The emptiness did not reclaim him. Instead, Elian Athen forced himself awake through a haze of constant, cyan light. The announcements that had declared his rebirth were gone, but their stamp remained in a permanent, ghostly exhibit seared into the very fabric of his perception. In the lower left of his field of view, a pulsing status bar: [Vitality: 12%]. In the lower right, another: [Willpower: 9%]. They were not metaphors; they were quantifiable realities, as real to him now as the damp, cold concrete he rested against.The storm still stormed. The rain still came down in relentless sheets, and the wind screamed its scorn under the bridge. But the bitter cold, the bone-freezing chill that had been draining the life from him, was… contained. It was still present, a body sense, but not the kiss of death anymore. His physical body, while weakened, no longer trembled with spasmodic convulsions. Low-grade, systems-whir of energy was maintaining his vital systems humming, fighting the hy

The unadorned, unshakeable fullness in his belly was a surprise. For months, each meal had been an elegantly whispered secret, an exchange flavored with the bitter trace of failure—a reluctant offering from a past peer, the final residue of his funds spent on greasy, unfilling food that accomplished nothing to fill the empty space within. This was different, though. The oranges and moi moi stayed in him like a pillar, burdened by the weight of hard work. The five-hundred-naira note, wadded in his pocket, was worth more than all the paychecks he had ever received. It was clean.Straddling the low parapet, the disorder of the market fading into the distance, Elian allowed himself a moment to be still. He closed his eyes, not out of defeat, but in focus. He concentrated within, to the quiet, shining buildings which had unfolded in his mind. It had left him in a panic and confusion once. Now, it was a tool. And Elian Athen, in annihilation, had always been adept at learning to operate too

The world had turned on its axis. The mockery of Tunde and Femi no longer rang in his head as rebuke, but as fuel. Their scorn had been coaxed through the System and converted into Resolve, cold hard cash of will that now supported his every step. He patrolled the city not as a ghost but as an inspector in hostile lands, senses on edge, Analysis talent a steady, subconscious hum in his mind.His "home" under the bridge had become less of a shelter of hopelessness and more of a forward operating base. It was there, in the darkest before-dawn, that he made his inventory. Not of possessions—he had none—but of himself. Stamina: 6. Resolve: 11. The numbers were a mantra. He was no longer just Elian; he was a work in progress.The quest for an "honest meal" had turned into a daily survival routine with a mission. Mama Chidi had been as good as her promise. He'd appear at her stall every morning, and there was always something for him to do: pacifying the cranky plantain driver, whose bombas

The rhythm of his new life was a slender, fine one. The dawn no longer heralded yet another day of despair, but a series of small, surmountable obstacles. The four hundred and fifty naira that Mr. Gowon offered him was not just cash; it was a promise. It was proof that his brain, the very instrument his betrayers had deemed old-fashioned, was being remolded into a keener, stronger one. The Negotiation ability hummed at the edges of his consciousness, a new lens through which he interpreted all transactions.His horizons had now broadened from the marketplace to the store of provisions, a small but essential territorial gain. That night, he walked back to his bridge, not with the stumbling gait of the defeated, but with the deliberate stride of the man who surveyed his kingdom. He took another route, a one that wound through a labyrinth of dirty, unpaved side streets running behind the city's central market—a world where the city's shiny facade gave way to rough, raw brick and stench o

The Path of Restoration was not a straight path. It was a series of small, measured steps, such as a bricklayer laying bricks. A new shirt. An open door. A naira saved. The Foresight talent was a steady hum in the back of Elian's mind, a different way of thinking that allowed him to see beyond the immediate need for food or shelter. He began to plan, considering the ecology of the area, the flows of favor and information. Tade, the street boy, was a familiar, welcome visitor by now, his sharp eyes and ears a valuable source of the street's beneath-the-surface realities.Tade arrived with the news, his small face furrowed in concern. "Oga Elian, they are having a party. At the new party hall by the lagoon. Your. your old people."Elian's hands, that had been mending a rip in his second-best shirt, still. "My old people?" he asked, although he already knew."The men with nice cars. The one, T-Boy. And the other, Femi. They are getting ready to celebrate a big deal. Everyone is saying it