The scent of dust, old ink, and candle wax wrapped around Anike like a second skin.
She stood frozen in Ọ̀rọ̀ Books, her breath shallow, her palms damp with memory. Visions of stars, blood, and blue fire still burned in her mind. Obiora had just caught her—literally—when she stumbled under the weight of a world she didn't remember knowing.
His hands were still on her arms, steadying her.
She looked up into his eyes—those deep, dark eyes that felt like they had watched her for centuries—and asked the only question her heart could form:
"Who am I?"
Obiora didn't answer. Not immediately.
Instead, he led her gently to a wooden bench tucked beneath a shelf of ancient poetry scrolls. The store's lights flickered once, then steadied.
"You've opened a door," he said quietly.
Anike held his gaze. "I saw myself in the stars. And you… You were there. I don't know how I know, but I do."
Obiora nodded slowly. "That's how it begins every time."
"Every time?"
He exhaled, brushing a hand through his coils. "Come tomorrow. There's something I need to show you. Something that can only be seen in the light of memory."
"But why tomorrow?"
"Because tonight, you need to rest," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're about to remember things that once shook kingdoms."
And with that, he rose, helped her to her feet, and walked her to the door.
She paused just before stepping out. The Lagos sun had dimmed into a violet dusk. Street vendors were packing up their wares. Horns blared in the distance.
Anike turned back toward him. "Are you afraid of what I'll remember?"
"No," he said, a shadow flitting across his face. "I'm afraid of what will remember *you*."
---
She didn't sleep that night.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as sounds from the compound filtered through her windows—someone's generator coughing awake, a mother scolding her children in Yoruba, distant laughter.
But Anike heard none of it.
Her mind swirled with fragments—silver crowns, golden scrolls, wings that rose like silk from her shoulders. She had seen herself in a reflection that didn't feel like fantasy.
It felt like truth.
And somehow, she knew it was only the beginning.
---
By morning, the streets of Surulere were alive again.
Children chased tires with sticks. Hawkers pushed carts of roasted plantain. And Ọ̀rọ̀ Books stood quiet, tucked into its ivy-cloaked corner like a secret too sacred to name.
Anike entered, heart pounding.
Obiora wasn't at the counter this time.
Instead, an envelope lay where he usually stood—cream-colored, sealed with a faint silver wax stamp. Her name was written across the front in elegant handwriting that shimmered slightly.
**Anike.**
With trembling hands, she opened it.
Inside was a single note:
> *Go to the back row of Mythology. Pull the book titled **"Whispers of Water."**
> Inside, you will find what only you can see.
> It is time to remember.*
> — **O**
Anike blinked. The words stirred something in her chest—something ancient and aching.
She crossed the store slowly, weaving past towers of history, language, and forgotten lore. The further she walked, the more the lights dimmed, as though guiding her deeper into memory.
She found the Mythology shelf—dusty, half-forgotten, humming.
*Whispers of Water* sat alone at the end of the row. Bound in deep blue velvet, wrapped with a thin gold thread. She reached for it—and the moment her fingers touched the spine, a current buzzed through her veins.
This book knew her.
She untied the thread and opened it.
Blank pages. Dozens of them. Smooth, silent.
But when her fingers brushed the third page—
The ink shimmered into existence. A message bloomed before her eyes in liquid gold script:
> *You are not just Queen of the Stars, Anike.*
> *You are the last of the Line of the Waters.*
> *The blood of the Sky Kingdom runs through you.*
>
> *He remembers.*
> *And he is waking.*
A cold ripple ran down her spine.
The lights around her flickered. A soft whisper echoed through the shelves, like wind speaking through time.
She slammed the book shut, breath caught in her throat.
And then she heard footsteps.
Obiora emerged from between two tall bookcases, a lantern in his hand and tension in his eyes. His usual calm presence was replaced by something guarded—urgent.
"You read it?"
She nodded.
He led her to the back of the store, through a small wooden door she hadn't noticed before. It creaked open into a narrow staircase lit by floating bulbs.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"To the Archive."
---
The room at the bottom was circular, stone-walled, and silent.
Books floated in the air.
Scrolls hovered in golden light.
And at the center stood a pedestal, carved with symbols that pulsed softly under their glow.
Obiora turned to her.
"In every lifetime, this room finds you again. Because this is where it began. The curse. The promise. The betrayal."
Anike stepped forward. Her fingers grazed a glowing sigil—and her knees buckled as another vision took her.
She stood on clouds.
Armies clashed beneath her.
Obiora—wounded, reaching for her.
And before her, a man crowned with thorns, his eyes glowing silver.
"Choose me," he had said.
She hadn't.
And so he cursed the stars.
---
Anike gasped, stumbling back.
Obiora caught her again.
He didn't let go this time.
"That was **Orunzo**," he said. "The man who tried to steal you from fate. When you chose me, he condemned us. Life after life, we find each other. And life after life… we lose each other."
Tears welled in Anike's eyes. "So what now?"
Obiora's hand curled around hers. "Now, you fight back. You remember. You break the chain."
Her voice trembled. "And if I fail?"
He looked at her, pain hiding behind hope.
"Then we forget. Again. And he wins."
---
That night, Anike didn't go home.
She stayed in the Archive, curled up between cushions and flickering lights. Obiora brewed tea with crushed leaves that smelled of mango and something older.
As the storm rolled over Lagos, thunder echoing like drums, they sat side by side.
"I don't feel like a queen," Anike said softly.
"You never did," he replied. "Even when you wore the crown."
She smiled a little. "I feel scared."
"That means you're ready."
They fell into silence, the kind only soul-deep connections know. Then, slowly, her head dropped onto his shoulder. His heartbeat was steady—like the rhythm of the stars themselves.
"I want to remember everything," she whispered.
"You will."
"And I want to love you without fear."
Obiora turned to her, his forehead resting against hers.
"Then let's begin again, properly this time," he murmured.
She closed her eyes. "No more lifetimes stolen."
"No more."
But somewhere, far across the world, the stars shuddered.
---
In a hidden temple carved beneath an abandoned palace in the North, a man stirred from centuries of slumber.
His skin bore the silver tattoos of an ancient king.
His eyes snapped open—burning with a curse that had waited far too long.
"She remembers," Orunzo whispered.
He stood, and the walls around him cracked.
"Then I must remind her… what she gave up."
---