Novels by aayobamialabi

Sylvester stood at the center of the war room, a faded map of the region stretched out before him, his hands gripping the edge of the table. His gaze, however, wasn’t on the map. It was faraway, sharp with dread and calculation. Around him, his trusted students and commanders gathered, watching his silence with mounting concern.He finally exhaled. “Flyn is dead.”Murmurs broke across the room like a gust of wind. Katherine's eyes widened. Verity’s jaw tightened. Geral stepped forward, brows furrowed.“You’re sure?” Geral asked.“I saw the place myself,” Sylvester replied. “He was murdered in his shop at the black market. There was no struggle. No signs of resistance. Just…poof!” He looked up, voice grave. “Surely, you don’t mean this…” Geral hummed.“I look like I’m joking?”“Where do we even begin to believe something like that?” Geral folded his arms in skepticism.“Well, listen on, would ya?” Sylvester prodded.Geral rolled his eyes subtly.“It was Edrag. And he didn’t just kill

The sun hadn’t yet kissed the horizon when Sylvester pulled on his cloak, the thick black fabric brushing against his ankles like a shadow trailing his steps. The hood draped low over his eyes, just enough to distort his face. His steps were deliberate, the weight of his dagger hidden beneath his coat adding a subtle rhythm to his gait. But he wasn’t going in for a fight.He was going to find the truth. He only needed a weapon because the black market was that evil.The black market lived beneath the city’s bones, tucked into catacombs and alleyways most wouldn’t dare to whisper about.He didn’t like how coming here always meant he had to be on guard.He really wished he could help the place, but the black market was different from the slums. It was the place purpose built for evil, masked with a rough enclave to make it unappealing to anyone who wasn’t desperate.Because that was who the black market served.The desperate.Stalls stretched endlessly, lined with cursed trinkets, be

The night was thick, masked with the heavy air of tension as the storm raged.Sylvester turned restlessly in bed, his brow slick with sweat despite the coolness of the room. Shadows.He saw shadows…dancing along the walls, flickering in rhythm with the occasional rumble of distant thunder. And then…Nothing.Pitch black. It was a void so silent and absolute it felt like time itself had stopped breathing. In that abyss, Sylvester stood alone. No echoes…no wind. Just him and the crawling chill that traced the back of his neck like a warning.Then came the thunder again. Not from the sky, but from the ground. Deep, guttural, and unnatural. It wasn’t a sound…it felt more like a growl from the belly of something ancient.He jolted upright, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat.Emily stirred beside him, reaching over groggily. “Hold on…you have the ability to dream?” she asked, voice husky. “Much less bad ones.”Sylvester nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not just a dream. This o

Edrag watched himself devolve from a state of slight agitation to a complete mental breakdown.The news that reached him would make anyone crash out, and he was no exception. Everything he thought he was, Sylvester was reported as being better, and as far as he knew, he wasn’t even grandmaster yet.No one could recover back to grand-master after such an accident as Sylvester had.It was impossible.And yet, his spy was in front of him, trembling with news that made his ears bleed.“Say it again,” Edrag commanded.The spy’s voice trembled. “S-Sylvester’s students… they’ve recruited more men. There was a clan that had been involved in some shady deals. Another sect master had been investigating them, and he was being dealt with, and as soon as Sylvester got wind of it…he and his men went in. Not one single unintended casualty.”Edrag hated the last part of the statement.It was almost a mockery…a praise on how efficient of a job Sylvester could do.He didn’t need to know that.Edrag exh

Outside, the wind was quiet, as if the world had paused to acknowledge what had just transpired. The moonlight filtered in and shared its unjudging rays on the fighters, painting them a tad lighter than the frown etched on their grim faces. Genevieve ran into her father’s arms before Sylvester could even say a word. Lincoln caught her in a tight hug, his large hands cupping the back of her head as if making sure she was really there. “I thought I lost you,” Lincoln said, voice rough like gravel under boot. His eyes were red-rimmed but proud, locked on his daughter as though seeing her for the first time again. “I told you I’d be okay,” Genevieve mumbled into his shirt. “He promised.” Lincoln looked up at Sylvester, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange. Gratitude. Respect. Guilt. When Genevieve finally pulled back, her smile faded into something more serious. “Dad...where did you meet a guy like that?!” she pointed to Sylvester. “He’s a master planner! I mean…the set-up…the

The door splintered inward with a violent kick, wood flying, and Sylvester charged through like the force he had promised to be. The two guards stationed beside Genevieve’s makeshift prison barely had time to raise their weapons before he was on them. One lunged at him with a dagger, but Sylvester ducked low, drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, and twisted sharply. Bones cracked, the sound followed by a gut wrenching scream. The other pulled a gun, but Sylvester, despite the dull ache in his side, moved faster. He grabbed a shard from the broken door and flung it like a dagger, striking the man’s hand. The weapon clattered to the floor. He pounced before the man could recover, sweeping his leg out and slamming him to the ground. A swift punch to the jaw ended the struggle. Breathing heavily, Sylvester turned to Genevieve. Her eyes widened as she took in his face, almost like she was looking at an angel. Sylvester tilted his head and flashed her a smile. “You came,” she whisper