That night my dreams carry me far beyond home. I find myself standing on the surface of a shattered moon, draped in twilight. Giant cracks spiderweb across the sky. In the distance, the Earth itself hangs broken, pieces floating like debris. A cold wind whispers through the darkness, and I realize the sky is fracturing. Stars reel off their courses. I see galaxies colliding silently overhead, their spiral arms tangling. The Milky Way shudders as if in pain.
Before me, a constellation shaped like a broken drum glows in recognition. An old voice speaks behind me: "Do you see, Obasi Mensah, what man's ambition can unseat? The balance is tipping." I turn and behold an old woman cloaked in night stars. Her eyes are storms. "We are unmooring the heavens," she says sadly. "Your gift, your power—they are not just yours. They tug at the strings that bind sky to earth."
Scenes flash by. I float in space, racing with comets. Their tails form strange Celtic knots; even the comets seem to cry out. Beneath me, the sky opens like a dark wound. A great stone hammer hangs above us, as if Zeus is ready to smash the firmament. I clutch the edges of the void.
A whisper from the void: "If order falls, chaos walks. Do you hear the universe calling?" I do. A fiery ring of broken planets forms around me. One speaks in a voice like thunder: "Earth carries more than it should. We watch and tremble." I wake with my heart pounding.
The morning sun warms my face. The dream's warning weighs heavy: if the cosmic order is fraying, then I am part of this imbalance. I pray to the ancestors silently: guide me. The horizon is fractured now in my mind, and I must learn to mend it.