The energy shift within the room is palpable. I’ve been here before, and it’s never felt so congested. There are visible rays of radiation floating around the blond foreigner across from me. Her face goes blank the second she sees me, and then her expression softens into a smile as she walks over quickly, extending a hand to greet me.

“My name is Laura Lance,” she says, her hand hanging in the air, untouched. She slowly returns it to her side as she adds, “And you must be Etori’s secret gem, Adahwahyi.”

The rays rival the soft glow of sunlight, except they feel more toxic and disorienting. I can feel them suffocating the air around me, scalding me like hot steam. “Where is it coming from?” I ask, pointing at the moving light formations scattered all around her. “Where is it going?”

She follows my eyes to the cloud of toxic energy engulfing her, which she doesn’t seem to notice, and is silent for a minute before letting out a soft chuckle, widening her eyes in disbelief. “You can see electromagnetic waves? That’s impressive!”

“The others don’t bring that kind of energy here,” I mutter, backing up toward the wall as a precaution against the morphing rays of toxic chartreuse energy. “Why were you excepted?”

“Because it’s not just a cellphone or a wristwatch I can leave out in the reception,” she responds calmly, and slowly sits down on the pristine white cushion complementing the black-and-white-themed chamber. “It’s my pacemaker. I sort of need it to stay alive.”

She points at the contrasting black sofa in front of me and asks me to sit. “Please. We have a lot to discuss, Adahwahyi.”

I hesitate for a moment, trying to adjust to the foreign energy, feeling my temperature spike from just being in the same environment as the woman harboring this supposed “pacemaker.” I’m aware of the advances of technological gadgets in the modern age, despite my time in the Ori Temple. Most of the guests who’ve visited so far were inventors, prodigies in their field. They were considerate enough to bring photographs, magazines detailing major scientific breakthroughs during our meetings. None of them were allowed to bring actual technological gadgets into this chamber. It is the temple’s sacred law to leave all distractions outside before coming in, until this strange woman decided to make one of these gadgets a part of her, corrupting the sacred grounds with its impure energy.

“It’s keeping you alive,” I say, breaking the heavy silence while briefly meeting her eyes. “But you’re only half alive because of it.”

Her forehead creases, the tension consuming her like a second skin. She crosses her legs to maintain composure and then says, “Interesting. I’d like to hear more.”

I almost take the bait like the attention-starved loner I am, until Agidi’s warnings resonate in my mind like a mental leash, reining me back to order.

“I’d love to elaborate,” I respond. “But I believe you have more pressing matters to discuss.”

She smiles knowingly, parting her lips to speak but changes her mind at the last minute, her face darkening as she addresses the cause of her coming. “I’ve heard a lot about you back home. I must admit, it’s strange how they keep your existence a secret here in Africa.” She smiles to lighten the tension. “They do the same in the United States. Only the elites know about the Etorian god of fear.”

“I’m more a herald of fear,” I cut in. “My presence alone doesn’t invoke fear. It’s more an aftermath of my encounter with people. My words leave a bitter taste in their minds that awakens something primal within them.”

She acknowledges my words with a nod. “So a harbinger of fear, then? Adahwahyi? Is that the literal translation?”

I can tell she’s stalling, either intentionally to try and get me more comfortable or awkwardly as she goes about deciding how to manipulate me. I don’t dwell on it. I simply play along. “The literal translation for my name is Father of Fear. My folks consider me a demon of sorts who births fear in the souls of his victims.”

“Not just Africans?” she says, the hint of challenge in her voice unmistakable.

“It doesn’t matter if you’re Indian, American, Chinese, Arab. As long as you have a soul, I can animate it with fear. It’s never intentional, just habitual.”

She nods, looking rather impressed, if you look past the smirk forming on her lips. “Magic?”

“I don’t know,” I say with earnest. “I express myself as I am. People give it meaning. It can be magic to you, blasphemy to someone else, or just plain madness to the intellectual mind.”

She laughs off my remark, desperation intensifying her gaze. She speaks more quickly now, driven by curiosity. “Can you do it to me? Right here? Right now?”

Says every man and woman who’s been here before. I roll my eyes at her and murmur under my breath, “Typical.”

“Please? I promise I’ll be in control the whole time—”

“I am supposed to entertain the guests, not traumatize them,” I scoff, looking away from her. “I’ve been stuck here for a while. Influencing you risks unleashing a torrent of panic beyond anything anyone has ever experienced.”

Agidi, as if on cue, peeks into the chamber, his usually hard face revealing a smile as he makes eye contact with the American. “Just checking in. Is everything all right here?”

Laura glances at me, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I don’t know, Agidi. Your mighty Adahwahyi seems to have gone soft.”

He nods proudly, giving me a satisfactory smile before meeting her eyes. “Believe me, Mrs. Lance, it’s much better this way. Adahwahyi is either pure chaos or a passive menace. We prefer the latter, as there’s no in-between.”

Her face instantly hardens and she rises from the sofa, glaring at the Elder. “You think if I wanted to see him, I wouldn’t just be content with a photograph? I came here to witness his terror. I won’t settle for anything less.”

“But, Mrs. Lance—”

“Don’t manage me. I’m a guest in your town, and I demand the full experience of meeting an actual god.”

Agidi looks at me as if it’s my fault she’s acting out, and I roll my eyes at him, responding with a shrug. He continues to nod obligingly to what the American is saying while I busy myself with observing the increasing rays of electromagnetic waves emitted by her machine, doubling twice its usual amount as a response to her stress.

“Yes, Mrs. Lance. You will receive what you ask for, but proceed at your own risk,” the Elder finally concedes, his eyes falling on me with that cautionary zeal I’ve come to know, demanding my best behavior.

“Finally, some action,” I sigh, a smirk appearing on my lips. I get up, stretch my arms, and crack my knuckles, feeling the pure rush of emptiness pulsing through me, seeking, waiting, dying to be given purpose—given life.