UNIBEN 8:20 PM
The night air was cool, heavy with the smell of smoke that still lingered from the morning fire. David walked between CJ and Israel, their footsteps echoing on the dark pavement. Streetlights flickered overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch toward the burned-out shell of the engineering hall.
"So," CJ said, breaking the silence. "Talk."
David took a breath.
"I'm not in a cult."
"You said that already."
"I know. But I need you to hear it again. I'm not in a cult."
Israel, walking on David's other side, said nothing. His calm eyes studied David the way he studied philosophical texts—slowly, carefully, looking for the hidden argument.
"Then what are you in?" CJ asked.
David stopped walking.
They were at the edge of the faculty of arts now, the old buildings looming on either side, the path empty. No students. No lecturers. Just the three of them and the truth he had been avoiding for weeks.
"I'm a Vanguard," he said.
"A what?"
"That doesn't sound like a cult actually." CJ said
"A Vanguard. I fight Phobias. They're... monsters. Born from fear. I can see them. I've always been able to see them."
CJ stared at him.
Israel stared at him.
The silence stretched.
"David," CJ said slowly, "I asked you to be honest."
"Omo I'm being honest guy."
"You're talking about monsters."
"I know how I sounds."
"It sounds like you've lost your mind."
David reached into his jacket and pulled out the green sketchbook. It manifested fully—leather-bound, green ink shimmering on the cover, the pages glowing faintly.
"This is my Gift. It's called Storyboard."
CJ's eyes widened. Israel's expression didn't change, but his posture shifted—leaning in, watching.
"I can draw things," David continued. "Weapons. Tools. Creatures. They come to life. You can't see them—only faithfuls and phobias can. But you can see what they do."
He held out his hand. Called the sword from Page 1.
To CJ and Israel, his hand was empty.
"There's a sword in my hand right now."
"There's nothing there," CJ said.
"I know. But if I swing it..."
He turned and slashed at a low-hanging branch from a nearby tree. The blade—invisible, but real—cut clean through. The branch fell to the ground with a soft thud.
CJ stepped back.
"You just..."
"Cut it. Yeah."
"With nothing."
"With a sword you can't see."
Israel walked to the fallen branch, picked it up, examined the clean cut.
"This is real," he said.
"Yes."
"You're not lying."
"Of course na."
Israel looked at David—really looked, the way he looked at everything, peeling back layers.
"Show us more."
David manifested the ladder. Invisible. Leaning against a wall.
"There's a ladder here."
"I don't see anything," CJ said.
"Climb it."
"What?"
"Trust me."
CJ hesitated. Then he reached out—his hand passed through empty air, found a rung, gripped it. His eyes went wide.
"There's something here."
He climbed.
Three rungs up, he was standing on nothing visible, his feet on rungs that didn't exist. He looked down at David, his face a mixture of terror and exhilaration.
"This is insane."
"You get.. I've been saying that for weeks."
CJ climbed down. His feet touched the ground, but he kept staring at the empty space where the ladder had been.
"The fire this morning," Israel said. "That was you."
"I helped. I couldn't stop the fire. But I got people out."
"The ladder. The rope. The way the beam split."
"All me."
"And Jane?"
David's chest tightened.
"She doesn't know. Not yet. I'm still thinking of how to tell her."
"You're hiding this from her."
"Hmm."
Israel was quiet for a moment.
"Are you?"
David didn't answer.
CJ was still processing, still running his hands over the fallen branch, still looking at David like he was seeing him for the first time.
"So there's a whole... organization?" CJ asked.
"The Covenant. They're the ones who fight Phobias. I'm one of them."
"And these Phobias... they're the reason for the fires?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Maybe not."
Israel spoke again.
"If the Covenant fights Phobias, why don't they treat the root? The cause? Why just the symptoms?"
David frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Fear doesn't come from nowhere. Phobias are born from something. Poverty. Injustice. Trauma. Even us humans. The Covenant kills the monsters, but do they fix what created them?"
David opened his mouth. Closed it.
"I don't know," he admitted.
"No worries," Israel said. "At least you were truthful."
