No one was allowed to go forward.

After the tram passengers were cleared from the tracks, they were herded into a secondary station built into the ridge beyond Idanre. Temporary barricades formed overlapping lines of steel and light, forcing people backward even as their attention remained fixed on the city ahead.

Rain fell without mercy, soaking hair, jackets, bags, and patience alike.

Esiri paced the narrow stretch between the barricade and the station wall, her sneakers clattering against wet concrete. There was a strong smell of smoke and metal. Overhead, emergency drones hovered, with their red bands pulsing as they scanned faces and biometrics.

There were also containment units stationed along the perimeter.

In the distance, Idanre continued to burn.

It wasn’t the normal violence of flame and thick black smoke, but a pale, relentless light that rose in broad columns across the city. White fire climbed skyward, visible even through rain and haze, while thick white smoke gathered, folding into itself. Sirens wailed from inside the cordon.

Esiri stopped pacing and stared.

She searched the skyline for landmarks she knew; the main road, the cluster of houses near the old market, anything that might reveal their street, or her grandmother’s home.

The scale of the destruction swallowed detail.

Nearby, a woman sobbed openly, clutching a soaked wrapper to her chest. A man argued with a transit officer, demanding to be allowed through. Someone else prayed under their breath, rocking back and forth on their heels.

Esiri did none of those things.

She approached the barricade again, where a uniformed officer stepped into her path at once. “Miss, you need to stay behind the line.”

“I live there,” Esiri said quietly. “My family is in the city.”

The officer glanced at his slate, then back at her. His expression softened, but his stance did not. “I’m sorry. No civilian entry until clearance is given.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t have that information.”

She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Who does?”

“Please step back.”

She stepped back two paces and stood still, her hands clenched by her sides. Rain slid down her face, and her clothes clung to her, heavy with water. She welcomed the discomfort; it kept her from thinking too far ahead.

Her wristband vibrated weakly. There was still no sign, message, or update.

She tried again anyway, but still nothing.

Logic insisted on restraint: fires were being contained, emergency protocols were active, medical response units were visible along the perimeter. If her family had been injured, she would have been notified.

That was what she told herself as she resumed pacing.

A sudden flare of light flashed across the city, bright enough to draw gasps from the crowd. Esiri froze mid-step, her breath catching as the light climbed higher before fading into nothing.

Her hand went to her chest without conscious thought.

The pendant under her clothes was now cold and unresponsive against her skin, and that did nothing to reassure her.

She stepped toward the barricade again, closer this time. The officer moved immediately, joined by another.

“Miss—”

“I just need to see,” she said, her patience was starting to fray. “Just tell me which districts were affected.”

The officers exchanged glances.

“Please step back.”

Her stomach tightened because they didn’t act like this when they had answers.

She pressed her lips together, trying to suppress her rising anxiety. Rain continued to fall, washing the city in a dull sheen while the fire persisted beyond the cordon.

Esiri stood at the front of the line, soaked and restless, and refusing to accept what no one had said aloud.

Whatever was happening was not yet contained, and the longer she was kept waiting, the harder it was becoming to believe her family had escaped it.

They opened the inner barricade just after dawn.

Just enough to create a controlled corridor between steel posts and hovering drones, wide enough for emergency personnel and escorted civilians. Names were checked, slates scanned, and permissions verified or denied with the same tenacity.

Esiri stood at the end of the line, rainwater dripping from her sleeves, her hair plastered against her neck. When the officer called her name, she barely registered the sound; her body moved before her thoughts caught up.

She walked slowly along the corridor. In some places, the stone had softened into glass, warped, melted and reformed by immense heat. She glanced at the distorted surfaces, wondering what force had wrought such changes.

The air reeked of a strange acridity, more noxious than smoke, like burnt rain or heated minerals.

Emergency drones loitered over the streets, their lenses rotating as they mapped damage, catalogued losses, and searched for survivors.

As she moved farther into the city, she slowed down.

Houses stood where they always had, but they were distorted. Walls bowed inward like melted wax, roofs collapsed into nonsensical shapes, and sections of the road fused into reflective planes that scattered light at fractured angles.

Her heart pounded as she searched for familiarity. She recognised the bend near the kiosk where her father used to argue prices on Saturdays, the corner where her mother greeted neighbours on evening walks, and the path her younger brother took when he cut through the side street to avoid chores.

Her pace slowed further as she looked for her home, but found no rubble, charred remains, or debris; only a smooth, circular depression where her family’s house once stood, as if something massive had pressed down on it and withdrawn.

The stone within the circle sparkled under the rain, reflecting the gray sky like a mirror of sorrow. It took her several seconds to realise what she was seeing.

“No,” she whispered.

A neighbour stood a few steps away, wrapped in a borrowed shawl, her eyes red and unfocused. When she saw Esiri, she instinctively reached out, her fingers trembling.

“Sister,” the woman murmured. “Ẹ mā bínú.”

Esiri did not respond.

She moved closer to the rim of the depression, rain dripping from her chin, her shoes slipping on the wet surface. She crouched and pressed her palm to the glassed stone.

It was cool.

That was wrong. Fire did not behave this way.

Her thoughts scattered as she searched for explanations. Gas explosions left residue. Electrical faults left wiring. Structural collapse left fragments.

