The sun had barely climbed when the news of last night's blackout spread like wildfire. Makoko hummed with whispers, the alleys alive with speculation. But Kafé didn't hear them. His ears were tuned only to the thrum beneath his skin, the faint whisper of the mark on his wrist, and the memory of that hooded figure.
Imade tugged at his sleeve, pulling him back to reality. "Abeg, you dey waka like ghost. Wetin dey happen for your head?"
Kafé shook his head. "I don't know yet. But… they're here."
"Who dey here?" she asked, eyes scanning the horizon nervously. "Spirit again?"
"No. Worse. Men. Shadows. Both." Kafé's voice was low, trembling with the weight of what he knew. "They want the Serpent Line. They want me."
Imade didn't answer. She just nodded, the familiar steel in her gaze showing she believed him. Even at twelve, she carried the kind of courage that made others pause. She grabbed his wrist gently. "We go plan. Make we no just dey waka like chicken wey dem dey follow."
Kafé swallowed. He knew she was right. The lagoon, the floating walkways, even their little community—they weren't safe. Not anymore.
He glanced at the open chest again. The wooden serpent sculpture seemed to pulse faintly, like it recognized the danger too. Kafé picked it up, running his fingers along the etched scales. Symbols older than Lagos stared back at him, incomprehensible yet strangely familiar.
"Why now?" he whispered. "Why me?"
Abeni stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Because the world has a way of calling on those who can't hide. The serpent chose you, Kafé. Your brother… your brother was taken because he was vulnerable. You… were protected." Her voice shook. "But protection is not forever."
The air trembled. Kafé felt the first ripple of fear mingle with a surge of something else—power. He flexed his fingers, and the mark on his wrist burned beneath his skin. A faint glow pulsed under the surface, faint but insistent.
Imade jumped back. "Kafé! Wetin dey happen?"
He clenched his fist, and for a moment, it felt like the water beneath them responded—waves thrumming in harmony with the mark's pulse.
A sharp crack of wood echoed from across the lagoon. Kafé's heart skipped. A canoe moved silently, too fast to be casual. The hooded figure.
"They're watching," he said, voice barely audible.
Abeni shook her head. "No, Kafé… they're closer." She hurried inside the hut and returned with a bundle wrapped in cloth. She handed it to him. "This is your inheritance. It has waited for the one who carries the mark."
Kafé unwrapped it carefully. Inside were three items: a dagger, small but sharp; a coil of silver chain etched with more symbols; and a rolled parchment that smelled of old river reeds.
"What am I supposed to do with these?" he asked.
"Learn. Protect. Survive," Abeni said. Her eyes were desperate, pleading. "I kept them for the day you would need them. The Order… they will not stop. And the shadows… they will not rest until they have what they want."
Kafé nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of her words.
Imade tugged at his sleeve again. "Make we move. We no fit siddon here dey wait for them to catch us. I know some safe place, small island wey dem no fit reach easy. I go show you."
Before Kafé could respond, the water behind them hissed. A cold wind swept across the lagoon, carrying with it a whisper that only he could hear:
"The chosen awakens… but only one shall carry the dawn."
He clenched his jaw. Somewhere in the city, in the shadows that swallowed men and spirits alike, his brother's presence lingered. Alive. Not with him. Not yet.
And the chase had begun.
Kafé tucked the dagger into his waist, the chain in his hand, and followed Imade onto the floating walkways. Every step sent a ripple through the water—and through destiny itself.
Far across the lagoon, the hooded figure's silhouette vanished once more, leaving only the faintest ripple behind. But Kafé felt it in his bones: the hunt had already begun, and the Serpent Order was watching.