'll get a raise after your first six months."
David stopped walking. He was in the hallway now, students streaming past him, none of them aware that he was holding a phone that contained the answer to all his financial problems.
"This is... this is real."
"The money is real. The job is real. The danger is real." Jaron's voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "You risk your life. We pay you for it. That's the deal."
"I didn't know there was a deal."
"Now you do."
David leaned against the wall, his head spinning.
"What do I do with it?"
"Whatever you want. Save it. Spend it. Send it home. It's yours." A pause. "Just don't tell anyone where it came from."
"Right."
"David."
"Yeah?"
"You earned it."
The line went dead.
Meanwhile: Jaron's POV
The room was dark.
Jaron stood by the window, his phone still in his hand, watching the city lights flicker below. Behind him, the battle was already over.
Ezra stood in the center of the room, his massive frame motionless, his pitch-black flail dissolving into shadow. At his feet, Axum's shattered form lay in pieces—mirror-shards and shadow-stuff, slowly crumbling to dust.
"It's done," Ezra said. His voice was low, almost gentle. "It won't manifest again for years."
Jaron didn't turn around.
"Good."
"The boy?"
"David." Jaron's thumb brushed the phone screen. "He just got his first paycheck."
"How did he react?"
"Like someone who's never had money before."
Ezra was silent for a moment.
"That's good," he said finally. "He'll appreciate it. More than the others."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Why?"
Jaron turned. His face was tired, older than his years.
"Because money changes things. Not for the better. Not for the worse. Just... changes them." He looked at Axum's remains. "I don't want him to stay for the money."
"He won't."
"How do you know?"
Ezra's dark eyes met his.
"Because he asked why we couldn't keep Kola alive."
Jaron was silent.
"That's not a question someone who's in it for the money asks," Ezra continued. "That's a question someone who still has a soul asks."
He walked toward the door.
"He'll be fine, Jaron. Let him have his paycheck."
The door closed behind him.
Jaron looked at Axum's remains one last time.
Then he turned back to the window and watched the city sleep.
Back to David
"So?" CJ was practically bouncing. "Who called? Was it Jane? Did she dump you? Are you okay? Should I fight someone?"
"It was my... boss." David put his phone away, his hands still shaking. "I got paid."
"Paid for what?"
"Consulting."
"You're a consultant now?"
"Apparently."
CJ squinted at him. "You're being weird."
"I'm always weird."
"Weirder than usual."
David looked at his friends—CJ with his corporate swag and genuine concern, Israel with his calm eyes and uncomfortable insights. They had no idea. They would never have any idea.
"Let me buy you guys lunch," David said.
"With your consulting money?"
"With my consulting money."
"Bet."
The buka was crowded, noisy, and perfect.
David ordered for everyone—jollof rice, grilled chicken, fried plantains, extra meat. He didn't check the prices. He didn't calculate if he could afford it. He just... paid.
"You've changed," Israel said, watching him.
"I haven't changed."
"You're spending money like it's not yours."
"It is mine."
"You know what I mean."
David chewed his chicken, thinking.
"Maybe I just got tired of being cheap," he said finally. "Maybe I just wanted to buy my friends food without worrying about my account balance."
"That's not an answer."
"Omo It's the only one you're getting."
Israel held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough."
CJ, oblivious, was already on his second plate. "This is fire. David, you're fire. I love you."
"Pause …. Only have eyes on Jane."
"I'm eating. I'm eating. Don't make me laugh ."
David laughed. The sound was strange in his own ears—light, unguarded. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed like this. Before the courtyard. Before Axum. Before everything.
He pulled out his phone.
GTBank Transfer: ₦25,000.00 sent to MEG OSAYI.
Note: For you mummy . Love you.
Three seconds later, his phone rang.
"David." His mother's voice was high, almost breathless. "David, what is this?"
"Money, Mummy."
"I can see it's money. Where did you get it?"
"My manga."
A pause.
"Your manga?"
"It's... doing well. Online. People are buying it."
"David."
"I'm serious, Mummy. It's called Shadow of the Sun. It's about a half-vampire. People like it."
Another pause. Longer this time.
"You're not lying to me?"
"I would never lie to you."
The lie burned in his throat.
"David." Her voice was softer now, almost tender. "I'm proud of you. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, Mummy."
"But don't forget your studies. Engineering is still your future."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I love you too."
She hung up.
David stared at his phone for a long moment.
I would never lie to you.
He was learning to lie. Learning to hide. Learning to smile like nothing was wrong while his body healed from wounds he couldn't explain.
But the money was real. The food was real. His friends, laughing beside him, were real.
That was something.
Evening
The class was empty.
