POV: Dele
The grid didn't break.
That's what I kept telling myself at 3:17 AM while I was staring at the monitor and watching Lagos flicker.
On a normal day Lagos doesn't flicker. Lagos hums. 20 million people and every single one of them pulling power, using it, wasting it, needing it. The grid is supposed to be steady. Like a heartbeat.
But tonight it was skipping.
Not because of a fault. I checked. Three times.
Not because of rain. The sky was clear.
It was because of names.
It started a week after we came back from the white desert.
People started praying again.
Not in churches. Not in mosques. On rooftops. In markets. In traffic.
Whispering names they hadn't said in years.
"Shango."
"Oya."
"Yemoja."
"Obatala."
And worse.
"Olodumare."
The moment someone said it, a light in the city would dim. Just for a second. Like the grid was listening.
I told Juma. He got that librarian look. "Names are roads," he said. "You said them, you opened them."
"So close them," I said.not like i was opposed to the idea of the original gods coming back,i was just worried because of fear of the unknown.
"You can't close a road people are walking," he said.
I hated that he was right.
My phone buzzed. Sango.
"Yo. You seeing this?"
"Seeing what?"
"The sky."
I went to the roof of the power station.
The sky over Lagos was clear. Except for one cloud.
Just one.
And it was shaped like a hand.
With three lines on the palm.
I cursed. "It's him."
"Who?" Sango asked.
"My dad."
The Storm Emperor.
The man who wore the sky like a coat.
The man who killed my mother because she taught me to say "Olodumare" when I was scared.
"Don't call on him," she'd whispered, tucking me in during a storm. "Call on the one above him."
Three days later she was gone, executed by my very own father,i watched her blood flowed on the ground like a river,and he looked straight at me sitting arrogantly on his throne.
"Don't say that name again, boy," he said. "Names have owners."
For that i lost it,i could not keep my cool, i attacked him and was banished from his palace down to earth, banished is lightly putting it,i was literally pummeled down to earth
I didn't want to call the name my mum told me again.
I hadn't said it in 5 years.
Until last week.
Because I was scared.
Because the world was remembering and i couldn't predict the unknown.Because I thought maybe if I said it, she'd hear me.
"Dele," Sango said. "The cloud is moving. It's coming to the Tome."
Of course it was.
Because he heard me too.
I called everyone.
By sunrise, 8 of us were at the Hall of Threads. Kunle was welding something. Tsehay had red string in her hair. Amina and Chike were arguing about herbs. Fatima and Nala were dripping on the floor. Iyanu looked like she hadn't slept. Zainab was flipping her coin. Ọmọ was sharpening his spear.
Juma was at the center, with a book open.
"Book of Names," he said. "It started writing itself again."
On the page: _The Emperor Returns. He wants what he lost. He wants the boy who said the name._
"Me," I said.
"Yeah," Juma said. "You."
Kunle stopped welding. "Then we don't give him you."
"He's a god," I said. "A real one. Not like us. He was before the Court. He made storms before we were born."
"And?" Tsehay said. "We beat a tower made of forgetting. We can beat a dad with anger issues."
I laughed. I shouldn't have. But I did.
That night, the storm came.
It didn't rain. It stood.
A wall of clouds from the coast to the desert. And in the middle of it, a figure.
Tall. Coat made of thunder. Eyes like the sky before it breaks.
My father.
He didn't speak to the city. He spoke to me.
His voice was in the wires. In the bulbs. In my teeth.
"Dele."
I felt it in my bones.
"You said his name"
"I did," I said out loud. All 8 of us were on the roof.
"That name is mine to punish," he said. "You stole it from me."
"I borrowed it," I said. "From my mom."
The clouds cracked. Lightning, but it didn't fall. It hung there. Waiting.
"Come," he said. "Let me teach you what happens to children who speak out of turn."
Sango stepped forward. "He's not coming alone."
"Neither am I," my father said. And the storm split.
And they walked out.
Demigods.
From everywhere.
A girl with a trident and seaweed in her hair. Greek. She looked seasick.
A boy with a cat on his shoulder and gold on his fingers. Egyptian. The cat was judging us.
A girl with a brush and ink that moved. Chinese. She painted a dragon in the air and it roared.
A boy with a book that had too many pages. Indian. He was reading and walking at the same time.
A girl with a woven basket and wind in her smile. Filipino. She nodded at Iyanu like "oh, you too?"
And more. European kid with a hammer that was too small. Brazilian girl with feathers.
They weren't here to fight us.
They were here because their people started saying names too.
And their gods got scared.
So they sent the kids.
"United Nations of Demigods," the Greek girl said. "I'm Thalia. This is bad."
"Tell me about it," I said.
My father looked at all of us. Then at me.
"You brought friends," he said. "How touching. They'll watch you burn."
Kunle cracked his knuckles. "Nah. They'll watch you get schooled."
That's when the funny part happened.
Because the Egyptian boy's cat jumped off his shoulder, walked to the edge of the roof, looked at my dad, and hissed.
The storm flinched.
Everyone froze.
The Filipino girl broke the silence. "Bastet does not like rude dads."
The Indian boy didn't look up from his book. "Canonically accurate."
And just like that, the most tense moment of my life had a cat as the MVP.
My father didn't laugh.
"Last chance, Dele. Come. Or I take you."
I looked at the 8 behind me. At Thalia and the others. At Juma with the Book of Names open.
And I thought about my mom.
About her whispering "Olodumare" in the dark.
About how saying it got her killed.
About how not saying it was killing me.
So I said it.
Loud.
"Olodumare."
The grid surged. Every light in Lagos turned on at once.
The sky cracked.
And my father screamed.
Not in pain.
In recognition.
Like he remembered who he was before he became the Storm.
"Run," Juma said.
And we did.
Not away.
Toward.
Toward the storm.
Toward my father.
Toward chapters of this mess.
Because if names have power, then we're going to learn every single one.
Starting with mine.
Starting with hers.