He turned to CJ.
"We should go."
"Wait," CJ said. "David—the speed. The way you were moving. Can you show us that? Can you just... run?"
David glanced around. The path was empty.
"Yeah. I can."
He activated his Faith reinforcement. Green light flickered under his skin—invisible to them—and suddenly the world felt lighter. Faster.
He ran.
Not his full speed. Not even close. But fast enough that the wind whipped past his face, fast enough that he covered fifty meters in a few seconds, fast enough that when he stopped and turned, CJ and Israel were still standing where he'd left them, staring.
"What the hell," CJ whispered.
David jogged back.
"That's Faith reinforcement. Enhances my body. Makes me stronger, faster, more durable."
"Can you teach me?"
"No."
"Can anyone learn?"
"Omo." He chucked. "Before I learnt this ehn."
"Can I see them?"
"I hope you don'tsef ."
CJ deflated. "So I'm just... normal."
"There's nothing wrong with normal."
"Says the guy who can cut trees with invisible swords."
David almost laughed.
Then he remembered.
"Jane," he said.
"What about her?"
"I haven't given her the scarf. Not properly. She's in a night class right now."
"So go," Israel said. "We'll walk."
"You sure?"
"Go, we'll catch up."
David ran.
CJ and Israel watched him disappear into the darkness—faster than any human should be.
"He's really fast," CJ said.
"He's really something," Israel replied.
FACULTY OF MEDICINE- NIGHT CLASS
The lecture hall was large, filled with students reading, talking, and whispering. A few students moved between the rows, answering questions, collecting assignments.
David found Jane in the back.
She was alone, her laptop open, her notebooks sprawled across the desk. Her hair was lovely as always, the white tips catching the fluorescent light. She looked tired.
He moved silently behind her, reached around, and covered her eyes with his hands.
"Guess who."
"David." Her voice was flat. Not angry. Just tired.
"How did you know?"
"It's almost like we're dating." She mocked
He laughed—a real laugh, warm and unguarded—and wrapped the scarf around her neck. The blue one. Soft. Deep.
She looked down at it, touched the fabric.
"It's beautiful."
"It's for you."
"I can see that."
She turned and looked at him properly for the first time. Her eyes softened.
"You came."
"I said I would."
She pulled him down into the seat beside her.
"Tell me about your day."
"There was another fire," David said. "This morning. Engineering math hall."
Jane's fingers stopped on the keyboard.
"I heard. They said no one died."
"No one died."
"Yeah thank God honestly."
David was quiet.
"David."
"Yes."
"Are you injured." She turned to face him. "You look so different these days."
"Nothing a little sleep won't fix ."
"What sleep." Her voice was sharp. "Look at how big your eye bags are."
He looked at her. At the fear behind her eyes. At the weight on her shoulders that he had seen—the Phobia, the small grey thing—and slashed away.
"There were two more fires though," she said. "One at Tetfund Hostel. Close to Danjuma. My hostel."
"What?"
"No one was hurt. But the building... it's gone."
"And the other?"
"Another pharmacy lab too. We were supposed to move there ."
David's mind raced.
Four fires. All in one week. All connected to her or to him.
"This isn't random," he said.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He forced a smile, changed the subject. Told her about CJ and the Barcelona match. About the lecturer trying to call everyone during the chaos but failing. About the way the smoke smelled like burnt plastic and fear.
She laughed. Not her real laugh—the polite one, the one she used when she was too tired to feel anything.
He hated that laugh.
"Put on a movie," he said.
"What?"
"You have a laptop. Put on a movie. Let's just... exist for a while."
She looked at him for a long moment.
Then she opened Netflix.
10:30 PM
Jane fell asleep an hour in.
Her head rested on David's lap, her breathing slow and even, the blue scarf still wrapped around her neck. The laptop screen glowed, forgotten, some Action movie playing to an audience of one.
David didn't watch.
He was on his phone, messaging Eloghosa, who was sending him memes and TikToks at an alarming rate.
Eloghosa: Bro have you seen this one
Eloghosa: This is literally you
Eloghosa: Wait no this is Tessy
Eloghosa: Actually this is both of you
David: Do you sleep?
