Chapter 4

In the mist of chaos, a being was marked, the chosen sacrifice.

The false god craved the final prize, the one thing yet unclaimed: a soul.

 Flesh and bone, that flimsy cage, held little value to him.

In the realm of sleep, he fueled nightmares painted with the blood of loved ones lost.

Ekwensu, seeks to reclaim everything.

Do not let him.

2.

On the day his bestfriend died, there was nothing Chinua had control over. He moved with purpose through the bustling Owerre market square. His eyes darted from side to side as he hurried along. If colours could scream, the market would have been a party. Red tomatoes jostled against green peppers, while the sour stench of silver fish mingled with the slimy slick of brown snails. The vibrant greens of Ugu leaves contrasted with the bright umbrellas shading dark wooden tables.

Narrow lanes overflowed with a rush of hurried people, elbows jabbing into his ribs as they passed. The sun stung his skin, but the looks he received from strangers were far worse. Chinua knew what they saw: alabaster skin radiating in the sunlight, pale brown hair, and his striking grey eyes. Heat climbed into his cheeks, but his white skin wouldn’t hide that crimson blush.

The girls giggled when they spotted him, and children followed, sometimes through the entire market. Though he was used to the stares, the attention did little to make him feel special. Instead, it made him self-conscious, causing him to shrink away and avoid meeting others’ gazes. He longed to blend in, but his appearance made that nearly impossible. It felt as if his albino skin was a beacon, drawing unwanted remarks and insults.

Chinua had come to the market to meet his only friend, Doreen. He closed his eyes and gasped, overwhelmed by frustration. It was too late for regrets; he had already embarked on this trip. Glancing at his ngwaoru, he muttered a curse—he was late. Anxiety mounted as he quickened his pace, pushing and jostling through the crowd.

He navigated the muddy lane, wary of stepping into a pothole. The thought of laughter at his expense was a constant concern, worsened by the harsh sun reflecting off his sensitive eyes. He wiped sweat from his forehead, rubbing it on his shirt, and felt a sudden tug on his sandal—someone had stepped on him and he couldn’t identify the culprit.

Chinua spun around, desperately scanning the crowd, but Doreen was nowhere in sight. Each turn only deepened his frustration. He fumbled for his iko, cursing silently when he remembered he had left it at home. To make matters worse, he realized his wallet was gone—likely stolen in the crush of people.

Heat flooded Chinua’s face, and sweat beaded at his brow. Wide, pale eyes darted around, unfocused. He breathed in shallow, rapid gasps, his lips parted as he struggled to draw in enough air. Trembling hands clenched into tight fists before nervously fidgeting with the scar on his wrist. His knees felt weak, and he swayed, fighting the urge to collapse.

 He wanted to shout her name, desperate to escape the overwhelming sensation he felt. He scratched the scar on his wrist faster, his breathing rapid and shallow, his heartbeat like a rattling drum.

 Just then, he felt a light tap on his back. A voice behind him taunted, “You’re late.” He turned around, he felt relieved as he saw Doreen. Her stern expression and the visible vein in her forehead indicated she was upset. “You know I didn’t want to come here alone, and you still arrived late,” she gibed, pouting.

Chinua forced a smile and lowered his voice, speaking gently as he gazed into her eyes. He could see his reflection in her brown eyes, which sparkled in the sunlight. “Doreen, you know I’d go anywhere with you,” he swooned, leaning in for a hug.

“The rifts are happening more often. Even the Ohaneze can’t predict where they’ll hit next.” Her voice cracked, and her lips quivered.

Chinua glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “There haven’t been any sightings here, not in this town. Why would they show up today of all days?”

Doreen noticed Chinua's hands shaking. “Are you still getting panic attacks outside?” She touched his arm, and her eyes brightened. “How often is it happening now?”

Chinua stayed silent, squeezing her hands gently. “Earth to Chinua, you still with us?” she snapped, clicking her fingers rapidly.

Chinua nodded vigorously, struggling to find the right words. “I didn’t want to make you worry,” he replied softly.

Doreen sighed, a sound loud enough to convey her disappointment. “Have you been writing at least?” She flashed a warm smile before chuckling lightly.

Chinua was feeling guilty. He hadn’t penned anything original in days and wondered if his creativity had dried up. At nineteen, he felt washed up, overthinking his failures. “I hate lying to you. I haven’t written a word since we last met,” Chinua admitted, forcing a smile. He brushed his thumb lightly across her cheek and squeezed her hands gently.

Taking the heavy bag, Chinua carried it with a goofy grin tugging at the corners of his lips. They walked in silence, savoring the closeness. “Can we go to the bookstore now?” he chirped finally.

Chinua knew the outside world was a cesspool of debacles, deadly creatures, deceitful people, and dangerous adventures, but he’d rather read about them than experience them. He wasn’t built for danger; he preferred the comfort of home and the pages of a book.

Chinua thought he was missing the one thing every living being craved—love. It was so common to others, but he’d never felt it, not from his parents, not from his siblings. He had never had a girlfriend, was painfully shy, and spent most of his time buried in books. His childhood had been a quiet one, spent largely in isolation, hunched over dictionaries and encyclopedias.

The bookstore was like a second home. Doreen trailed behind him as he walked inside. The air was thick with the scent of old newspaper. The blue walls, were now faded and cracked, with peeling paint. Wooden bookshelves that were no taller than the windows stood, their white paint peeling at the edges. The books themselves were worn-out, their pages almost ripping apart.

Chinua took a deep breath, inhaling the dusty smell of the old books. He enjoyed the quiet, the slow contemplation of choosing what to read. His fingers gently brushed the spines of the books, enjoying the rough texture against his skin.