The walls were white. Too white. The kind of sterile brightness that made every breath feel like guilt.
Dr. Chuka Nwankwo sat hunched on the narrow metal cot, his wrists still marked with the faint red grooves left by the restraint cuffs. The cell around him hummed softly — machines, ventilation, surveillance. Everything mechanical, everything watching.
He had been inside long enough to lose count of the hours. Only the dim shift of artificial light told him when the world outside changed. But it wasn't the confinement that disturbed him — it was what lingered in his mind.
Amara.
Her name flickered through his thoughts like a trembling flame. He could still see her expression when the soldiers arrived at the excavation site — the confusion, the fear, the disbelief. She had shouted his name once before they dragged her away. Then gunfire. Silence.
Chuka pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to erase the memory. He told himself she was alive — she had to be. Amara Roman was no ordinary woman; she carried her father's defiance, but with a heart that still believed in the possibility of good. She had followed him into the ruins not for fame, but for truth.
And now, because of him, she was either a prisoner or a ghost.
He lowered his hands and stared at the small glass panel across the room. It was meant for observation — a one-way mirror reflecting only his own face back at him. But tonight, something in the reflection didn't look right.
The glass shimmered faintly.
At first, he blamed exhaustion. His mind had been fractured by sleepless nights and whispered noises from beyond the walls. But then, the shimmer deepened — a ripple like heat distortion, spreading from the edges inward.
He rose slowly, pulse quickening, and approached the mirror. His reflection followed — eyes hollow, beard unkempt, the weight of everything pressing down on his shoulders.
"Amara," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "If you can hear me… forgive me."
The glass pulsed once — a faint ring expanding outward like ripples in water.
Chuka froze.
Then, faintly, an image flickered within the reflection — not his face, but Amara's. Her outline blurred, as though seen through fog. She stood in what looked like a dimly lit room — pale walls, faint wires behind her. Her lips were moving, but no sound reached him.
Chuka pressed closer. "Amara! Amara, it's me!"
The figure in the glass didn't respond, but her expression shifted — fear first, then something else. A warning.
Suddenly, the reflection fractured. His own face reappeared — only now the eyes weren't his. They gleamed faintly bronze, and deep within them burned the same eerie light he had seen in the armour's gem.
He stumbled back, gasping.
The light in the room flickered. The hum of the ventilation changed pitch, becoming something else — almost like a heartbeat. Then came the whisper.
It crawled through the air like smoke. Words that weren't words, syllables that seemed to vibrate inside his skull. He covered his ears but still heard it — from within.
"The seal weakens… the bond remembers…"
The voice was neither male nor female, but layered — like several voices speaking at once.
Chuka's breath came fast. "No… no, it's too soon," he murmured. "The gem should hold. It should—"
The whisper cut through him again.
"The vessel calls to its maker. The daughter bleeds for the father's sin. The bond must return."
Chuka froze at that — the daughter. Amara.
His heart thundered in his chest. "What have you done to her?" he shouted into the empty room.
The lights snapped off for a split second, plunging everything into blackness. When they returned, his reflection no longer mimicked his movements. It stood perfectly still, staring back at him with cold, glowing eyes.
Then it smiled.
The sound that escaped Chuka's throat was not a scream, but something closer to despair.
He staggered back, knocking over the metal chair. The mirror rippled once more, and a faint image of the armour appeared superimposed over his reflection — the headpiece, the runes, the gem pulsing like a living heart.
He understood then: the relic's awakening had begun. The seal was breaking from both sides — not only through the containment site but through anyone it had touched. And that meant Amara too.
He sank to his knees, trembling. "No, no, no… she can't be part of this."
But deep inside, he knew. When the amour had first been uncovered, Amara had been the one to touch its faceplate. The relic had responded — faintly, a shimmer across the metal, almost curious. Chuka had dismissed it then as coincidence. Now he saw it for what it was: recognition.
The armour had chosen her.
And if Chief Roman succeeded in accessing its power, he wouldn't just awaken the ancient force — he'd feed it his own bloodline.
Chuka gritted his teeth, resolve replacing fear. "I won't let that happen."
He stood, moving toward the cell door. "Hey!" he shouted. "Guard! I need to speak to Dr. Eze — now! It's about the containment field!"
No response. Only the low hum of electricity.
He slammed his fist against the door. "Do you hear me? You're not safe! None of you are safe!"
Silence.
Then — faintly — a sound came through the intercom. Static, followed by a voice.
"Dr. Nwankwo?"
His breath hitched. "Amara?"
But it wasn't her voice. It was colder, flatter. Artificial. "Containment breach detected in Sublevel Three. Remain in your quarters."
Then the speaker cut off with a shrill hiss.
Chuka turned back to the mirror. The reflection was normal again — tired eyes, trembling hands — but behind the glass, just for an instant, he thought he saw movement.
Something tall. Bronze. Watching.
He backed away, his mind racing. Whatever was happening in Sublevel Three, it wasn't just a breach. The armour was reaching. It was calling through whatever link had been forged that night — between Amara, the relic, and him.
Chuka pressed a trembling hand to the cold surface of the glass. "If you can hear me, Amara… hold on. I'll find a way out."
And deep in the mirrored reflection, unseen by him, the faint outline of the armour's headpiece shifted slightly — its hollow eyes turning, following him as he walked back into the shadows.