The legends spoke of the Ogun-Emi , the Spirit Guardians, who vanished when the first skyscrapers touched the clouds of Lagos. They said the magic had dried up, replaced by the relentless grind of the modern world. But Amara knew better. She had seen the way the weaver’s loom sometimes moved on its own, tracing patterns that weren't in any manual.
Amara, pushed by a destiny she never asked for, had to choose. She could remain the quiet weaver, watching her world wither, or she could step into the shimmering veil Kosi described. The legends spoke of the Ogun-Emi , the
Amara, a quiet weaver with eyes the color of polished mahogany, felt it first. It wasn’t the usual hum of the village market; it was a rhythmic thrumming deep within her chest, a song her grandmother had hummed before the Great Silence fell. She had seen the way the weaver’s loom