Shadow Beyond the GatePrologue: The Gate That Never SleptEveryone in Kerewake knew the gate.It stood at the eastern edge of the town, older than the first houses, older than the oldest stories people pretended not to believe anymore. It was not grand. No towering arch, no gold or carved beasts. Just two slabs of dark iron fused with a kind of stone that never gathered moss and never cracked, no matter how harsh the rains or how hot the harmattan winds blew.The gate had no fence attached to it. It rose alone from the red earth, as though it had pushed itself out of the ground one day and decided to stay.And it was always closed.Children dared one another to touch it. Lovers swore promises beside it. Elders avoided walking past it at night. Travelers who passed through Kerewake sometimes asked what lay beyond, and the townspeople always gave the same answer, spoken with forced casualness:“Nothing.”But shadows told a different story.At sunset, when the sky burned orange and purple, a long shadow stretched from beneath the gate. It did not match the angle of the sun. It did not shorten or lengthen properly. And sometimes—only sometimes—it moved on its own.This is the story of that shadow.This is the story of what waited beyond the gate.Chapter One: Amadi and the Silence of QuestionsAmadi had lived seventeen years in Kerewake, and every one of them had been filled with unanswered questions.He asked why the river bent away from the eastern fields. He asked why his mother woke crying some nights but never remembered her dreams. He asked why his father refused to speak about the scar across his chest. Most of all, he asked about the gate.“Stop asking,” his father would say, sharpening his cutlass with unnecessary force.“Some questions carry teeth,” his mother whispered once, pressing a finger to Amadi’s lips.But silence only sharpened Amadi’s curiosity.On the evening everything changed, he stood alone near the gate, his goats already herded home. The air smelled of dust and distant rain. As the sun dipped low, the familiar shadow slid forward across the ground.Amadi frowned.It was longer than usual.And it was trembling.He took a step closer. The shadow pulsed, like a living thing breathing slowly. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, but instead of fear, he felt recognition—like meeting someone whose name you had forgotten but whose face you knew.“Who are you?” he whispered.The shadow paused.Then it stretched toward him.Amadi ran.Chapter Two: Whispers in the DarkThat night, sleep refused to come.Amadi lay on his mat, listening to the night insects sing and the wind rustle the thatch above. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the shadow reaching for him—not threatening, not violent, but desperate.When he finally slept, he dreamed.He stood before the gate, but it was open now, groaning softly as though it had been waiting centuries for this moment. Beyond it lay not darkness, but a world drenched in twilight. Trees stood upside down, their roots clawing the sky. Rivers flowed silently backward. And in the center of it all stood a figure made of shadow.“You see me now,” the figure said, its voice echoing inside his head.“Who are you?” Amadi asked again.“I am what was locked away,” the shadow replied. “And you are what was forgotten.”Amadi woke with a scream.His mother rushed in, holding a lamp. “What did you see?” she demanded, fear naked in her eyes.“I saw the gate open,” Amadi said. “I saw what’s beyond.”Her face drained of color.“You must never go there,” she said. “Do you hear me? Never.”“Why?” Amadi pressed.She turned away. “Because some doors were sealed for mercy.”Chapter Three: The Forgotten PactThe elders gathered at dawn.They sat beneath the ancient iroko tree, faces lined with age and secrets. Amadi stood before them, his parents flanking him like guards who did not know whether they were protecting him or the world.“You have seen the shadow move,” the oldest elder, Baba Kola, said quietly.Amadi nodded.A murmur rippled through the group.“The gate was built after the Pact,” Baba Kola continued. “Long before your grandfather’s grandfather was born.”“What pact?” Amadi asked.A heavy silence fell.Finally, another elder spoke. “Once, our world touched another. Not heaven. Not hell. Something in-between. We called it the Veiled Realm.”“And the shadow?” Amadi asked.“The shadow is a sentinel,” Baba Kola said. “Or what remains of one.”They explained how the Veiled Realm had bled into their world, bringing knowledge, power—and corruption. People who crossed the boundary returned changed. Some returned at all costs; others did not return at all.To save themselves, the ancestors forged the gate and sealed the boundary. In exchange, they made a promise: the shadow beyond would never be destroyed, only forgotten.“And now it remembers us,” Amadi said.“Yes,” Baba Kola replied. “And it remembers you.”Cha