The Return
The sun hovered low over the hills as the village gates opened.
Two figures approached from the distance, each dragging behind them an enormous beast.
Ayola and Ayomi walked side by side, stained in sweat and earth, but unbowed. Behind them, the black Ka-Gwos—towering, horned, and twice their size—slumped in the dust, lifeless.
No ceremony. No fanfare.
The people made way, silent.
Their eyes did not meet the priestesses'. Instead, they dropped to the ground or turned toward the sky—offering silent prayers. The scent of blood and wild earth filled the air.
Behind the fire pit, Sael stood waiting, the massive river fish now descaled, salted, and laid over a wooden rack near the embers. Her hands moved with quiet confidence, rubbing crushed herbs and oils into the flesh, her lips murmuring what sounded like song—or spell.
The Ceremony of Flesh and Flame
Night fell. The stars emerged slowly, as if in anticipation.
The three offerings were arranged across the sacred hearth:
The salted fish, now golden and steaming.
The Ka-Gwos, each bound with vines, already skinned and sizzling as their meat roasted in slow circles.
A hush hung in the air—not just from reverence, but because no one had led this ceremony.
The priestesses moved instinctively, each guided by something unseen.
Ayomi lit the center fire.
Ayola laid bones in a perfect spiral.
Sael poured riverwater into a gourd and set it beside the flames.
There were no drums.
No chants.
Just silence, the crackling of fire, and the scent of sacred flesh.
Then, without warning—the offerings vanished.
Not burned. Not stolen.
Gone.
The flames dimmed. The wind stilled.
And then the sigils—those markings etched into each girl's body—flared with light beneath their skin.
Ayomi's burned silver, like moonlight on water.
Ayola's pulsed a deep violet, as if the dead whispered from within her veins.
Sael's shimmered rose-gold, reflecting both the river and the heart.
The people gasped. A few wept.
But none dared speak.
Signs of Acceptance
No god appeared.
No divine voice thundered.
But the earth itself seemed to exhale, and the sky above shimmered with faint aurora trails—brief, barely visible, like fingers brushing across the veil.
The power within the girls settled, like coals banked beneath ash—still glowing, but deeper now. Rooted.
The offerings had been accepted.
The bond between priestess and Lwa had solidified.
Aftermath
Elders began to murmur again, this time with hope.
The youth danced near the edges of the fire, cautious but smiling.
Mothers gathered herbs to preserve the night's magic.
The heart of Nouvo Lakay beat louder, steadier.
But the three girls said little.
Ayomi sat in the grass, eyes closed, breathing deeply.
Ayola stared into the fire, expression unreadable.
And Sael walked the riverbank again, her fingers trailing the surface like a promise.
Elsewhere…
Far from the glow of ceremony, Zion and Thalia stood before a new tribe—a city-state ten times the size of Nouvo Lakay, carved into the cliffs like a spider's web. Warriors in obsidian armor watched them without blinking.
Their god was ancient.
Their loyalty was absolute.
And they were not impressed.
Zion exhaled.
"This will not be like the others."
Thalia smirked, fingers already moving toward the blade on her back.
"Then let's do it