The storm was late.

  Not by much, just enough to itch the skin like a rhythm gone slightly offbeat. Kazeem sat by the door, knees pulled to his chest, his amber eyes locked on the deep mark he’d scratched into the wall days ago. Or maybe hours ago? Or maybe lifetimes? Time felt like a frayed rope now, slipping in his grasp.

  He hadn’t eaten. Again.

  His mother had called him twice for supper, voice warm with concern. He ignored her both times. What was the point? Normal food didn’t go down anymore. Not because he refused it, but because something in his body refused it for him. Swallowing felt like pushing sand through a closed throat. It wasn’t pain. Just emptiness. A different kind of hunger. A deeper one.

  And honestly, he didn’t care anymore .

  He didn’t care about anything. Not even his mother warning.

  “Gb?,” he whispered to himself, the strange word echoing like a prayer. His lips tingled each time he said it. That word had meaning. That word had weight.

  And it had done something.

  Earlier that day, he’d stumbled, literally. He was heading to the trench where the scavengers gathered these days when fatigue overtook him. His vision blurred, legs trembling from another sleepless night. He tripped, nearly falling face-first into the dirt path, and collided with one of the passing scavengers.

  “Argh ! Watch out, you little freak !”

  The man swore and clutched his foot, hopping back before continuing on with a limp, muttering curses about reckless boys with clouded eyes. Kazeem had apologized absently and trudged home instead. It hadn’t felt like anything significant at the time. Just another moment in a day built from echoes.

  Now, thunder rolled. Wind hissed under the wooden slats. The gates groaned against the pressure of vines twisting on the outer walls.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  And Kazeem waited.

  He stared toward the front gate, where he’d seen the same scene play out countless times already: the storm and his father entering with a wounded scavenger draped over his shoulder. A man burned along the thigh, with blood on his leg and agony in his eyes.

  As expected the gate creaked open. His father stepped through, rain slicking his shirt, the candles light reflecting on droplets of water dripping from his braided hair and his beard. Zokou, tall, broad-shouldered, his arms and legs marked with old warrior tattoos looked like something out of a forgotten tale. Half-man, half-deity. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his deep voice carried weight. Despite his stoic nature, there was warmth in the way he glanced at his son, like a fire that never roared, but never went out.

  The moment was always the same. Unchanging. Undeniable.

  But this time, he was alone.

  No body. No blood. No scavenger.

  Kazeem sat up straighter, heart pounding against his ribs. “Where is he?” he asked, voice low.

  His father shut the door behind him and blinked. “Where is who?”

  Kazeem stood.

  “The scavenger. The one with the burned leg … you always bring him home during the storm.”

  His father frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Kazeem’s chest tightened. He looked around the room, eyes darting to the corner where the injured man had been laid down in every previous loop.

  Nothing.

  “No wounded man,” he said softly. Then louder, as realization hit him, “No wounded man!”

  “Hey! Stop shouting,” his mother snapped from the next room. “What’s gotten into you?”

  But Kazeem didn’t answer. He sat down slowly on the floor, gaze distant, a flicker of clarity rising like dawn behind his eyes.

  He reached for the wall. The mark was still there. Sharp. Real.

  it didnt disappear! Wait , was it supposed to disappear…? No it should’ve ! But was it at this time ?

  This sign filled him with joy…

  but it wasn’t enough, he need to know, why … and especially how today changed .

  His mind raced backward through the day: the same children playing, the same trader barking, the same wounded scavenger … No ! No wounded scavenger !

  “But why ? ” Kazeem whispered still confused.

  But then it hit him,

  ”It was him earlier !”

  The scavenger hadn’t arrived burned, Because earlier, Kazeem had bumped into him.

  He hadn’t meant to do anything.

  But something had changed.

  A single thread had been pulled and the pattern was no longer perfect.

  Did he decide not to go out after this incident ? Or… Did he died somewhere?

  all these thought wasn’t important, because now the loop had shifted.

  He could feel it in his bones.

  Not freedom. Not yet.

  But a crack in the glass. A splinter in the pattern.

  And for the first time in days, the weight on his chest felt just a little bit lighter.

  Then he felt it.

  A flicker in his gut. Not hunger, not exactly. But its opposite. As if something had been fed. Not fully. Not enough. But something.

  A taste of … gb??

  His limbs loosened, his eyes burned. The pressure in his head finally eased.

  And before he could think too deeply about it, sleep took him where he sat, pulling him into a dreamless dark.

  At first I thought I only would that I would prompt whatever I want and the ai would create a banger …