Eloghosa: Sleep is for the weak
Eloghosa: Also for people who don't have doves to watch their dreams
David: Grown ass man by the way
David snorted. Jane stirred. He froze.
She settled.
He looked back at his phone.
Eloghosa: you have to stop saying that
Eloghosa: Tessy said hi
Eloghosa: Just found out Ezra is 6'6
David: Damn … you don't mean it
Eloghosa: You just have to be sarcastic
Eloghosa: Every single time
David was about to reply when he smelled it.
Smoke.
Not distant. Not lingering from the morning fire.
Fresh.
He looked up. The windows were dark—not night-dark, smoke-dark. Thick clouds were pouring past the glass, and through the walls, he could hear the first screams.
"FIRE!"
The lecture hall erupted.
10:45 PM
David moved.
He packed Jane's laptop, her notebook, her bag—everything—into her backpack. She was stirring, confused, still half-asleep.
"David? What's—"
"Fire. We need to go."
He pulled her up, wrapped her arm around his shoulder, and guided her toward the door.
The smoke was already thick. People were coughing, stumbling, pushing.
"Jane, I need you to stay calm."
"I am calm—"
"I need you to follow CJ and Israel."
"What?"
He pointed. CJ and Israel were at the entrance, having arrived moments ago, their faces pale.
"I called them," David said. "They'll take you somewhere safe."
"Where are you going?"
"Back in."
"David—"
"People are still in there, Jane."
She grabbed his arm. Her grip was fierce.
"What does that have to do with you let's leave."
"I can't."
He kissed her forehead.
Then he ran back into the smoke.
10:47 PM
The smoke hit David before the heat did.
It was different from the morning fire—thicker, darker, hungrier. The engineering hall had burned like dry paper. This building burned like it was fighting back.
David burst through the main entrance, and the world turned orange.
The flames were everywhere—licking up the walls, crawling across the ceiling, consuming rows of seats that had been full of students moments ago. The smoke was so thick he couldn't see the back wall. Couldn't see the exits. Couldn't see anything except the glow and the dark and the screaming.
Focus.
He activated his Faith reinforcement. Green light flooded his veins—invisible to everyone else, but he felt it. The world slowed. His senses sharpened.
Storyboard.
The sketchbook manifested at his hip. He didn't need to open it. He knew what was on his pages.
Page 1: Weapons and tools.
Page 2: Creatures.
Page 3: Jane.
Fine. Then he would do this the hard way.
He called the hawk from Page 2.
It manifested—invisible, green-ink wings cutting through the smoke—and shot upward, circling the ceiling, sending him images. The layout of the room. The location of the exits. The clusters of students still trapped.
Three exits. Two blocked by debris. One partially open.
Students: thirty in the back left corner. Twenty near the stage. Fifty scattered in the middle rows.
Time: running out.
David moved.
10:49 PM
At the back left corner a group of students huddled near the wall, coughing, crying, pressing wet cloths to their faces. The fire hadn't reached them yet, but the smoke was close. The exit beside them was blocked—a collapsed beam, burning.
David called the chain from Page 1.
Invisible. Solid. He wrapped it around the beam and pulled.
The wood groaned. The flames hissed. His muscles screamed.
Move.
The beam shifted. He pulled again. Shifted. Again.
It rolled aside.
"The exit is clear!" he shouted.
They didn't see him. Didn't see the chain. But they saw the beam move. They saw the path.
They ran.
David counted them as they passed. Twelve. Fifteen. Twenty.
Twenty saved.
He moved.
10:52 PM
The smoke was worse here. He couldn't see three feet in front of him. But the hawk could.
Three students. Unconscious. Lying in the aisle.
He called the rope from Page 1. Looped it around the first student—a boy, his face pale, his lips blue—and pulled. The boy slid across the floor, through the smoke, toward the open exit.
David didn't wait. He looped the rope around the second. Pulled. The third. Pulled.
Twenty-three.
The rope dissolved. He recalled it. Looped it around three more bodies. Pulled.
