Night draped Lagos like a heavy cloth, thick and uneasy.
The lagoon reflected shards of moonlight as Kafé and Imade ran deeper into the city's edge. Shadows followed—always following.
But tonight felt different.
Tonight, something in Kafé's blood stirred awake.
Imade slowed just enough to glance at him. "Kafé, you sure say you dey alright? Since we reach dat lagoon, you don dey look somehow."
"I'm fine," he said, though his voice trembled. "Just… something is changing. I can feel it."
Her worry cut through the night like a knife. "Feel wetin?"
"My brother is alive," Kafé whispered.
Imade's breath caught. She had fought shadows, survived hunger, faced gangs—but this was different. This was destiny unfolding before her eyes, and it terrified her more than any blade.
At the ruined churchyard, vines curled around broken pillars, the air humming with unseen energy. A boy stepped out from behind the cracked stone. Thin. Tired. Eyes sharp with survival.
Kafé's chest tightened. His mark pulsed in rhythm with Taye's chest, and both boys felt a surge of heat—like two halves of a broken flame suddenly reunited.
The boy whispered, voice cracked but certain:
"You feel am too, abi?"
Kafé staggered. "Say your name."
"Taye."
The world tilted. Shadows bowed low, rippling like cloth in the wind. It was as if the sorcerer had been waiting for this exact moment—two flames finally burning side by side.
In that instant, Kafé saw flashes of rusted scaffolds, drills, and Koroba's cold stare. Taye, in turn, felt the warmth of lullabies and the ache of growing up without him. Their lives collided in a storm of memories neither had lived, yet both had carried.
Imade's voice trembled. "Kafé… this na—"
"I know," he breathed.
"My twin."