The path down from the plateau was veiled in mist.
The world seemed to breathe differently now — every sound stretched, every vibration layered with whispers only he could hear.
Chuka moved carefully, though the earth itself seemed to bend to his steps, forming solid ground where there should have been loose rock.
He no longer needed to look for balance — the plateau balanced for him.
That truth both comforted and terrified him.
He reached the edge of a narrow road winding into the heart of Jos. The city shimmered faintly in the morning haze, rooftops glinting like scales under the sun. The ordinary world — traffic, vendors, voices — called to him, but it felt a thousand miles away, like a dream he'd once belonged to.
He touched his wrist, tracing one of the golden lines that pulsed faintly beneath the skin. The markings had grown subtler since dawn, but they were still alive — breathing with him, changing shape with every thought.
When he blinked, the road ahead stretched slightly — and then, for the first time, bent.
The air folded, and before he could think, the world around him blurred.
He stumbled — and when he steadied himself, he was no longer at the roadside. He was standing in front of an old mud-brick compound, one that he had not visited in years.
The sign above the gate read faintly:
> Nworie Foundation for Geological Studies.
"Divine step…" he murmured, heart pounding. "I didn't even—"
> "You didn't have to," came a voice behind him. "The earth remembers where you belong."
Chuka turned sharply.
An old man stood by the doorway, hands folded behind his back. His beard was silver, his posture calm, and his eyes — deep brown and ageless — carried the same weight the plateau had whispered to him.
Dr. Nworie. His mentor.
But something about him was different now — older than he looked, as if time flowed around him, not through him.
"Professor…" Chuka breathed. "You knew I'd come."
Dr. Nworie smiled faintly. "The plateau hums again. I felt the tremor all the way from here. When the earth sings, I listen."
Chuka hesitated. "Something happened in the cave. I— I heard a voice. It showed me things, symbols, power I don't understand. It's changing me."
The old man's gaze softened. "The Heart has chosen you, Chuka. Not as a tool, but as a vessel. The first Maker's blood flows in you, though you've only now begun to feel it."
He motioned for Chuka to follow him inside. The compound was dim, lit by old oil lamps. Maps of Nigeria's plateaus and dig sites lined the walls, but several of them were marked with new, glowing ink — ancient symbols drawn in circles.
"I thought I was uncovering the past," Chuka said quietly. "Now it feels like the past is uncovering me."
Dr. Nworie chuckled softly. "That's how the cycle begins every time. You see, the relics were not merely artifacts. They are the remains of an ancient covenant — fragments of a god's heart scattered when the world was reshaped."
Chuka frowned. "And Chief Roman— he's looking for them too. I think he already wields some of their power."
"Yes," the old man said, nodding slowly. "He bears Divine Authority and Divine Vitality. Words that command and flesh that refuses decay. Dangerous gifts for a man who believes obedience is order."
"And Amara?" Chuka asked. "She… she's changing too, isn't she?"
"She carries the relic of Healing and Truth," Dr. Nworie replied. "Light in its gentlest form — yet no less powerful. The girl may become the conscience of the awakened world, if she survives long enough."
Chuka's hands clenched. "And me? I can see through things — feel them. I can move between places. The earth listens to me now. But it's not natural."
Dr. Nworie's expression turned solemn. "You call it unnatural because you were raised in a world that forgot the language of stone. But the earth never forgot. Divine Perception, Divine Step, and the Maker's shaping — these are echoes of creation itself. With them, you could rebuild mountains… or erase cities."
The words chilled him. "Then I can stop Roman."
"You can," Nworie said quietly, "but only if you learn restraint. The Maker's hand is not for war. Every step you take ripples through the hearts of the other relics. They feel you, as you feel them."
Chuka looked down, realization dawning. "That's what the voice meant — when it said the others will feel you now."
The old man nodded slowly. "And they are stirring. One in the Pacific, under miles of ocean — Divine Protection, a shell of impenetrable flesh. Another in the Andes, still buried in ice — Divine Might, strength to shatter continents. But the rest remain hidden… waiting."
"Waiting for what?" Chuka asked.
"For you," Nworie said simply. "Or for Roman. Whoever masters the resonance first will shape the next age."
Thunder rolled in the distance, low and strange, though the sky above Jos was clear. The windows of the old building shivered slightly, dust drifting from the rafters.
Dr. Nworie's eyes narrowed. "Do you feel that?"
Chuka nodded. "Yes… like a pulse beneath the ground."
"It's not from here," the old man said. "It's from beneath. Something ancient has begun to breathe again."
Chuka stepped toward the doorway, feeling the hum grow stronger beneath his feet. The lines on his arms flared faintly.
"If the earth remembers me," he said quietly, "then I'll make sure it remembers peace."
Dr. Nworie smiled — a sad, proud smile. "Then remember this, my boy: every creator becomes what he fears most if he forgets why he began to shape."
Chuka nodded, gripping the relic at his side. The plateau's hum answered — soft, steady, and endless.
As he stepped outside, the sky flickered with a strange light, as if the dawn itself had blinked. Somewhere deep below the ground, something turned in its sleep.
And for the briefest moment, the wind carried a whisper that was not his own:
> "The first step is never the hardest.
The last one always is."