Twenty-six.
The smoke was in his lungs now. His eyes were streaming. The heat was unbearable.
He kept moving.
10:55 PM
The fire was fastest at the front stage. The wooden stage had collapsed, and flames were spreading toward the front rows. Students were trapped between the fire and the wall—nowhere to go.
David called the ladder from Page 1.
Invisible. He leaned it against the wall, creating an escape route upward—a window, high and small, but open.
"Climb!"
They couldn't see the ladder. But they could see him. They could see him pointing. They could see each other climbing something.
One by one, they climbed.
Thirty. Thirty-five. Forty.
The fire reached the front row.
10:58 PM
The hawk showed him more.
Fifty students. Scattered. Disoriented. Some unconscious. Some crawling.
David's lungs burned. His vision blurred. His Faith was draining—faster than he expected, faster than it should have.
Keep going.
He called the chain again. Wrapped it around a row of seats that had collapsed, blocking the main aisle. He pulled. The seats scraped across the floor, sparking, screaming.
The path opened.
Fifty-five. Sixty.
He called the rope. Looped, pulled, looped, pulled—a rhythm, a prayer, a desperate repetition.
Sixty-five. Seventy.
The fire was behind him now. In front of him. Everywhere.
11:02 PM
A beam fell at the edge of the hall.
Not near him—near a group of students. Five of them, huddled together, too scared to move. The beam crashed across their only exit, blocking them in.
David ran.
The heat was unbearable. His skin was blistering—he could feel it, even through the Faith reinforcement. But he ran.
He reached the beam. It was massive—too heavy for the chain. Too heavy for the rope. Too heavy for him.
Think.
He called the sword from Page 1.
Invisible. He raised it above his head and brought it down.
The blade sank into the wood—not cutting through, not clean, but opening a crack. He pulled the sword out. Brought it down again. Again. Again.
The beam split.
Not clean. Not easy. But open.
"GO!"
The students scrambled through the gap.
Seventy-five.
David turned to follow—and the ceiling collapsed between him and them.
11:05 PM
He was alone.
The fire was all around him—no path forward, no path back. The smoke was so thick he couldn't see his own hands.
The hawk was gone—dismissed, or dead, or just lost in the chaos. He couldn't feel it anymore.
His Faith was flickering.
Page 1. Page 2. Page 3.
Nothing for this.
He thought of Jane. Of the scarf. Of her voice saying "Don't die."
Not yet.
He called the sword again. Not to fight the fire—to find a way through. He swung at the wall—not the wooden wall, the brick wall. The sword bit into the mortar, chipping, cracking, opening.
He swung again. Again. Again.
The hole was small. Too small for a person. But he kept swinging.
The fire was closer now. He could feel it on his back, his arms, his neck.
He swung until his arms stopped working.
He swung until the hole was big enough.
He crawled through.
11:09 PM
The night air hit him like a slap.
He was on the grass, behind the building, away from the flames. His clothes were singed. His arms were red—blistered, bleeding, burned. His lungs felt like they were filled with glass.
But he was out.
He lay there for a moment—just a moment—and listened.
Sirens. Screaming. The crackle of the fire.
Did everyone get out?
He didn't know.
He couldn't save everyone.
The thought was heavier than the smoke.
11:15 PM
He found CJ and Israel near the front of the building.
They were standing with a group of students, watching the ambulances arrive, the firefighters work, the chaos settle.
"David." CJ's voice was raw. "Your arms. Your face. You need a hospital—"
"Where's Jane?"
CJ looked away.
Israel answered.
"She left. About twenty minutes ago. She woke up, saw you were gone, and..."
"And what?"
"She was angry, David. She said you always leave. She said she was tired of being left behind."
David closed his eyes.
The burns on his arms pulsed.
"Where did she go?"
"Her hostel, I think. I tried to follow, but she told me to stay, to wait for you, to make sure you were—"
David was already running.
11:25 PM
He didn't find Jane.
Not yet.
Instead, he found a young man.
