The Price of the Past

A tense hush fell over the auction hall as the first bid rang out.

"Fifty thousand pounds."

The voice came from a man seated in one of the shadowed balconies, his face obscured behind a golden mask. Other bidders barely reacted, as if such a sum was nothing to them.

Nia's pulse quickened. She barely had enough naira to last the month, how was she supposed to bid for her own memories?

The auctioneer in crimson gestured toward the vial on the pedestal. "This memory belongs to a warrior who fought in the ancient Dahomey Kingdom. The knowledge of battle, strategy, and survival, an invaluable asset."

A woman draped in deep blue silk raised a single finger. "Seventy thousand."

Another bidder countered immediately. "Eighty-five."

Nia's hands clenched at her sides. This was madness. These people weren't just purchasing memories—they were stealing lives, experiences, the very essence of others.

And her past was one of the prizes.

She turned to the woman in emerald beside her. "How do I win this?" she whispered. "I have no money."

The woman studied her, a hint of amusement in her dark eyes. "Not all auctions are settled with wealth."

A chill crawled up Nia's spine. "Then what do they take?"

The woman's smile was slow, deliberate. "A trade."

Before Nia could question her further, the auctioneer struck his cane against the stage, drawing the hall's attention.

"And now," he announced, "we come to one of tonight's most unique offerings."

A single vial was placed onto the pedestal. Unlike the others, this one pulsed faintly, the silvery-blue liquid inside shifting like a living thing.

Nia's breath hitched. It's mine.

The auctioneer's lips curved. "A rare and personal memory. A past forgotten, a truth hidden. The origins of the owner, unknown. But the value?" He paused, letting the anticipation build. "Limitless."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Then.

"One million dollars."

Nia's stomach dropped.

The bid had come from a man sitting in the front row. He was dressed in an ivory suit, his face bare. Unlike the other bidders, he wanted to be seen.

Her heart pounded. Who was he? And why did he want her past?

The auctioneer nodded. "One million. Do we have a counteroffer?"

A sleekly dressed woman raised her hand. "One point five."

"Two million," the man in ivory countered, unfazed.

Panic clawed at Nia's throat. If she didn't act now, her memories, her very identity, would be lost to someone else.

She turned to the woman in emerald. "Tell me how to bid."

The woman's gaze flickered with interest. "Are you willing to trade, Miss Okafor?"

Nia swallowed hard. "Trade what?"

The woman leaned in, her voice a whisper of temptation.

"A memory of your choosing."

The weight of those words settled deep in Nia's chest. She barely remembered enough of her life as it was, how could she afford to give away more?

But if she didn't…

The auctioneer's voice cut through her thoughts. "Final call. Two million."

The man in ivory leaned back in his seat, confident, waiting for the final hammer to fall.

Nia's fists clenched.

She had no money. But she had something to trade.

Before she could second-guess herself, she stepped forward and spoke.

"I bid" she hesitated, then forced the words out, "my most precious memory."

A stunned silence fell over the hall.

The man in ivory slowly turned to look at her, interest flickering in his gaze.

The auctioneer's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah… an intriguing offer."

Nia's stomach churned. She didn't even know what her most precious memory was. But she had just placed it on the table.

The auctioneer turned to the bidders. "Do we have a counter?"

A pause.

Then, nothing.

No one else spoke.

The auctioneer struck his cane against the platform.

"SOLD."

The moment the word left his lips, a sharp pain bloomed in Nia's skull.

Something inside her unraveled.

And then. 

Darkness.

Darkness swallowed Nia whole, as if the world had collapsed into a single, crushing point. There was no up or down, no sense of time or place, just the weight of emptiness pressing against her mind. For a moment, she wasn't sure she existed at all.

Then came the voices. Distant and muffled at first, like echoes through a long tunnel.

"…stronger reaction than usual."

"She offered a precious memory perhaps it was too vital."

"Bring her back before"

A sudden flare of pain shot through Nia's temples, sharp enough to make her gasp. She became aware of her body again: her chest rising and falling, her heart pounding like a drum. She tried to open her eyes, but the light was blinding, a harsh glow that made her vision swim.

When she finally managed to focus, she realized she was lying on a velvet chaise in a side chamber of the auction hall. Flickering lanterns lined the walls, and thick drapes of emerald fabric hung from the ceiling. The woman in emerald was there, leaning over her, a faint crease of concern on her brow.

"You're awake," she said, her voice softer than before.

Nia tried to sit up. The world spun, and she sank back down, groaning. "What… happened?"

The woman placed a cool hand on her forehead. "You traded your most precious memory to reclaim the stolen one. The exchange was… abrupt."