David sat at his desk, surrounded by new supplies—markers, ink, paper, everything he'd been too broke to buy for months. The page in front of him was fresh, clean, full of possibility.
SHADOW OF THE SUN
Episode One: The First Breath
A girl with dark hair and darker eyes ran through a forest, moonlight filtering through the trees. Behind her, a man in black followed, silent, watchful, his blade hidden but ready.
She was the first. The first natural-born vampire. Neither fully human nor fully monster.
He was the last. The last hunter who still remembered what mercy felt like.
They were running from everything that wanted them dead.
And they were running together.
David's pencil moved.
For the first time in weeks, he wasn't drawing Phobias.
He was drawing hope.
Helena Restaurant
The restaurant was small, intimate, tucked between a hostel and a shop that sold phone accessories. String lights hung across the ceiling, casting everything in warm gold.
Jane was already there.
She sat by the window, her natural plait hair falling past her shoulders, the white tips catching the light. She was wearing a simple black dress, elegant without trying, and her smile when she saw him was the kind of smile that made David forget he'd been fighting monsters forty-eight hours ago.
"You came," she said.
"I said I would."
"You also said you'd be back in ten minutes. Yesterday."
David winced. "About that…"
"Sit down, David. I'm not angry."
He sat.
"You're not?"
"I was confused. Then I was worried. Then I realized you're not the type to leave without a reason." She tilted her head, studying his face. "What happened to your cheek?"
He touched the concealer, self-conscious. "Football."
"You told me you don't play football anymore."
"I played yesterday. Before the date. I couldn't cope. It's been a long time."
She looked at him for a long moment.
"You're a terrible liar, David Osayi."
"I'm not lying."
"You're not good at lying."
He opened his mouth. Then closed it.
"I'll tell you someday," he said. "I promise."
"Someday?"
"When I figure out how."
Jane reached across the table and took his hand. Her fingers were warm, soft, grounding.
"Okay," she said. "Someday."
They talked.
About nothing. About everything. About her pharmacy rotations and his engineering lectures and the manga he was drawing and the books she was reading. About the lecturer who fell asleep during his own class and the lab partner who kept setting things on fire. About dreams and fears and the small, ordinary moments that made up a life.
David forgot, for a little while, that he was a Vanguard.
He was just a boy. With a girl. In a restaurant. And the world was quiet.
They walked back to her hostel slowly, the night air cool against their skin. The Danjuma Legacy was a five-star hotel disguised as student accommodation—chandeliers in the lobby, a doorman in uniform, gardens that cost more to maintain than David's entire hostel.
"This is goodnight I guess ," David said.
"Yh goodnight."
"Same time tomorrow maybe."
"I don't know… I'll have to check my schedule." She smiled. "Just kidding my treat this time.'"
"That's not needed, I got it covered."
"I insist though."
He laughed. She laughed.
The moment stretched.
"I'm sorry," David said. "For leaving. Yesterday. I know it was weird."
"It was."
"I can't explain why."
"I know."
"But I'm here now."
"You are."
She stepped closer. He stepped closer. They stood there, inches apart, the world holding its breath.
"Forgiven?" he asked.
"Forgiven."
She hugged him.
Brief. Warm. Enough.
Then she turned and walked toward the entrance, her silhouette disappearing behind the glass doors.
David stood there for a long moment, his hands in his pockets, a stupid smile on his face.
The Walk Home
He scrolled through his phone, still smiling, still floating.
A news alert popped up.
BREAKING: Abandoned Hotel to Be Leased to Government for New Infrastructure Development.
David stopped walking.
He read the article twice.
The hotel. The incomplete one. The one where Kola had died and Rebar had dissolved and workers had been eaten. The government was going to lease the land. Build something new. A hospital, maybe. A school. Something complete.
He laughed—a quiet, wondering sound.
"Good luck," he muttered. "That building's got ghosts."
He put his phone away and walked toward Hall 4, the campus quiet around him, the stars hidden behind clouds.
ROOM 158 UNIT TWO
He unlocked his door. His roommates were out—studying, probably, or pretending to study. The room was dark, silent, empty.
He dropped his bag on his bed and reached for his sketchbook.
Something moved.
A flash of pink. A flutter of wings.
David turned.
A dove sat on his pillow, its feathers soft and luminous, its tiny head tilted, its dark eyes watching him.
"You've got to be kidding me," David said.
The dove chirped.
And then it vanished, dissolving into a puff of pink light that smelled faintly of flowers and sunset.
David stared at the empty pillow.
"Eloghosa," he said to no one. "I'm going to kill you."
He sat on his bed, pulled out his sketchbook, and started drawing.
A garden. A sunset. A katana in the earth.
And a man who moved like water and smiled like he knew something you didn't.