Zion stood atop a carved stone ledge overlooking the vibrant heartbeat of Nouvo Lakay. What once was a village scattered across mud homes and prayer stones had transformed into a thriving tribal center, shaped by shared vision, divine purpose, and relentless labor.
At the center of it all stood the new stone temple, glistening under the midday sun—a marvel of effort and inspiration. The walls sang with sigils, carefully carved by Milo and his growing team of masons. Its architecture was unlike anything the tribes had seen: sacred geometry shaped from dreams and Lwa-blessed visions.
Zion placed a hand on one of its sun-warmed walls. "You've done this," he said to Milo, who stood beside him in quiet awe.
Milo nodded humbly. "Baron Samedi showed me the stone in a dream. The rest came like breath—painful, but true."
Below, the open-air marketplace buzzed with energy. Traders from across the region had arrived, some paddling through rivers with baskets of dried fish, others arriving barefoot with bundles of bark, seeds, or carved wares strapped to their backs.
It had been Zion's idea—a place where tribes could come together not for war, but for trade, storytelling, and understanding. No boundaries. No currency yet, only barter and faith.
To keep it running with grace and balance, Zion had named Sael, the priestess of Erzulie Freda, to oversee its management and fairness. Her connection to the goddess of wealth and love made her presence felt in every aspect of the market. Prices balanced themselves, disputes rarely rose, and the economy of the people flowed with an unseen rhythm.
"People call her 'Heart of the Market,' now," said Rano, watching Sael as she negotiated a trade between two fishermen and a herbalist. "And the market listens."
Thalia stood on the outskirts of the crowd, overseeing the defense forces with a different sort of watchful eye. Since embracing her calling as Ogou's chosen, she had been reshaping the way the tribe protected itself—not through dominance, but preparation, unity, and swift, decisive action.
Scouts now rotated patrols across the outer forests. Young warriors trained under the rising sun, and wooden watchtowers had begun to form a loose perimeter around the tribe.
But even with all the good… unease crept.
Thalia had noticed it in whispers from a visiting tribe. A few of their warriors didn't behave like traders—they behaved like scouts. Their questions were pointed. Their eyes lingered too long on the temple, the marketplace, and the defenses.
"I don't like the way they move," Thalia said to Zion that evening.
"We'll keep watch," he replied. "If they're here to learn, we'll teach. If they're here for something else… we'll remind them what strength really is."
Meanwhile, Milo, no longer simply a builder, had begun to transform tribal housing. Using knowledge revealed in dreams and symbols from the temple, he introduced new designs—structures that could breathe, collect rainwater, and resist storms. Families moved into homes that felt like gifts from the gods.
And still, Zion refused to call it a capital. There was no crown. No throne. Just a tribe of dreamers, fighters, builders, and believers.
Nouvo Lakay wasn't becoming a kingdom.
It was becoming a beacon.