UNIBEN FACULTY OF ENGINEERING. 300 LEVEL GENERAL CLASS. 8:15 AM
The hall was enormous.
It looked like a movie theatre—tiered seating rising in steep curves, a massive whiteboard at the front, projectors hanging from the ceiling like mechanical spiders. Fourteen engineering departments. Three hundred level. Nearly two thousand students packed into a space designed for maybe fifteen hundred.
David sat in the middle section, his sketchbook tucked in his bag, his pen in his pocket—the normal one, not the green one. CJ was beside him, scrolling through his phone, muttering about the Barcelona vs. Real Madrid match from the weekend.
"Did you see the goal Kounde scored extra time?" CJ whispered.
"Omo. But Yamal put on a show that day."
"So you admit he's the best player in the world."
"I mean as of the recent game, yes."
"He's just a different breed "
"Yeah and just eighteen… while we are stuck in school." He chuckled
CJ gasped in mock horror. "You take that back."
"Never."
The lecturer—a thin man with glasses and the exhausted expression of someone who had been teaching engineering mathematics for twenty years—began writing on the board. Partial differential equations. The kind that made David's eyes glaze over.
But today, for once, he was paying attention.
Not because he cared about passing.
Because he needed to look normal.
His green light flickered under his skin. His sketchbook—the real one—hummed in his bag. Three active pages. Full. Waiting.
He pushed them down.
Focus on the equations. Focus on the board. Focus on being a student.
He jotted notes. Nodded along. Even asked solved a question about boundary conditions, which surprised CJ so much he dropped his phone.
"Who are you," CJ whispered, "and what have you done with David?"
"I can pay attention you know."
"Since when?"
"Since I decided I don't want to carryover this course."
CJ squinted at him. "Something's different about you."
"I got a haircut."
"No. It's not the haircut."
"It's always the haircut."
CJ didn't look convinced. But the lecturer was staring at their section, so he let it go.
9:32 AM
"FIRE!"
The scream came from the back of the hall.
David turned. Smoke was already curling from the upper rows, black and thick, spreading faster than should have been possible. Flames licked at the walls, the ceiling, the projector screens.
Then the screaming started.
"Everyone calm down—" the lecturer shouted, but his voice was drowned.
Two thousand students panicking. Two thousand students moving. Not toward the exits—there were only two doors, both narrow, both already clogged with bodies. People pushed. Shoved. Fell.
The smoke filled the room like water.
David's eyes watered. His throat burned. Beside him, CJ was already pulling his shirt over his mouth, gesturing toward the windows.
"Windows!" CJ yelled. "We can break the windows!"
But the windows were small. High. Steel-framed. Even if they broke them, only a few people could squeeze through. Not two thousand.
Not even two hundred.
People were fainting. Collapsing. The smoke was winning.
David's green light surged.
He couldn't stop it. Didn't want to.
Storyboard.
The sketchbook didn't manifest visibly. But the pages were there—in his mind, in his Faith, in the space between what was real and what he could make real.
Page 1. Weapons and tools.
He reached.
The first thing he needed was information.
He couldn't see through the smoke. Neither could anyone else. But something could.
Page 2. The hawk.
He called it.
The hawk manifested—invisible to everyone but him—and took flight. It circled above the chaos, its green-ink eyes piercing the smoke. David saw what it saw.
The two doors were blocked. People pressed against them, unmoving. Bodies on the floor.
The windows were too high for most to reach.
There was a maintenance stairwell at the back, hidden behind a panel. Not an exit—but a way to reach the roof.
David moved.
He reached the first window. It was twelve feet up, the sill too high for anyone to climb without help.
He called the ladder from Page 1.
It manifested—invisible, but there—leaning against the wall below the window.
"Someone's there!" he shouted, pointing. "A ladder! Can't you see it?"
But they couldn't see it. No one could see it.
He would have to guide them.
He grabbed a nearby student—a girl, coughing, barely conscious—and lifted her onto the invisible rungs. She climbed, her feet finding purchase on nothing visible, her hands reaching the window sill.
"She's climbing!" someone shouted.
Others followed. They couldn't see the ladder. But they could see her. They could see the path.
David moved to the next window. Called the ladder again. Released it. Recalled it.
Three windows. One ladder. Moving faster than should be possible.
The smoke was thicker now. People were collapsing on the floor, unable to stand, unable to crawl.
David called the rope from Page 1.
