Chapter 05

Chapter 05

The Weight of Wings

Baba Jallow learned something important that night:

Flying looked easier when you weren’t the one doing it.

He stood on the edge of a three-storey building in Bakau, the ocean breathing slowly in the distance. The ring pulsed. The shield hovered beside him, its crow head tilted, wings folding and unfolding like it was impatient.

“I didn’t ask for this,” Baba muttered.

The shield responded by flaring faint green.

Below him, the street was quiet. Too quiet.

Mariama’s words echoed in his mind—You’re already part of his blueprint.

Baba sighed. “Fine. Just… don’t drop me.”

He stepped off the edge.

For half a second, terror grabbed him.

Then the shield moved.

Its wings spread wide, catching the air with a deep metallic whoomp. Baba’s fall slowed, then leveled out. Wind rushed past his ears as he glided awkwardly, arms flailing, legs stiff with panic.

“This is stupid—this is very stupid!”

The shield adjusted, stabilizing him. Baba stopped screaming and started breathing.

He was flying.

Not gracefully. Not heroically.

But flying.

Laughter bubbled out of him—sharp, disbelieving. “I’m going to die doing something this complicated, aren’t I?”

The shield did not answer.

It carried him across rooftops and over dark streets before lowering him gently onto a vacant lot. Baba collapsed onto his back, staring at the stars.

“Next time,” he said between breaths, “we take the stairs.”

The news broke the next morning.

“MYSTERIOUS ATTACK AT PORT WAREHOUSE — SUSPECTS FLEE”

Baba watched from the corner of Kairo’s Bar, hood pulled low. People argued loudly about vigilantes, criminals, and whether the government was hiding something.

Mariama joined him, eyes tired.

“You were there,” she said.

Baba took a slow sip. “I sleepwalk.”

She studied him carefully. “You stopped them. Whoever they were moving—those crates contained experimental medical equipment. Illegal. Dangerous.”

Baba shrugged. “Accidental heroism.”

She didn’t smile.

“The Architect is accelerating,” Mariama continued. “More activity. More disappearances.”

Baba’s jaw tightened. “He wants me to react.”

“Yes,” she said softly. “And he wants to see how far you’ll go.”

That night, the ring burned hotter than ever.

Baba woke up standing again—this time on a radio tower, wind howling around him. Below, armed men surrounded a small compound.

Inside, people screamed.

Baba felt the pull—stronger, more urgent.

“Stop dragging me into complicated situations,” he growled.

The shield unfolded eagerly.

He dropped into the compound like a shadow.

Bullets rang out. The shield absorbed them, wings folding protectively around him. Baba moved clumsily but effectively—blocking, striking, scattering attackers.

One man looked up at him in terror. “What are you?”

Baba hesitated.

He didn’t have an answer.

The shield’s crow head tilted, eyes glowing.

“I’m tired,” Baba said. “And you’re in my way.”

When it was over, the attackers fled. Baba stood among the shaken victims, chest rising and falling.

Sirens approached.

Baba fled before anyone could ask questions.

On a rooftop miles away, the Architect watched from behind a transparent screen filled with data.

“Adaptive response improving,” he murmured. “Resistance to lethality noted.”

A subordinate hesitated. “What if he refuses the role?”

The Architect smiled.

“Everyone resists at first,” he said. “But purpose is heavier than laziness.”

He turned his gaze back to the city.

“And wings,” he added, “always grow stronger under pressure.”

Far below, Baba crouched on a ledge, head in his hands.

Being lazy had been easy.

Being Lazy Crow was exhausting.