Alex always thought Lagos had two lives.
One was loud, chaotic, and obvious—the blaring horns, flickering streetlights, the hum of generators cutting through the night. The other was hidden, quiet, and dangerous. Most people never noticed it.
Until tonight.
He had just closed his small shop later than usual. Rain had washed the streets clean, leaving a sharp scent of petrol in the air. As he locked the gate, he noticed something that shouldn't have been there.
A door.
Not a gate. Not part of any building. A door—tall, black, and standing between a closed pharmacy and an abandoned store, as if it had always been there.
Alex frowned.
"This wasn't here before," he whispered.
No lights. No signs. Just the door… and a strange symbol carved into it—a circle within a circle, lines crossing in patterns he didn't recognize. As he stepped closer, his chest felt heavy, like the air itself was pressing against him.
Then the symbol glowed.
Alex stumbled back, heart racing. His instincts screamed at him to run, but his feet refused to move. The door opened silently, revealing darkness that seemed deeper than night itself.
And then, he heard it—a voice, soft, almost a whisper, calling his name.
"Alex."
Certain. Calm. Familiar.
Alex's stomach twisted. He knew one thing for sure: whatever lay beyond that door had been waiting for him a long time.
One step forward.
The door closed behind him.
The hidden world had finally opened its eyes.