The sun dipped below the hills, casting long shadows over the quiet village of Nduku. Inside a modest clay house at the edge of the settlement, a 21 years old Amara sat on her bed, staring at the birthday cake her grandmother had baked. There were no candles—just a strange symbol etched into the icing with golden sugar. It looked like an eye, wrapped in a spiral.
"Did you draw this?" she asked her grandmother.
The old woman paused, lips tightening. "No. I thought you did."
That night, as the winds howled and the kerosene lamp flickered, Amara stood in front of her mirror. She leaned in to remove her earrings—but the reflection didn't follow. Her hands froze. The girl in the mirror smiled, ever so slightly.
Suddenly, the glass cracked. Symbols—like the one on her cake—crawled across the mirror like veins of light. Amara stumbled back, heart pounding.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
A voice, layered and ancient, answered:
"The seal has begun to break."
Amara's vision blurred. The walls of her room melted into a blinding white space. When her sight returned, she was standing in the middle of an endless field of sand. Storm clouds churned above. In front of her stood a figure—tall, cloaked in black feathers, with no face. It held a staff and pointed at her chest.
"You are the Fifth Seal," it said.
Amara awoke on the floor, drenched in sweat. The mirror was intact again. But on her wrist, burned into her skin, was the same spiral symbol—glowing faintly.
She had questions.
She had fear.
And she had no idea that the world she knew was about to crumble.