The Battlefield – Dawn After the Blood
The ground steamed where blood had soaked the earth. Charred banners fluttered in the morning wind, and the silence after battle roared louder than war drums.
Zion stood at the crest of a hill, overlooking the broken remnants of the enemy force. The corrupted sigils had faded from the bodies of the fallen, as though the gods themselves rejected their memory.
Thalia approached, her armor scorched and cracked at the shoulder. Her expression was unreadable.
"We won," she said. "But I don't feel like we did."
Zion nodded.
"Because this wasn't the true enemy."
They both turned as Ayola arrived with her scouts—those who had survived. She reported quickly: scattered pockets of the enemy fled north. Some tribes refused to join the fight. But worse—a second, unknown force had been sighted watching the battle from the edge of the forest. They never engaged.
Zion's jaw tightened.
"This was a test. They wanted to measure us."
Nouvo Lakay – The Gate Opens
As the rising sun painted the sky, Ayomi stood at the gate once again. Her sigil, etched by Papa Legba's flame, burned beneath her skin.
With a quiet chant, she traced the key pattern in the air. Light bloomed from the stone and the gate cracked open like an eye waking from slumber.
The waiting new tribe, kneeling in patience for days, finally stepped forward.
Sael greeted them with warmth and kindness. The elders were offered housing. Children were fed and given woven dolls with protective symbols. The warriors were guided to rest, not questioned.
"In Nouvo Lakay," Sael said gently, "you do not prove your worth with war. You prove it by who you protect."
Inside, whispers spread—about the newcomers, about the war, about the next battle. But louder than the whispers was the voice of Milo, standing at the foundation of a new neighborhood, surrounded by builders and youth.
He raised his stone tablet, freshly carved with a new blueprint.
"If we want to survive what's coming, we must build a tribe strong enough to outlast gods and men."
The people cheered. Work resumed.
Frontlines Camp – The Coming Storm
That night, a war council was called. The three priestesses stood in full regalia, their eyes lit with divine fire.
Thalia took command of the council, laying out a new defense line and sending scouts in all directions. She assigned Zion's seven to act as liaisons between villages, reinforcing tribal unity and coordinating responses.
Ayola received new intelligence—those who bribed the exiled members had not acted alone. A network of traitorous tribes might exist, working together behind masks.
"There is more than greed behind this," she warned. "There is fear."
Sael, now quietly influencing the tribe's internal spiritual strength, revealed dreams shared by several elders: a darkness devouring a god, again and again, like a memory refusing to fade.
Closing Moment
As the fire burned low and stars filled the sky, Zion sat alone beside the river.
Thalia joined him without a word, her hand finding his.
"There's more coming, isn't there?" she asked.
Zion didn't answer.
He simply stared at the reflection in the water—his own face split by the ripples. One man. Three sigils. And too many burdens.