CHAPTER 1: THE BEGINNING
When Arik opened his eyes, the world was a blur of white light and silence.
He blinked several times, trying to focus. The ceiling above him was cracked and stained with smoke. The faint hum of something mechanical echoed nearby, though he saw nothing.
His body felt like it had been broken and reassembled by fire. Pain pulsed through every muscle, every breath a reminder that he was somehow still alive.
He groaned softly.
"This… this can't be heaven, right?"
The words came out rough, dry. His throat burned. The air smelled faintly of disinfectant and something metallic. He turned his head slowly, wincing, scanning the unfamiliar room — a bed, a dim lightbulb flickering overhead, and walls that looked like they'd survived an explosion.
"Where am I?" he whispered.
He tried to sit up, but pain tore through his back and ribs. His arms trembled and gave way, sending him crashing back onto the bed. He clenched his teeth.
"What… what happened to me?"
Then flashes returned — heat, light, the roar of the sky splitting open.
"The meteorite," he muttered. "Or was it an asteroid? I don't even know. But… how did I survive that?"
His mind spun. Bits and pieces of that day floated through the fog in his head — his mother's voice, the sound of laughter, the world collapsing in fire.
And so, he began to remember.
June 22nd, 2020
The world was in lockdown. The streets were quiet, but the silence was never peaceful. Fear hung in the air heavier than the heat.
In a small two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Lagos, Arik sat with his family — his mother, Abeni, his younger brother Tarem, and his little sister Nyana, the youngest and most playful of them all.
Their father had left ten years ago, vanishing without a word. Since then, Abeni had carried the family on her shoulders, doing odd jobs and selling goods to keep food on the table.
That morning, the smell of fried yam filled the kitchen. The old radio on the counter crackled with static, then a tired newscaster's voice broke through.
"…the number of confirmed cases continues to rise… citizens are advised to remain indoors…"
Abeni sighed and shook her head.
"The world is going crazy," she murmured.
Arik looked up from where he sat, tightening the strap of his wristwatch. He had an interview that morning — a rare chance for work despite the lockdown.
"Mom," he said gently, "I know you don't want me going out today, but I can't miss this job. They're paying ₦25,000 a month. That's good money."
She frowned, worry creasing her face.
"Arik, you don't have to start working now. You should finish your apprenticeship first."
"But Mom, I just graduated. I can help the family," he said firmly.
She looked into his eyes — eyes that reminded her of his father: strong, stubborn, hopeful. After a long silence, she sighed and reached for her purse.
"Alright," she said softly. "But be careful. And here—" she handed him ₦2,000, neatly folded. "Use it for transport."
"That's too much for t-fare," he said, shaking his head.
"Then buy yourself a snack," she smiled faintly. "You can't go to an interview hungry."
He grinned, touched by her concern.
"Thanks, Mom."
He turned to his younger brother.
"Tarem, come help me press my shirt."
Tarem, just twelve and mischievous, laughed.
"You'll have to pay for my service, big bro."
"Fine," Arik said with mock seriousness. "When I come back, I'll bring you snacks."
Tarem's eyes lit up instantly. "Deal!" he shouted, already spreading the shirt on the bed and plugging in the iron.
Arik walked to the bathroom, the cracked tiles cold under his feet. He took a quick shower, letting the cool water wash away his nerves. By the time he returned, the shirt looked crisp and clean.
"That boy," he muttered proudly. "Fast and neat."
He dressed quickly — blue jeans, his only white T-shirt, and a faded pair of blue shoes that still held their shape. As he checked himself in the mirror, his reflection smiled back — tired, but full of hope.
Before leaving, he stopped by the small framed photo hanging on the wall — his family, smiling under an old mango tree. He ran a finger along the edge of the frame.
"When I come back," he whispered, "I'll make sure we all live better."
The sun was already high when Arik stepped out. The air smelled of dust and exhaust fumes. He tightened his face mask and started walking down the main road, waving at a passing bike.
As he rode through the empty streets, the city felt ghostly — shops shuttered, hawkers gone, buses parked in silence. At a junction, he spotted an old classmate leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand.
They exchanged a nod. No words — just recognition. Different lives now.
At the city border, he got off the bike. Motorcycles weren't allowed beyond that point. A few policemen stood at a checkpoint, checking passes and asking questions. Arik joined a small group of passengers waiting for a bus heading to Ikeja.
The bus was half-full — masked faces, nervous eyes. Arik found a seat by the window.
As they drove, he stared out at the city — broken billboards, quiet roads, the faint sound of a distant siren. Lagos had never felt this strange. The world felt… paused.
He overheard two passengers talking quietly.
"Did you hear about that explosion near the coast?" one said.
"Explosion?" the other replied. "I thought it was a meteor sighting."
"They said the sky lit up red — like the end of days."
Arik frowned slightly but said nothing. Probably just rumors. The news had been full of strange stories lately.
After about twenty minutes, the bus slowed in front of a tall building with a blue gate. Arik stepped out, clutching his small bag. He took a deep breath, straightened his shirt, and approached the gate.
The guard at the entrance glanced at him.
"Good morning. Interview?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alright, wait under the shed. They'll call you in."
Arik nodded and sat on a wooden bench by the gate. He wiped sweat from his forehead. The air was heavy, humid, and still.
A few other applicants were there too, all dressed neatly, trying to hide their anxiety. One girl was reading her CV over and over; another young man muttered a prayer under his breath.
Arik looked up at the sky — bright, cloudless, endless blue.
He thought of his mother, probably worrying already. He smiled faintly.
"It's going to be okay," he said quietly to himself. "Everything's going to change."
Then, somewhere in the distance, a faint rumble rolled through the air.
The others looked around.
"Was that thunder?" one asked.
"Doesn't look like rain," another replied.
The sound faded quickly, replaced by silence again. Arik shrugged it off. Maybe just a passing truck.
Minutes later, a man in a suit stepped outside and called a few names. Arik's wasn't among them. He exhaled slowly, waiting.
Then — another rumble, louder this time. The ground beneath the bench trembled. A cup of water on the guard's table toppled, spilling.
The guard frowned. "What the hell was that?"
Arik looked up again — and froze.
A bright streak cut across the sky, faster than any plane he'd ever seen. For a second, it looked like a shooting star. Then it grew — brighter, louder, closer.
A blinding light swallowed the horizon.
Arik stood up instinctively, shielding his face as a wave of heat slammed into the gate. The others screamed. The ground cracked.
The last thing he saw before everything went white was the shadow of something enormous descending from the sky.