The following morning came cloaked in mist. The Plateau lay silent except for the faint rustle of wind through the grass and the distant calls of morning birds. The world seemed to hold its breath — as if watching.
Chuka stood barefoot at the edge of the ridge behind the cabin. Below him, the land stretched endlessly — terraced slopes, winding roads, and the faint outline of Jos town beneath the veil of fog. The air was cold and sharp, and each breath he took shimmered faintly with traces of energy.
Elder Kalu stood beside him, holding a carved staff that hummed softly in his grip. "The Divine Steps are not about distance," he said. "They are about alignment. The Maker's energy runs beneath every living thing, binding the world like threads in a tapestry. If you listen long enough, you can feel those threads vibrate — each one leading somewhere."
Chuka nodded, closing his eyes. He could already feel the hum — faint, deep, like a heartbeat in the earth itself.
"Yesterday you learned the First Step," Kalu continued. "To move through resonance within your sight. Today, we begin the Second — to move toward a memory."
Chuka opened his eyes. "A memory?"
"Yes," Kalu said. "A place you've seen before, one that left an imprint in your heart. Memory binds more strongly than sight. It is how the ancients traveled — by stepping through the echo of their remembrance."
He tapped his staff against the earth. The ground vibrated once, then stilled. "Focus on such a place, Chuka. See it, feel it, become it."
Chuka inhaled slowly, letting the mist curl around him. His thoughts drifted to the valley they had passed days ago — where a narrow stream cut through stones shaped like ancient altars. He remembered the smell of wet soil, the coolness of the air, the gleam of the Heart's energy beneath his skin.
He closed his eyes and reached for that memory.
The world answered.
A low hum filled his chest — not painful this time, but deep and rhythmic. His skin began to glow faintly, golden veins tracing patterns along his arms. The ground under his feet rippled, like water touched by wind.
"I feel it," Chuka whispered.
"Then let go," Kalu said softly. "Let the current take you."
Chuka took a single step forward — and the world folded.
The Plateau vanished in a blur of light and sound. Wind roared past him, not against his body, but through his essence, as if his soul were being stretched across invisible threads. For an instant, he felt every heartbeat on the Plateau, every whisper of wind and flicker of lightning.
Then — stillness.
He stumbled, gasping, feet sinking into damp earth. He opened his eyes.
He was there — the stream, the stones, the valley exactly as he remembered.
But something was wrong. The air here pulsed differently. A low vibration thrummed beneath the surface, steady but ancient — like something vast was breathing just below the soil. The water shimmered faintly, carrying reflections that moved even when the stream stood still.
"Elder Kalu?" he called out.
Silence.
Only the whisper of wind replied.
He turned in all directions. The valley was empty. The mist had thickened into a silvery haze that muted sound and swallowed distance.
Panic flickered for a heartbeat — Had he stepped too far?
Then, faintly, he heard Kalu's voice in his mind.
> "Do not fear, my student. You are in the Between."
Chuka froze. "The… Between?"
> "The space that lies beneath the Maker's pathways," Kalu's voice echoed. "It is not of this world, but the shadow of it. You stepped cleanly, but your spirit lingered mid-thread. Few ever experience this without being torn apart."
The mist rippled. Shapes began to form — vague, shifting outlines like memories drifting through fog. Faces. Voices. Moments. He saw flashes of his past — his father's laughter, Amara's eyes, the dig site under moonlight. Then other images — ones he did not recognize: an ocean glowing blue, a temple sinking into darkness, a golden mask with eyes that moved.
He gasped. "What is this?"
> "Fragments of resonance," Kalu said. "You are seeing echoes of the relics — their memories stirring as they awaken. You've touched the current that binds them."
The ground beneath him pulsed once — a deep, thunderous beat that nearly knocked him off his feet.
Suddenly, one of the shapes broke free from the mist — a figure cloaked in gold and shadow. It spoke in a language older than sound, a resonance that vibrated directly in his chest.
> Heir of the Heart… the song has begun. The others rise. The Maker remembers.
Chuka fell to his knees, clutching his head as the voice flooded through him. Visions cascaded — relics blazing to life in distant lands, storms forming above oceans, a colossal eye opening beneath the sea.
"Enough!" he shouted — and the world shattered.
He was back. The valley, the stones, the stream. His chest heaved, his skin smoking faintly from the energy discharge.
Kalu stood before him, calm but grave. "You went too deep," he said quietly. "You brushed the current between worlds."
Chuka looked up, trembling. "I saw them… the other relics. They're waking. They're—"
"I know." Kalu helped him to his feet. "The Heart's connection has grown. Each step you take now will echo across the network. You must learn control — or you'll draw every relic hunter in the world to your location."
Chuka's gaze hardened. "Then teach me faster. If the relics are waking, Roman won't stop until he has them."
Kalu studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Tomorrow, we begin the Third Step — the Walk of Direction. When mastered, it will allow you to choose not just where you go, but why. That is the difference between a wanderer and a maker."
As they began their walk back toward the cabin, thunder rumbled across the horizon. The mist thinned, and through it, the faintest trace of light pulsed from the direction of the Pacific — like a heartbeat calling across worlds.
Chuka turned toward it unconsciously, his eyes narrowing. The Heart beneath his ribs responded — a faint answering glow.
Kalu noticed. "You feel it, don't you?"
Chuka nodded. "The next one. It's calling."
"Then we must prepare," Kalu said. "Because when the world calls back, it never whispers twice."
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