The Weight of Iron
Thalia sat at the edge of a wind-beaten cliff, her legs dangling above red sand and sharp stone. Since her choosing, her skin had burned in waves—heat rising beneath her bones. It wasn't pain. It was pressure. Like she was a blade being forged.
Zion approached slowly, not saying a word. He had given her space for two days. But the space had only let the fire grow.
"Everything's different," she said, not looking at him. "Even the air feels… thinner. Louder."
Zion sat beside her. "The Ogou are not gentle gods."
"No," she murmured. "But they chose me. All seven. Why?"
He didn't answer. Not because he didn't know—but because he did. He saw it the first time she picked up a weapon in training. She wasn't meant to follow behind anyone. Not even him.
And yet, when she finally turned to look at him, her eyes weren't cold or distant. They were raw.
"Promise me something, Zion."
"Anything."
"Don't worship me. Walk beside me. Even when I burn."
He leaned forward slightly, caught by the gravity between them.
"I don't want a goddess," he said. "I want you."
Then—quietly, with the weight of everything they had survived—they kissed, and the fire between them no longer threatened to consume. It fused.
Nouvo Lakay – The Dream of Stone
Far from the desert cliffs, beneath the rising sun, Milo stood alone in the clearing where the bonfires once marked the Lwa ceremony. His hands were caked in dust and lime. His eyes were bloodshot. He hadn't spoken since the dream.
In his vision, he stood before a temple, made of stone that glowed like ash and fire, carved with sigils that hummed under moonlight. He didn't just see it.
He knew how to build it.
The knowledge had been burned into him—a gift, or maybe a command—from Baron Samedi himself. When he awoke, his sigil burned so hot it cracked the wood he lay on. And then… diagrams filled his mind.
Columns, weights, sacred geometry. He had never studied these things.
Now he could recite them like lullabies.
But how could he explain this to people who had known him only as a humble stone mason?
"This structure…" he muttered aloud, "is not for men. It is meant for them. A throne in the world of the living."
Behind him, Ena, Erzulie Freda's priestess, watched him with curiosity and concern.
"You've seen something," she said gently. "Haven't you?"
Milo turned, sweat and dirt streaking his face.
"Not something. A calling."
The Dawn of the Temple
By midday, the elders, warriors, and priestesses gathered to hear Milo speak. He was not a priest. He was not a warrior. But when he laid the plans in front of them—drawn by his own shaking hand—silence fell like a curtain.
It was unlike anything they had seen. A temple, yes. But also a fortress, a beacon, a home.
"This is not a shrine," Milo said, voice shaking. "It is a meeting place—for the divine and the living. Not just for worship. For guidance. For power."
The people murmured. Some in awe. Some in doubt.
Then Ayola, Ayomi, and Seal stepped forward together—the three chosen priestesses.
"Begin," Ayola said. "We'll provide protection. The Lwa have given you this for a reason. Build it."
Whispers in the Earth
That night, as Milo broke the ground for the first foundation stone, he whispered a prayer—not to any Lwa in particular, but to whatever had gifted him the vision.
"Let it be worthy," he said. "Let it stand long after we are dust."
Deep underground, something shifted.
The earth listened