8:42pm
27:4:2024
Moses turned to the spirit, his voice trembling. "What happened to Taira? And the darkness… where did it go?"
The spirit's form shimmered, voice deep and echoing through the void. "No one knows for sure. All we do know is this—every priest and priestess died that night. Taira vanished. And the Pandora Box... it faded into myth."
The air grew heavier.
"Years passed in silence," the spirit continued. "Until the darkness rose again—this time in Nigeria, in Edo State. It possessed a descendant of the most powerful witch-bloodline: the Igbinedion witches. It unleashed chaos, devouring light wherever it went."
"But her family did not abandon her," the spirit said. "They crafted seven artifacts, ancient tools powered by sacrifice and love. With them, they split the creature into two, weakening it. But it escaped... and vanished."
Moses swallowed hard. "Until now."
"Yes," the spirit replied. "It has returned, but not in one form—two people now carry it."
He stepped back. "That's why you were chosen. Long before your birth, the spirits told your mother. She begged them to let you live a normal life. She sent you abroad. But the spirits would not be silenced."
"They told her the truth: you are the key to stopping the darkness."
"You are the Pandora Box—a living dimension, a vessel strong enough to hold the evil within."
Moses felt his knees go weak.
"It is a heavy burden," the spirit said. "But you must not give up. You must not falter."
The spirit's voice echoed into silence.
"And now… you must begin. Practice the language of the dead. Only the Pandora Box can speak it. Your guardians will help you."
With that, Moses gasped—and awoke.
He was lying in the overgrown yard of a lonely farmhouse.
It was night.
Calm but confused, Moses slowly made his way to the farmhouse door. The night air was cool, and the only sound was the faint rustle of trees. He raised a hand and knocked once.
The door creaked open.
Standing there was a familiar face—Mr. Olamide. To most, he was known as Mirabel's foster father. But in truth, he was her uncle. Of course, Moses didn't know that. Not yet.
They stared at each other in mutual confusion.
Mr. Olamide furrowed his brow. "Moses? What are you doing here?"
Moses quickly composed himself. "Uh… I came to check on Mirabel. She's been absent from school for a while."
"At this time of night?" Mr. Olamide asked, clearly unconvinced.
Moses forced a casual shrug. "I was around the area… figured I'd stop by."
There was a pause. Then Mr. Olamide stepped aside and gestured for him to come in. "Alright. Sit."
Moses took a seat as Mr. Olamide pulled out his phone. He dialed Mirabel.
Meanwhile, far away—deep within the Bermuda Triangle Headquarters—Mirabel stood surrounded by shifting dimensional maps, searching through timelines for any sign of her twin sister, Adunni.
Her phone rang.
She picked up immediately. "Uncle?"
"Moses is here," Mr. Olamide said quickly. "He showed up out of nowhere. Says he came to check on you."
Mirabel's eyes narrowed. "He what?"
"You need to come back," her uncle said.
She turned to Eliot, who had been helping her scan timelines. "We have to go. Now."
Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Eliot's arm, closed her eyes, and summoned her power. A soft hum filled the air—then a bright pink light enveloped them.
In an instant, they were gone.
A second later, a burst of pink light lit up the living room of the farmhouse.
Mirabel and Eliot landed gracefully on their feet. She walked forward, brushing her braids behind her shoulder.
"Good evening, Uncle Olamide," she said warmly.
Moses blinked. "Uncle?"
Mirabel just smiled, walking over. "I have… a lot to explain."
Council of magic head quarters
9:33pm
The Council of Magic's office was unusually quiet. Officer Ada sat at the large table, tapping her fingers absentmindedly on the wood. The room, despite the heavy wooden furniture and ornate decorations, felt cold—almost oppressive. Across from her, a cloaked figure sat motionless, their identity hidden beneath a deep hood.
"Are you sure about what you're saying?" Ada asked, trying to keep her voice steady. There was a note of doubt in her words, but she couldn't afford to let it show.
