chapter five

Chapter 5: Whispers Across the Flame

In the cool marble hallways of the Okon-Richardson estate in Paris, Zikora stood barefoot in the center of the library, her hand glowing faintly over an ancient wooden globe.

The staff had stopped questioning her "episodes."

They had learned to step aside.

She whispered now, not in French, but in a language she didn't know she knew.

"Ndụ dị n'ime m… Nwanne m na-akpọ m…"

Life lives in me… My sister is calling me.

The globe pulsed softly beneath her hand.

Books shifted slightly on the shelves.

Something had changed.

And something — or someone — had heard her.

Meanwhile, across the world, Xoxo's car rumbled back into the streets of Abuja. Her heart felt heavier than when she left. The diary rested in her handbag like a living thing. Its pages burned into her memory — every symbol, every prophecy.

Her phone buzzed.

UNKNOWN NUMBER.

She hesitated.

Then answered.

A deep voice spoke, low and urgent. "If you want to keep your daughter alive… the one with you… leave the diary where you found it."

Xoxo's blood went cold. "Who is this?"

Click.

She stared at the screen, heart pounding.

In the days that followed, strange things began to happen.

Ziora collapsed in school after touching a classmate who had a bruise. The bruise disappeared — and Ziora slept for twelve hours.

The family driver woke up with burns on his hands after trying to take her amulet while she napped.

And twice, the security lights in the mansion flickered off at the exact moment the diary was opened.

Xoxo knew one thing for sure.

She had been marked.

And not just her.

Her daughters.

Both of them.

Chief Ebube summoned her to his private study one evening. He rarely asked for her these days.

"I've been contacted," he said, not looking at her. "An international group. They claim you've been investigating an old Nigerian cult. They warned us. Said to burn anything your grandmother left behind."

Xoxo folded her arms. "And you believe them?"

"I believe that power attracts enemies. And you've stirred something ancient."

She stood. "I didn't stir it. It found me. And I will not run."

The next morning, an envelope arrived.

No return address.

Inside was a photo.

Of a little girl.

Zikora.

Older now, perhaps 9 or 10. Same golden-brown skin. Same eyes. Holding a plush bunny.

Xoxo's hands shook.

There was no note.

Just the photo… and a sigil drawn on the back in red ink.

The same one from the diary.

Aso Ndi Mmuo.

The Cloth of Spirits.

Xoxo now knew:

Someone had her child.

And they wanted her to know.

But why send the photo now?

Why make contact now, after all these years?

She called her private investigator. "Search every international orphanage, private school, foster network, and adoption agency linked to Nigeria and France in the last decade. I want every trace."

"Yes ma'am," he said.

And then she called a journalist.

A dangerous one.

"Are you still looking for your next story?" she asked.

"I'm always hungry," the woman replied.

"I have one about missing children… and ancient Nigerian power."

In Paris, Zikora stood on the balcony, watching the rain fall. Her guardian, Mr. Richardson, was on the phone inside. Loud. Nervous.

She could hear his voice even through the glass.

"I told you not to draw attention to her! She's not ready—"

Zikora looked down at her palm.

The amulet shimmered faintly.

It had begun to hum.

Then she heard it.

A whisper.

Not from outside.

From inside her head.

"Come home."

She turned sharply.

No one there.

But her body was burning. With need. With direction.

With calling.

Elsewhere, a meeting was happening in an old underground vault beneath Paris. Candles flickered over stone walls.

A woman in a red scarf stood at the center, holding Zikora's photo.

"She's awakened. The Flame burns again."

A man in a black robe nodded. "The Mirror will follow. And when the twins meet, the power will be whole."

"But if the mother reads the last page of the diary," said another, "we are doomed."

"We must take the Mirror child."

"Or kill the mother."

Back in Abuja, Xoxo pulled out the last pages of the diary — the ones she had refused to read until now.

April 4, 2005

If the Flame and the Mirror awaken in this generation, a storm will follow. Aso Ndi Mmuo was formed to protect the gift — but they became greedy. Hungry. They wanted to control the power, not guard it.

If they get the children… they will not stop until the bloodline is broken.

May 1, 2006

The twins must find each other. Their bond is their shield. Only together can they unlock the Gate of Names. Only together can they survive what comes.

Xoxo stared at the words:

Find each other. Or perish apart.

She closed the book and kissed Ziora's forehead.

And then she made the decision.

They were going to Paris.

🛫 Two Weeks Later

Ziora stared out of the airplane window. "Mommy, is my sister there?"

Xoxo touched her hand gently. "Yes, baby. I believe she is."

"Will she know me?"

"She's your twin. She'll feel you before she sees you."

Ziora smiled faintly. "My dreams said we'll be fire and wind. Do you think that's true?"

Xoxo's eyes misted. "I think the world won't be ready for you two."

Far ahead, in a grand estate, Zikora sat in the dark, humming the same tune Ziora had sung days ago in Abuja — a lullaby Xoxo had created when they were infants.

No one had taught Zikora.

She just knew it.

Because something ancient and eternal had already begun to burn between them.

TO BE CONTINUED…