Chief Roman's Manhattan office rose above the skyline like a blade of glass piercing the clouds. It was early morning, yet the city below already pulsed with movement — taxis streaking down wet streets, steam rising from grates, the dull roar of a metropolis that never stopped feeding on itself.
Inside, the air was perfectly still. The office reflected the man who owned it — immaculate, symmetrical, and devoid of warmth. The walls were a sleek blend of black marble and brushed steel. One wall held nothing but an abstract sculpture of twisted iron, and another, a massive window that opened to the Hudson River like a private command view of the world.
Roman stood before that window, one hand resting on the sill, the other gripping a glass of water. He had been standing there for nearly an hour, unmoving. The skyline glimmered against his reflection — a sharp face, silver at the temples, carved with lines that spoke more of calculation than age. His suit was tailored to perfection, charcoal black and understated.
The phone on his desk had long gone silent. The last report had arrived just before dawn.
He already knew where they were — his daughter and the archaeologist. The dreamer, as he liked to call him. The pilot's message had confirmed their landing in Abuja, the countries capital and their journey toward the Jos Plateau. Now the next phase had begun.
He set the glass down gently and spoke to the city beneath him as if it were listening.
"They think they're chasing history," he murmured. "But history is chasing them."
A knock interrupted the silence.
"Enter," he said without turning.
Marcus stepped in — tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit that carried no insignia. His presence was quiet but commanding, like a man who had seen too much to fear anything ordinary.
"Sir," Marcus said, holding a tablet at his side. "Our contacts in Abuja confirmed arrival of the advance team. They've reached Jos and are heading toward Kagara Valley. Satellite feed is clean — no interference."
Roman finally turned, his expression unreadable. "Good. And Chuka?"
"He and Miss Roman arrived at the valley late yesterday," Marcus replied. "No communications have been transmitted from their devices. They're either off-grid… or deliberately silent."
Roman nodded slowly. "Deliberate. Always deliberate. He's cleverer than I gave him credit for."
Marcus hesitated. "Do we move now?"
"Not yet," Roman said. "Let them dig. Curiosity is the only tool I can't buy — and the one that always breaks a man in the end."
He walked toward his desk and tapped a control on the surface. The glass wall behind him darkened automatically, dimming the city's reflection. Only the faint outline of the river remained, pulsing with dull morning light.
"Deploy the observation unit to the east ridge," he continued. "Keep eyes on them at all times. If anything changes — light, movement, energy readings — I want to know before the ground knows."
Marcus nodded. "And the secondary team?"
Roman's gaze drifted to the far corner of the office, where a locked cabinet of black steel waited. "Prepare them for extraction. No contact until I say so. If what my father found under that plateau is still active…" His voice trailed off. "We cannot allow them to reach it."
Marcus's eyes flicked briefly to the cabinet. He knew better than to ask. "Understood, sir."
When Marcus left, the silence returned — thicker this time, as if the air itself were listening.
Roman crossed the room and pressed his palm against the sensor on the cabinet. A soft click, then the doors slid open to reveal a hidden compartment. Inside, a single object rested on a velvet-lined shelf: a slab of reddish stone carved with spirals that shimmered faintly like cooling embers.
The light from it bathed his face in a dim, living glow. He stared at it for a long time, and in that moment, his polished composure cracked — not with fear, but memory.
His father's voice echoed in his mind, carried by the years:
> "We were never meant to unearth what sleeps there. The Nok did not bury their gods — they bound them."
Roman exhaled sharply, shutting his eyes against the memory. He remembered the storm, the collapse, the screams. The expedition had gone wrong so quickly. He had been a boy then, watching his father vanish beneath the red earth.
And when the ground had finally stopped shaking, the relic had been waiting in the open — pulsing, humming, as if alive.
He had taken it. Hidden it. Built his empire on its promise.
Now it was humming again.
Roman leaned closer, studying the faint light rippling beneath the stone's surface. "You've been silent for thirty years," he said softly. "Why now?"
The hum deepened — a vibration felt more than heard, threading through the air like an invisible pulse. His glass of water on the table trembled.
Roman froze. The relic had never done that before.
He reached for the control to seal the cabinet, but the vibration stopped on its own. The office fell silent again, heavy and still.
Roman stared at the stone for another moment, then shut the doors with deliberate calm. The locks engaged with a metallic hiss.
He turned back toward the city, his reflection fractured by the streaks of sunlight cutting through the glass.
"She thinks I'm the villain," he said quietly. "Maybe I am. But I'm the only one who understands what's coming."
He poured himself a drink, amber scotch glinting in the morning light. Outside, the city roared to life — horns, engines, human ambition. Inside, only the faint echo of that hum remained in his ears.
Roman walked back to his desk, every step controlled, his composure fully restored. He pressed a single button on his console.
Across the ocean, in a remote control center outside Jos, a team of operatives received the signal. Screens flickered to life. Drones lifted silently into the air, their infrared cameras sweeping over the rugged expanse of the Plateau.
Roman watched their live feed from his office — a flickering image of red earth, scattered tents, and the distant figures of Chuka and Amara moving near the edge of the valley.
He lifted his glass slightly, as if to toast them. "Dig deeper," he whispered. "Wake it for me."
The feed pulsed once — a sudden surge of light across the terrain. Roman's eyes narrowed.
For a brief moment, the ground itself glowed.
Then the image cut to static.
Roman set his glass down and leaned forward, voice low and deadly calm. "Marcus," he said into the intercom, "get me a visual. Now."