The morning after the exile was silent—too silent. The air carried a weight that bent even the proudest warriors' shoulders. The scent of scorched earth still lingered where the eight had knelt. Their absence had left a hollow space—not just in numbers, but in trust.
The people of Nouvo Lakay didn't speak of forgiveness. They spoke of vigilance.
But it was Ogou who answered first.
Ogou's Rage
The skies turned dark before the midday sun. Thunder rolled across the heavens like war drums. Crimson lightning struck the riverbed, carving steaming scars into the earth.
In the temple courtyard, Thalia, now Ogou's chosen priestess, fell to her knees as her sigil blazed. Her hands trembled, gripped by a fury not her own.
"He demands blood," she gasped, her voice layered with something deeper—older.
The blades of the warriors across the tribe began to hum, vibrating faintly in their sheaths.
At Zion's command, the warriors gathered and spilled a symbolic offering of blood—each slicing their palm and pressing it to the stone altar before the temple.
"Blood paid in loyalty," Thalia declared, standing again with fire in her eyes.
"So we do not pay it in betrayal."
Ogou's storm faded as fast as it came, but the message remained clear: loyalty is not a word—it is sacrifice.
The Gatekeeper's Duty
That night, Ayomi sat in trance before a white-veiled altar at the edge of the temple.
Papa Legba had spoken.
In the flames of her vision, a great gate appeared—twisting and ancient, covered in veves of the Lwa, standing between the world of man and the divine crossroads.
Legba's voice echoed:
"One must guard the line.
One who sees the road ahead and the truth behind.
One who speaks for those who walk between realms."
Ayomi awoke gasping, tears streaming down her face.
By dawn, she had found the old woman named Zafana, a quiet elder who had once spoken in riddles the young mocked. Zafana's sigil had never glowed brightly—but now it burned white.
"You will guard the Gate," Ayomi told her.
"And none shall pass without your knowing."
A new stone arch was built at the heart of Nouvo Lakay—between the sacred and the mundane, between temple and village.
Zafana sat there each day, silently carving new veves into the arch. The people began to whisper her title: Mèt Baryè — the Gatekeeper.
A New Code Emerges
Zion gathered his inner circle, the priestesses, and trusted warriors.
"We can no longer afford to assume loyalty.
We must earn it, train it, and protect it."
From this came the Code of the Sigil, an oath sworn by all marked by the Lwa:
To never sell sacred knowledge.
To place tribe before self.
To report all foreign attempts at influence or bribery.
To protect the temple, the market, and the Gate.
Any who took the oath had their sigil reawakened in a ceremony of flame, water, earth, and wind.