With a rush of panic, Nia touched the spot over her heart, as though she might feel something missing. "Did it work? Do I! do I have my past back?"

A pause. The woman withdrew her hand. "Part of it."

Nia swallowed. "Part of it?"

Before the woman could answer, the door to the chamber creaked open. The man in crimson, the auctioneer stepped inside. He carried the glass vial containing Nia's memory, its silvery-blue contents swirling more calmly than before.

He studied Nia with a clinical gaze. "You survived the exchange. Good. Many do not."

The words chilled her. "Many?"

He offered no clarification, simply placed the vial on a nearby table. "You bid a precious memory, Miss Okafor. We have taken it."

Nia felt an ache deep inside, a hollow space where something important used to live. She couldn't pinpoint what it was, only that the ache was real. A pang of fear struck her. What did I lose?

"But this," the auctioneer continued, tapping the vial, "is now yours. A piece of your past."

The woman in emerald helped Nia sit up, guiding her toward the table. "Drink it," she murmured. "It's why you came."

Nia stared at the vial. She had risked everything to get here. Her throat felt tight, her mind filled with questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered. But if she didn't reclaim this piece of herself, she'd never know who she truly was or why someone else wanted her memories.

With trembling fingers, she picked up the vial. The liquid inside glimmered like captured moonlight, and when she uncorked it, a faint, melodic hum reached her ears, like a whisper of a forgotten lullaby.

Closing her eyes, Nia pressed the vial to her lips and drank.

A flash.

A boy's laughter.

A hand gripping hers.

A promise made under a jacaranda tree.

A name! Zeke.

Images rushed through her mind: a dusty playground, an old house in the countryside, a carved wooden pendant shaped like a spiral. And in each memory, she saw a boy with warm eyes and a smile that made her heart ache. Zeke. She had known him, deeply, intimately, but everything about him had been wiped away until now.

Nia gasped, tears burning her eyes. She remembered him. They had been best friends… or maybe more. She clutched the edge of the table, the memories pouring in faster than she could process.

And then, as quickly as it started, the rush ended. She opened her eyes, her heart pounding.

"Zeke," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I remember his face now. He! he meant everything to me." The realization hit her like a punch. "Why would someone take that from me?"

The auctioneer and the woman exchanged a glance. Finally, the woman answered, "Because someone believed that memory was worth a fortune."

Nia's mind spun. Who would pay so much for a memory of a boy from her past? She looked at the empty vial, her thoughts whirling. If she'd only recovered part of her history, what else was missing? And more importantly—why was it so valuable to others?

The auctioneer cleared his throat. "There is still the matter of your payment."

A cold weight settled in Nia's chest. She'd nearly forgotten the cost. "You took my most precious memory," she said hoarsely. "Wasn't that the payment?"

He dipped his head in a nod. "Yes. And we shall keep it safe. You may yet earn it back." He held up a hand before she could protest. "If you wish to learn more, seek out Dr. Olatunde Ibekwe. He was once an esteemed member of our circle. Now… he may have reason to help you."

The woman in emerald offered Nia a slip of paper with an address scrawled in elegant handwriting. "He resides in a quiet district near the Lagos Marina. He'll know what to do."

Nia looked down at the address. Her hands shook. Dr. Olatunde Ibekwe. The name tugged at her newly restored memory, but she couldn't quite place it.

Gathering her courage, she met the woman's gaze. "And if I don't go? If I choose to walk away?"

A flicker of something pity? crossed the woman's face. "You won't. Not now that you know you can regain what was taken. And not when you remember… Zeke."

Nia's heart clenched at the mention of his name. The memory she'd just regained was like a single puzzle piece. She needed the rest.

The auctioneer opened the chamber door, his crimson robes trailing behind him. "Go, Miss Okafor. But remember: the next step in your journey may be far more dangerous than this auction hall."

Nia rose, still unsteady, and clutched the paper in her hand. She cast one last glance at the empty vial on the table, then followed the auctioneer out.

Beyond the chamber, the grand hall had begun to empty. Wealthy collectors and masked bidders drifted away, satisfied or disappointed by their purchases. She caught a glimpse of the man in ivory, who had nearly bought her memory, disappearing into the shadows with a knowing smirk on his lips.

A new wave of anger and determination welled within her. She had come to reclaim her past. And though she'd only managed to recover a single fragment, it was enough to remind her who she was and that she would fight to get the rest.

Clutching the address like a lifeline, Nia stepped into the labyrinth of corridors beneath the old library, ready to face whatever secrets awaited her next.