This left nothing.

“Miss.”

She turned.

A uniformed officer approached her carefully, with his slate tucked under one arm. His gaze moved from her face to the ground behind her and back again.

“You shouldn’t be here without clearance,” he said politely.

“This was my home,” Esiri replied.

He hesitated a bit, then nodded once. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed. “My parents,” she said. “And my brother.”

The officer glanced at his slate, then looked away, and his pause confirmed her fear.

Her knees gave out.

She barely remembered falling, only the sensation of wet stone against her palms and knees. A sound tore free from her chest, and it took a moment to realise it was her own voice.

Hands reached for her, but she shook them off without looking, as the world spun and the rain pelted her skin like icy needles.

Rain blurred her vision as she stared at the empty space where her life had been. Her body trembled with the effort to breathe.

Her wristband vibrated, then stopped; she ignored it.

“Esiri,” his voice cut through the haze, and she looked up.

Prince Kosi stood beyond the cordon, flanked by palace guards in unmarked coats. He wore a dark green coat over plain clothes, but the officials around him responded to his authority all the same.

He met her gaze and inclined his head.

“Let her through,” he said, and no one argued.

Esiri pushed herself upright as rain streamed down her face. At least the rain hid her tears. She crossed the short distance to him, shivering as she tried to steady her breathing.

“Kosi,” she said, his name barely audible.

“I came as soon as I was informed,” he replied. “I’m sorry.”

She let out a single, brittle laugh. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his eyes moved past her to the hole in the ground, then back.

“This was not an ordinary incident,” he said.

“Of course it wasn’t,” she shot back. “Ordinary disasters leave something behind.” She gestured at the empty space where something—someone—should have been. “There’s nothing here but a hole.”

“Your grandmother survived,” Kosi said. “She was evacuated to a hospital in Akure. She is stable.”

She closed her eyes briefly as relief cut through her grief. When she opened them again, the ache returned, more intense than before.

“I need to see her,” she said.

“You will,” Kosi replied.

She looked back at the city, at the warped streets, the drones, the neighbours standing in the rain.

“Whatever did this was not human,” she said quietly.

“That is not a conclusion I would advise you to voice publicly,” Kosi replied.

She turned to him with anger burning in her eyes. “I don’t care what you advise.”

“I know.”

He gestured toward the skyrunner waiting beyond the cordon. “We should leave before the Assembly arrives.”

Esiri took one last look at the empty space where her home had been, the absence yawning like an accusation.

Around them, the city reorganised itself. Emergency personnel formed replacement lines. Drones recalibrated their scans. Modular command units rose in sections, screens flickering to life with maps, timestamps, and colour-coded zones.

Under the overhang near the cordon, rain trickled steadily from the canopy above. Someone draped a thermal sheet over Esiri’s shoulders without asking. She let it stay. It dulled the cold.

A municipal official approached them with a slate in his hand. The man wore a civilian coat with an emergency insignia clipped to the collar, and his face was blank.

“Miss Adolo,” he said. “The affected districts are now under restricted access pending full investigation.”

She looked at him. “You already told me I can’t stay.”

“Yes,” he replied. “This is the formal version.”

Her jaw tightened. “And my family?”

“We are compiling a verified list of casualties and survivors,” he said. “Notifications will be issued once identities are confirmed.”

“When?”

“I don’t have a projected timeline.”

Kosi stepped in before she could respond. “All communications regarding the Adolo family will be routed through my office.”

The official hesitated for half a breath, then nodded. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Esiri turned toward Kosi. “I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“I know,” he said calmly. “But you need protection right now.”

“From what?”

“From premature conclusions, and people who move faster than evidence,” he replied.

The official cleared his throat. “If I may, this incident is being classified as a non-standard energy event. Preliminary assessment suggests infrastructure failure compounded by environmental conditions.”

Esiri stared at him. “Say that again. Slowly.”

He did. Without flinching.

She shook her head. “What a load of crap.”

The official stiffened. “Miss—”

“There was no infrastructure left to fail,” she said. Her voice was calm now, terrifyingly so. “I saw the ground myself, and I must commend your ability to lie with a straight face.”

There was no response from the official.

Kosi didn’t even look at him. “You may go.”

The man left without argument.

Esiri folded her arms under the thermal sheet. “So this is how it starts,” she said. “You get to choose the words the city uses to spin this disaster.”

“This is how it’s contained,” Kosi replied. “Language shapes response.”

“Language hides responsibility.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed. “Sometimes it buys time.”

“For whom?”

“It’s for everyone who doesn’t want panic to rip Erunon apart before we understand what happened.”

She studied him, really studied him. That composure and the way he never raised his voice or wasted words. He wasn’t the same boy she argued with in secondary school or ignored in the hallway.

“You know something,” she said.

“Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me.”

“Yes.”

A new convoy arrived at the cordon. Assembly vehicles slid into place, and officials emerged from shielded canopies.

“We should go,” Kosi said again.

She hesitated, exhaustion and anger warring in her chest. Then she turned toward the skyrunner as its lights flared and its doors slid open.

Kosi gestured toward it. “Your grandmother is asking for you.”

That did it.

Esiri drew a breath that scraped her lungs raw and stepped forward.