Not short. Not tall. Lean, athletic, moving through the shadows with the controlled urgency of someone who knew exactly where he was going. His afro was unmistakable—dark, full, catching the glow of the still-burning building behind him. His skin was dark, slick with sweat. In one hand, a gallon. In the other, a bag.
He was 5'9". Dense. The kind of build that suggested resilience—someone who could take a hit and keep moving.
David's blood went cold.
He moved.
Faith reinforcement. Green light. Invisible. Faster than anyone could track.
He caught the man by the collar and slammed him into the ground.
The gallon spilled—petrol. The bag tore—lighters, rags, gunpowder and matches.
"You," David snarled.
He punched him.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The man's nose broke. His lip split. His eyes rolled back.
David raised his fist again—
"Oga Stop!"
A passerby. A student. Someone who had seen the fires, seen the chaos, followed the noise.
"You wan kill am!!"
David's fist hovered.
"He's the one setting fires," David said. His voice was raw. " He hurt innocents ."
"Then let the university handle it."
University security arrived moments later. They pulled David off, cuffed the man, took him away.
Someone took a photo.
By morning, it would be on UNIBLOG.
"Engineering Student Apprehends Suspected Arsonist."
David didn't care.
He walked toward Danjuma Legacy.
1:00 AM
The steps were cold.
Jane sat on them, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face buried. Her shoulders shook.
David stopped a few feet away.
His clothes were burned. His skin was blistered. His hands were bloody.
"Jane."
She looked up.
Her eyes were red. Her cheeks were wet.
"You're hurt."
"I'm okay."
"You're not okay."
"I've been worse."
She stood. Walked toward him. Stopped.
"I was so angry," she said. "I woke up and you were gone. Again. And I thought—I thought you had left. Like always."
"I came back."
"I know." She touched his face, her fingers gentle on his burned cheek. "Israel told me. He said you caught the person who did this."
"Yeah."
"You're on UNIBLOG."
"I know."
"People are calling you a hero."
"I don't feel like one."
She pulled him into a hug—careful, avoiding his burns, holding him like he might disappear.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I overreacted. I didn't know. I didn't know you were trying to find him."
"You didn't overreact."
"I did."
"Jane." He pulled back, looked at her. "I disappear. I lie. I show up with bruises and burns and stories that don't make sense. You have every right to be angry."
"I don't want to be angry."
"Then don't be."
She laughed—a real laugh, wet and tired and warm.
"It's not that simple."
"It never is."
He took her hand.
"Come on. Let's get you inside."
"What about you?"
"I'll sleep on the couch. If they let me."
"They won't."
"Then I'll sleep on the steps."
She squeezed his hand.
"There's room in my room."
"Jane—"
"Don't be an idiot, David. You're burned. You're exhausted. You just caught an arsonist. You're sleeping in my room and we'll sneak in since boys aren't allowed."
He didn't argue.
They walked inside together.
Behind them, the smoke still rose from the burned buildings.
But for now, for this moment, there was peace.
1:30 AM
Jane's room was small. Clean. A bed, a desk, a window that looked out at the dark campus. She pushed him toward the bed.
"Sit."
He sat.
She disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a first-aid kit—bandages, antiseptic, burn cream. She knelt in front of him and began cleaning his arms.
"You're going to have scars," she said.
"I have someone who can heal it."
"Must be a really good doctor."
"He's more of a manchild."
She didn't laugh. Her hands were gentle, but her jaw was tight.
"I'm scared, David."
"I know."
"I don't know what you're fighting. I don't know why you keep getting hurt. I don't know why you can't just... stop."
"I can't stop."
"Why?"
He looked at her. At her hands on his arms. At the scarf still around her neck.
"Because if I stop, no one else will do it."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have."
She finished wrapping his arm and sat beside him on the bed.
"Then at least come back."
"I always come back."
"Not always. One day you might not."
He didn't answer.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"Just come back," she whispered.
He put his arm around her—the less burned one—and held her.
"I'll try."
They sat there, in the dark, as the campus settled and the smoke cleared and the weight of the day pressed down on both of them.
Outside, the fires were out.
Inside, something was still burning.
But for now, for this moment, they were together.
And that was enough.