Morning came too quickly.
A sharp pain shot through Chike's leg as he stirred-- a quiet remainder of the night before. The exhaustion now wearing on him. Part of him wanted to stay in bed, pretend it hadn't happened. But it was his last day of school, and he was to take Emma along.
Victor was gone. Maybe back to college. Was for the best, for he didn't want to recount their last night experience. But to leave without a word was cold--unlike Victor.
Chike showered slowly, letting the warm water ground him. But halfway through he felt it--the pull. That same unseen force that was part of their haunted night. Urgent, this time. Drawing him out.
He ran into his room, body still dripping.
There it was.
The object in white linen, resting on his bed. An eerie aura emmiting from it.
Something in his guts told him it needed to be open. He didn't hesistate.
Carefully, he unwrapped it.
a glint of silver flashed in the dim light.--a shiny metal piece slipping free before clicking softly against the cold floor. His fingers paused mid-reach, then close around it. The object was cool, unnaturally smooth: a circular ring, its surface a tarnished silver-back, like aged pewter. But what caught his eye were the four cross-like arms radiating from the center, sharp and precise-except one. A clean deliberate cut severed the fourth arm, leaving a jagged edge that gleamed under the faint light. This wasn't damage-it was intentional.
Along the rim, barely visible under the tarnish, a line of ancient script ran like a whisper-faint, old, forgotten. He could tell because he hadn't seen anything like it or the object in any textbook. The symbols were jagged-suggesting their age. And yet somehow, the words interpreted in Chike's mind with no difficulty.
Survive gods' tempest to become...
The message ended abruptly, severed by the same cut that had broken the ring. The words echoed in his mind, twisting like a half remembered dream.
For one frozen minute, he could only stare, horror prickling along his skin. How had this thing appeared on his bed? Maybe a prank from Victor- he thought it unlikely. But it was the only logical answer- he was a man of logic.
Then his fear twisted into something darker, sharper. A short, bitter scoff burst from his lips, harsh and humorless, as if laughter could hide him from the dread coiling in his chest.
"Rubbish."
His fingers clenched, the metal biting into his palm-- one furious heartbeat--before he hurled it through the open window--watching it vanish on the slightly overgrown lawn.
He quickly dressed up to get Emma for school. Bag slung over one shoulder, he snatched the little boys lunch and slipped out of the door, calling him to follow suit.
School passed in a haze. As they didn't do much-only murmuring of the oppressive weight of tomorrow. By lunch, the cafeteria thrummed with frenetic energy. Clusters of graduating students buzzed like swarming bees, their laughter's too loud, their voices sharp with anticipation.
"Did you hear, A High Priest himself will oversee the Baptism?"
"Finally, we'll be real adults!"
Chike sat alone.
As usual.
He'd long accepted his role as the odd one out. Sure his grades shone- setting different academic records not seen before. But his questions--the wrong ones, had peeled classmates away slowly over time. Even his victories turned toxic, when he stood up to bullies, rescuing weaker students, parents hissed warnings:
"Stay away from him."
Now, hunched in his usual shadowed corner, he picked at his food, uninterested in the flavor.
Then the loud chattering turned into slow whispers.
A wave of murmurs swept through the courtyard like wildfire.
Eyees. Dozens of them.
They began stealing glances at him, whispers a hissing undertone. At first he tried to ignore, jaw tight, fingers gripping his fork. But the murmurs swelled, sharpening.
Each cluster had their phones in hand and hissing as they stood.
He exhaled sharply, yanking out his own phone-- and froze.
"BREAKING: Two suspects broke into the faith house.
The headline blared up at him, bold and accusing. His throat went dry, he didn't need to scroll further.
It explained the weight of suspicion already there. He thought.
Of course.
Who else to suspect than the boy who didn't fully believe?
Around him the whispers crystallized into silence. The air thickened. He could feel the exile beginning anew.
Then--
A voice. Low. Firm.
"Read further down."
He twirled.
No one was there.
He hesitated--resisting, but his fingers moved against his will as if compelled.
He scrolled.
"Prime suspects are two escaped inmates-last spotted near the town's bother."
A wave of relief crashed over him
Good. They weren't the suspect. Not officially his thoughts added.
But the air in the cafeteria didn't settle. The stares grew sharper and quicker--as if they had sense something unnatural-a kinship perhaps between him and the criminals.
He hissed. Then continued his food. Then froze.
His danger sense screaming at him to look up.
And there, at the far entrance, cutting through the crowd like a blade--
Himself.
Striding forward. Shoulder high. Smirking proudly.
Chike blinked-once-twice-but the figure didn't dissolve. Instead, it moved through the students, through tables, as if reality itself bent around it.
Then--his spoon twisted in his grip.
The weight morphed, forcing him to look down.
The same silver-black relic from this morning sat in his palm.
He jerked back, chair shrieking against the floor-
And the ring vanished.
A gasp tore from his throat as he looked up--
The doppelganger now stood inches away. In its hand the ring appeared.
It lifted it, slow as a nightmare, the ring glowing faintly in its palm. Then---
Whoosh.
The ring shot forward, embedding itself into Chike's chest. Deeper. He clutched it.
Th being's lips curled.
"Sit."
And Chike recognized the voice.
The same one from earlier.
Eerily it was his voice!
His body betrayed him.
Muscles twitching like puppet strings, his legs folded-- one second he was standing-- the seated. The moment he stopped resisting, control flooded back, leaving him trembling.
The doppelganger slid into the seat beside him. His isolation, worked as both a blessing and a curse--no one noticed the utter humiliation he was going through-and no one could help.
"I have become a piece of your mind."
"Therefore you cannot resist me."
His own voice. But louder, richer, dripping with the arrogance he'd buried years ago. The voice of the boy he had been.
Chike's breath stuttered. His fingers dug into his thighs, flesh- anything to prove this wasn't real. He didn't believe in nightmares but this was much worse.
"I am the spirit of the Ofor. Which you took."
"we have much to discuss."
A pause. Mocking. Letting him drown the silence.
Chike stared ahead, eyes glassy, heart a war drum in his ribs. His mind screamed-- Run. Fight. Wake up.
But his instincts? Silent. It felt weird, the same one that has warned him through so many dangers over the years.
He pinched his wrist-hoping to tear through the nightmare. But the pain lingered, and Ofor laughed.
"I am of a natural cause," it murmured, responding directly to his thought. "your danger sense cannot save you from natures will or yourself. And now? A smile. "I am you."
Chikes lungs caged.
All his life--every prickle of warning, had been ever man made threats, he remembered Victor daring them from one danger to the other. It was never fate--or inevitable.
A chill grew in his spin. A memory flashed before his eyes.
"his aunts and cousin- the feeling he had about their happiness taken away--it would be man-made.
"that's right." Ofor purred, grinning with vicious triumph. "I was just getting to that part. You are a genius."
It leaned in. Whispered.
"Your mother was murdered."
"because of you."