The sky didn’t look real.

  It stretched too wide, too clean, too ancient to belong to anything as fragile as time. A thousand colors danced behind thin clouds like ghosts chasing whispers—warm ochres of the dying sun tangled with violet scars of the night’s promise.

  Ayu stood at the edge of the sacred terrace, breath uneven. He wasn’t supposed to be up here.

  The hill, Ndugu Hill, was sacred. Only the oracles, wind-callers, and women with cloud-inked eyes were allowed to walk its spine. But he couldn’t help it. After what he saw—what they saw in the forgotten village—something inside him had cracked. He needed to see the horizon with his own eyes, to confirm that it still held meaning.

  Below, life continued like it hadn’t just collided with something… wrong.

  Kids played tag barefoot through the dust, their laughter making melodies with the drumbeats rising from the central bonfire. Smoke curled into the air like it was praying. Vendors shouted over each other, not because of greed but joy. Old men slapped thighs while recalling jokes older than the bones they carried.

  And Ayu? Ayu felt like a shadow stuck in reverse.

  A hand landed on his shoulder, light, but firm.

  “You gonna jump, or just brooding for aesthetic?” Kendi smirked, then sighed, brushing imaginary dust from her sleeve even though she was barefoot like him.

  “I saw his face, Kendi,” Ayu murmured. “The boy in the village… he remembered me. But he shouldn’t have. He shouldn’t have remembered anything.”

  She folded her arms. Her face was unreadable. “He shouldn’t have been there, either. None of them should.”

  Ayu turned to her slowly. “What do you think happened?”

  “I think,” she said, squinting at the distant firelight, “we’re being lied to.”

  The sentence hung heavy in the air. Even the birds seemed to pause.

  Kendi took a breath. “Do you know what the drummers said this morning?”

  He shook his head.

  “They said the winds changed direction. That the rhythm of the earth stuttered. That someone opened a door… and left it ajar.”

  Ayu frowned. “You think it’s the strangers?”

  Kendi leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper. “I think it’s us.”

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Before Ayu could ask what the hell that meant, a loud boom cracked the silence.

  A horn—not one used for ceremony, or trade, or celebration. This one was deep. Hungry. A call not to gather, but to warn.

  Then screams followed.

  Kendi didn’t wait. She yanked Ayu’s hand and bolted down the hill, her braids slapping her back like whips. He followed, mind reeling.

  The village square was chaos.

  Something had landed.

  Not someone. Something.

  It stood like a pillar of glass and bone, taller than a baobab, pulsing with unnatural veins that shimmered gold one moment, and pitch black the next. Around it, the sand boiled, warping the air.

  People were backing away. Some collapsed. Others screamed in languages Ayu didn’t know. One of the elders tried to speak, but her voice turned into… static.

  Not silence. Not noise. Static.

  That’s when the creature stepped out.

  It didn’t walk. It glided, each movement too smooth to be normal. Its body was covered in markings that danced, glowed, then vanished. Its face… had no face. Just a mask shaped like a spiral that spun slowly as it moved.

  “Ayu,” Kendi breathed, “you see that?”

  He couldn’t reply.

  Because he recognized that spiral.

  It was the same one painted inside the forgotten village. The same spiral he saw on the tree that bled light. The same symbol from his dreams as a child… when the stars whispered things he could never say aloud.

  The masked thing stopped. It turned to face Ayu.

  And spoke.

  Not in words. Not in any language.

  But directly—inside his skull.

  “Child of the Unwritten. Do you remember who you are?”

  Ayu staggered. His nose bled.

  “Do not run. Do not forget. We came before language. Before name. Before time told lies.”

  “Ayu!” Kendi grabbed him, shook him, slapped him. “Wake up! Don’t listen to it!”

  “The Pillar is cracking. You must choose.”

  The mask flickered. Then—

  The being collapsed into dust.

  Just like that.

  The spiral etched into the ground began to burn, a slow ember curling outward.

  And from the edge of the square, a child began to sing.

  A song Ayu had never heard before… but knew by heart.

  Author's note;

  You know am actually thinking of burning my computer for once. When I tell this thing to follow very simple and detailed intructions, it actually began giving me a lecture. Bro I just came from one lecturer and you have time to pull this stunt. I know it that bastard's fault (please don't take offence on my bad language). I'm trying to open settings but i don't know what he did my it won't budge. I'm even lucky it chose to continue instead of giving me more headaches. Anyway enjoy.