It manifested in his hands—invisible, but solid. He looped it around a group of five students, pulled them across the floor toward the nearest exit. Not the blocked main doors. The side door. The one people had forgotten.
"They're moving!" someone yelled. "They're moving on their own!"
They weren't. The rope was pulling them. But no one could see the rope.
David dragged another group. Another. Another.
The side door opened. Students poured out—fresh air, safety, relief.
But there were more inside. Too many. The smoke was winning.
David called the chain from Page 1.
It manifested—invisible—wrapping around a row of unconscious students. He pulled. The chain held. Ten bodies slid across the floor toward the door.
"What is happening?" someone screamed.
David didn't answer.
He pulled again.
A beam collapsed near the main entrance. Burning wood. Blocking the only other exit.
David called the sword from Page 1.
He swung.
Invisible blade. Visible effect. The beam split—clean, impossible—and the path was clear.
Students surged through.
"Did you see that?" someone asked.
"The beam just... broke."
"Move! Just move!"
David released the sword. Retrieved the rope. Retrieved the chain. Back and forth, back and forth, until his arms burned and his lungs screamed and his Faith flickered at the edges.
One more. Just one more.
The hawk showed him the panel. Hidden. Nearly invisible.
David ran to it, invisible sword in hand, and pried it open.
Behind it: stairs. Narrow. Dark. Leading up.
"This way!"
He guided students toward the opening. They climbed. The roof. Fresh air. Safety.
He stayed behind until the last person passed him.
Then he climbed too.
9:47 AM
The fire had consumed the hall.
From the roof, David watched the flames spread, the smoke rise, the ambulances arrive. Beside him, students collapsed in heaps—coughing, crying, hugging each other and strangers.
Beside him, CJ was staring.
Not at the fire. At David.
"How?"
David didn't answer.
"How did you—" CJ's voice broke. "I saw you. You were moving crazy. You were pulling things that weren't there. You were—"
"CJ."
"What are you?"
David looked at his friend. At the fear and confusion and something else—something that looked like the beginning of understanding.
"I'm still me," David said. "I'm just... more."
CJ stared at him for a long moment.
"We need to talk," he said. "Not now. But soon."
David nodded.
"I know."
They watched the fire burn.
COVENANT BASE— 2:00 PM
The training room was empty when David arrived.
He stood in the center, his green aura flickering, his sketchbook manifested fully for the first time in front of an audience. Pages 1, 2, and 3 glowed—active, ready, his.
Tessy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. Eloghosa sat on a bench, his doves perched on his shoulders. Ivie sharpened a knife in the corner. Jaron stood by the door, his expression unreadable.
"Show us," Tessy said.
David reached into Page 1. Pulled out the sword. Held it up.
"Sword. Basic."
He released it. Drew the shield. The chain. The rope. The ladder. Each one appeared in his hand, held for a moment, dissolved.
"Page 1 is weapons and tools."
He turned to Page 2. Called the wolf. It stood beside him, green ink shimmering. Called the snake. It coiled at his feet. Called the hawk. It circled overhead.
"Page 2 is creatures."
"Useful," Tessy said.
"Very."
He turned to Page 3.
"Page 3 is..." He paused. "Personal."
"Personal," Tessy repeated.
"I don't have to show everything."
"Fair."
He dismissed the sketchbook. The green light faded.
"There was a fire," he said. "At Uniben. 300 level general hall. Nearly two thousand students."
The room went quiet.
"I used Storyboard to help evacuate. Ladders. Ropes. Chains. No one died."
"That's good," Jaron said.
"It's not the first fire."
He told them about the Pharmacy lab. About Jane's project. About the pattern he couldn't quite see yet.
"Two fires," Tessy said. "Within days."
"Could be coincidence or you know…." Eloghosa offered..
"Could be." David looked at them. "But I'm going to check anyway."
Jaron nodded. "Be careful."
"Always."
His phone buzzed.
CJ: We need to talk. Urgently.
David stared at the screen.
"I have to go."
OUTSIDE THE BASE.
The sun was setting.
David walked toward the main road, his phone in his hand, his mind turning.
Two fires.
CJ saw something.
He's not going to let this go.
He stopped at the edge of the Covenant's barrier and looked back at the base—the dojo, the training rooms, the people who had become something like family.
Then he turned and walked toward whatever came next.
Behind him, the green light faded.
The rest of the pages in Storyboard were still waiting.
He would need it soon.