Dawn crept across the Manhattan skyline, brushing the towers of glass and steel with pale gold. From the top floor of Roman Global Holdings, Chief Damian Roman watched the city stir to life — taxis gliding below, the Hudson shimmering like liquid metal, and the pulse of commerce thrumming beneath it all.
Inside his office, silence ruled. The room was a temple of power — black marble floors, floor-to-ceiling windows, and shelves lined with African artifacts displayed like trophies. Every piece had a story, and every story was his. A faint aroma of Cuban tobacco lingered in the air, mixing with the sterile chill of air conditioning.
Roman sat behind a desk of dark walnut, its surface perfectly organized — files stacked in measured precision, a single glass of amber whisky beside his laptop. He was a man who believed in order. In control. Chaos was for the poor and the sentimental.
That belief wavered only when the private line on his desk buzzed — a secure signal, meant for emergencies only.
He answered. "Yes?"
"Sir," came the voice of the pilot, distorted slightly through static. "We've landed safely. The passengers — Dr. Chuka Nwankwo and Miss Roman — disembarked in Abuja, at the international airport ."
Roman's fingers stilled against the desk. "Abuja," he repeated quietly. "And they're safe?"
"Yes, sir. They hired a local guide. They're heading toward a dig site in Jos plateau— off-grid, no cell signal. Sir… they didn't want me to report their location."
Roman's tone cooled. "And yet you did."
There was a pause. "Yes, sir. As instructed."
He leaned back in his chair, his reflection glimmering faintly in the window — tall, broad-shouldered, composed. "Tell me," he said after a moment. "Anything unusual on your flight path?"
The pilot hesitated. "Yes, sir. The instruments failed for a few minutes when we neared the area. Compass spinning, altitude gauge blinking. Like… a magnetic surge. The sky itself felt wrong."
Roman's gaze sharpened. "Just like the readings near the Jos site."
"Exactly, sir."
The billionaire ended the call, setting the receiver down with deliberate calm. His reflection stared back at him in the glass — powerful, but faintly distorted by the morning light. Behind him, the city shimmered in motion: taxis, smoke, and ambition. But he saw none of it. His thoughts were already far away — buried in the red soil of Nigeria.
He turned from the window and walked to the far wall, where a private gallery of artifacts gleamed under soft lighting. At the center was a small Nok figurine encased in glass. Its surface was cracked, its eyes hollow — yet a faint golden light pulsed deep within its chest, slow and steady as a heartbeat.
Roman stared at it for a long time. "So," he said quietly, "you've woken up."
The hum in the air grew stronger, almost imperceptible — a vibration that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Roman's hand hovered just above the glass.
"You can feel him, can't you?" he whispered. "The boy from Jos."
He smiled faintly — not warmth, but satisfaction. "Good. Let him dig. Let him think he's uncovering history. In truth, he's unearthing you."
The door opened behind him. His assistant, Vera, entered briskly, tablet in hand. Her suit was as sharp as her tone. "Sir, the geomagnetic reports just came in. We've detected low-frequency pulses from the Kagara region — matching the energy pattern from the Nok relic we keep here."
Roman turned to face her. "How strong?"
"Growing, sir. And consistent. It's not natural interference — it's resonating."
He nodded slowly. "And my daughter?"
"She appears well, sir. Independent, as always. The pilot's report suggests she's leading the research team."
Roman's expression hardened. "Amara never did learn obedience. Let her play archaeologist for now. Once the coordinates are confirmed, we move."
"Understood, sir." Vera hesitated. "There's a risk of media attention. If word gets out that she's in Nigeria with Dr. Nwankwo—"
"Then it gets out," Roman interrupted, pouring himself a measure of whisky. "Controversy drives relevance. Just make sure no one connects her trip to me."
Vera gave a curt nod. "Yes, sir." She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "One more thing. The relic — it's been emitting stronger electromagnetic waves since your daughter's departure. Our instruments can't explain it."
Roman's eyes drifted to the glowing figurine again. "It's responding to something," he said quietly. "Or to someone."
Lightning flashed beyond the skyscrapers, briefly bathing the room in silver light.
He approached the glass case, placing his palm flat against it. The surface was cold, but beneath it, he could feel a faint warmth — a pulse, answering his own.
He spoke barely above a whisper. "So this is how it begins."
Thunder rolled in the distance, echoing between the towers like a low drum. The lights flickered once, then steadied. Outside, rain began to fall — soft at first, then harder, until it drowned out even the hum of the city.
Roman stood motionless, watching the storm gather beyond the window. "Dig deep, Dr. Nwankwo," he murmured. "Find what I've spent my life searching for. And when you do…" His lips curled into a thin smile. "…you'll bring it right to me."
The hum from the relic intensified — low, rhythmic, ancient. Across the Atlantic, buried deep beneath the red earth of Kagara, another vibration answered.
Two relics, two destinies — now awake.
And above them all, a father watching from the clouds.