The ceiling fan in the apartment groaned, a rhythmic clack-clack-clack that pulsed in time with Amina's headache. Outside, the Lagos sky was a heavy, bruised grey, threatening a downpour that would surely turn their street into a swamp.
"Tunde, the prepaid meter is blinking red," Amina called out. She didn't look up from the pot of jollof rice she was stirring. Her eyes were stinging from the steam, or maybe just from the fatigue.
Tunde didn't answer. He was slumped on the sofa, his fingers stained with grease from the generator he'd been trying to fix since 6:00 AM. "I heard you, Amina. I heard you the first three times."
The air between them was thick not with heat, but with all the things they weren't saying. Ten years ago, his touch felt like electricity. Now, it just felt like another chore.
Amina sighed, reaching for the salt. But as her fingers brushed the plastic container, the world jolted.
The sound of the fan vanished. The smell of burning diesel was replaced by the sharp, cold scent of crushed jasmine and ancient stone.
Amina blinked. She wasn't in her kitchen. She was standing in a courtyard made of white marble that glowed like moonlight. She was wearing silk that felt like water against her skin.
"High Alchemist?"
A voice, deep and resonant, echoed behind her. Amina spun around.
Standing there was a man in silver armor. He was tall, his skin the color of dark mahogany, and his eyes... they were a piercing, glowing gold. He looked like a King. He looked like a god.
He looked exactly like Tunde.
But when he looked at her, there was no annoyance. There was no "prepaid meter" stress. There was only a raw, desperate hunger.
"The Soul-Merge begins at sunset," the man said, stepping closer. His presence felt like a physical heat. "Are you ready to bind your spirit to mine, or will the kingdom fall because you still fear the fire?"
Amina's heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn't her husband. This was a stranger with her husband's face.
"I... I don't know who you are," she whispered.
The man laughed, a low, melodic sound that made her skin tingle. He reached out, his thumb grazing her jawline. "We have lived a thousand lives, Amina. You say that every time. And every time, you remember."
The man the other Tunde didn't move his hand. The heat from his fingers felt like it was seeping through Amina's skin, traveling straight to a place in her chest she had forgotten existed. In Mowe, Tunde hadn't looked at her like this in years. In Mowe, she was just the person who reminded him to buy fuel for the "Tiger" generator.
"You're shaking," the man murmured. His voice wasn't the tired, raspy tone she knew. It was smooth, like expensive palm wine. "Is the transition getting harder? Or is the other side finally starting to break you?"
Amina pulled back, her heels clicking against the marble. "The other side? You mean Lagos? You mean my life?"
The man's golden eyes flickered with something like pity. "Lagos. A strange name for a prison. You spend eighty percent of your soul-energy there, living a life of dust and noise, while our kingdom rots."
He stepped toward a massive stone basin in the center of the courtyard. Inside, liquid silver swirled without a breeze. "Look into the Aether, Amina. Tell me what you see."
Amina leaned over the basin. At first, she saw her own reflection but she looked different. Her hair was braided with glowing blue threads, and a mark a shifting, geometric tattoo pulsated on her forehead.
Then, the image shifted.
She saw Tunde, the real Tunde. He was sitting in the dark in their Mowe apartment, holding a flashlight. He looked broken. He was looking at her empty chair in the kitchen, his face full of a regret he never showed her when she was standing right in front of him.
"He's alone," Amina whispered, her heart squeezing.
"He is half a soul," the Alchemist said, standing right behind her. She could feel his breath on her neck. "And so are you. That world is a parasite, Amina. It feeds on the love of Alchemists to keep its machines running. If you stay there any longer, you will both fade into nothing."
Suddenly, a loud, piercing sound shattered the silence. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
"The meter," Amina gasped.
"Don't go back!" the Alchemist reached for her, his hand grasping for her silk sleeve. "Amina, if you leave now, the bond breaks!"
The marble courtyard began to dissolve into grey smoke. The jasmine scent turned back into the choking smell of frying onions and rainy-day dampness.
Amina opened her eyes.
She was back in the kitchen. The jollof rice was burning. The prepaid meter was screaming its final warning.
"Amina! For God's sake, the rice!" Tunde shouted from the parlor.
Amina stood frozen, her hand trembling as she held the wooden spoon. But when she looked down at her wrist, she saw it. A faint, glowing blue thread wrapped around her skin, slowly fading away.
It wasn't a dream.