Yakubu Dakléshelleng Musa

I first entered the world of “The Sandman” not through a library shelf or a comic book store, but through the glowing rectangles of YouTube and Instagram. Clips surfaced in my feed, snatches of dialogue from “The Oldest Game,” where lord Morpheus wrestles Lucifer not with brute strength but with imagination; or the eerie appearance of the Fates, three voices in one, wisdom braided through mystery. I knew little then of Neil Gaiman, the man behind the mythology.

I never meant to go quiet. But somewhere between the noise of life and the quiet of my mind, I slipped away. This isn’t some dramatic comeback. It’s more like… slipping a note under the door, a whisper into the silence, saying: “I’m still here. And I’ve got stories to tell.” There wasn’t a single, shattering moment that made me stop writing. No defining decision, no dramatic goodbye. Instead, it came like dusk, slow, creeping, and quiet. One day, I simply couldn’t do it anymore.

I’ve long known that divination was considered forbidden—one of the greatest sins one could commit. It was spoken of in hushed warnings, listed alongside the darkest transgressions. Yet, paradoxically, oracles were everywhere, from the High Priestess of Delphi in Greek mythology to biblical stories where prophets interpreted dreams and visions. I must have been a teenager when I first stumbled upon Zodiac signs.