Abuja was never quiet.
Even in the early hours, the capital city of Nigeria buzzed with life. But that morning, everything stopped. Time itself seemed to hesitate.
It started as a flicker—just a soft ripple in the clouds. Then came the flash. Not lightning. Not natural. Just light… then darkness. And then came the color.
Vanta-blue.
A color that wasn't just seen, but felt. Deeper than black. More terrifying than night. A hue that didn't exist in the human spectrum—but now, it did.
Anthony Richard blinked at the ceiling of his room, disoriented. He was twenty, a UniAbuja student studying Economics. Nothing too deep. But something about that morning wasn't right. His skin felt prickly. The silence outside was unnatural.
Then, a sharp knock at his door.
"Tony, wake up!" Emmanuella's voice. Fourteen, sharp-tongued, always the first to spot something weird. "Come look at this!"
He groaned and swung his legs over the bed. Their father was already in the living room, peeking through the curtains with wide eyes. A hard-working project manager. Calm, composed. But now… visibly afraid.
His mother, a civil servant, sat frozen, clutching her phone. The TV blared static. Her hand trembled.
"What's going on?" Anthony asked.
Phones across the house buzzed. Simultaneously.
Anthony looked down.
EMERGENCY BROADCAST: DO NOT LOOK AT THE SKY. STAY INDOORS.
He blinked. Too late.
Outside, half the neighborhood stood like statues, necks craned up. They'd seen it. He had too.
That was the moment the world changed.
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