The figure's voice was calm, almost mechanical, as they replied, "You think I would come all the way here just to lie?" They tossed a plain brown envelope across the table. The envelope landed with a soft thud, its presence heavy in the air.
Ada's eyes narrowed as she reached for it. Something about this whole encounter unsettled her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. She tore open the envelope, pulling out several photographs. The image was sharp and clear, capturing a moment that felt far too real.
Her pulse quickened, and she stared at the photo in disbelief. She lifted her gaze to the figure, her skepticism starting to wear thin. "You think this is a joke?" she asked, her voice thick with disbelief. "This is a serious matter. Anyone could edit photos. You can't just expect me to believe this."
The figure didn't flinch. "I took the picture my self ," they said, their voice steady, unwavering.
Ada's heart skipped a beat. The words felt heavier than she could have anticipated. She had expected something else, but not this. "Who are you?" Ada asked, her voice sharp now. "What's your name?"
"My name doesn't matter," the figure replied, their tone still impassive. "What matters is that they are responsible for the death of Mr. Bassy."
Ada felt a cold chill creep down her spine at the mention of Mr. Bassy. The investigation into his death had led to nothing but dead ends, and now this cloaked stranger was claiming to have evidence—evidence that pointed directly to someone else. Someone powerful.
"Are you sure about this?" Ada asked, trying to regain some control over the situation. "Because if this information turns out to be wrong, you'll have the entire Council of Magic—and the politicians—on your back. You're going to want to make sure this is correct. Are you absolutely sure?"
The figure didn't hesitate. "Yes," they said simply, the finality of the word hanging heavy in the room.
The figure stood abruptly, the movement fluid and swift. Without another word, they walked toward the door. Ada's gaze followed them, but she was left speechless, still trying to process everything.
The figure moved with a deliberate grace, each step measured, each movement fluid and controlled. They radiated an aura of quiet confidence, a sense of purpose that seemed to emanate from their very being. Their presence commanded attention, their power palpable, yet subtly concealed beneath a veneer of calm composure.
They walked boldly, their head held high , their gaze fixed on the path ahead, their footsteps unwavering as they made their way towards the Council of Magic. The ancient structure loomed before them, its imposing façade a testament to centuries of tradition and power.
Without hesitation, they approached the shimmering portal that led out of the magical realm, its swirling energies beckoning them forward. They stood before it and waited a while then it swirled open.
They stepped through the portal, their form momentarily dissolving into a cascade of light before reforming on the other side, their journey continuing, their purpose unwavering.
They emerged onto a bustling city street, the air filled with the sounds of traffic, the chatter of pedestrians, and the distant hum of modern technology. They continued to walk, their movements purposeful, their destination clear.
Reaching the edge of the street, they raised their hand, hailing a passing cab. The vehicle screeched to a halt, its driver peering out the window with a curious expression.
The figure entered the cab, settling into the back seat, their gaze sweeping over the cityscape, their mind already formulating the next step in their intricate plan.
With a slow, deliberate movement, they reached up and removed their hood, revealing their identity to the driver - and to anyone who might be watching. Their face was young, but their eyes held an ancient wisdom, a knowingness that belied their youthful appearance.
It was Angel.
She reached for her phone, its screen illuminating her face with a soft, ethereal glow. She scrolled through a series of pictures and videos, her fingers flitting across the screen with practiced ease.
The images showcased Sunmi, Matthew, and Gift, their faces captured in unguarded moments, their powers on display, their connections to the magical realm undeniable.
Angel paused, her eyes lingering on a particular image, her lips curling into a faint smile. Then, with a decisive tap, she posted the pictures and videos to a new, anonymous profile.
She created a profile, its name a stark declaration of her intentions: "Agent of Normalcy." The account was bare, devoid of any personal information, a blank slate upon which she would write her own narrative.
Then, she pressed "post"