The stone walls of the war hall stood heavy with silence. At the center, the war table was covered with etched symbols, marked stone tokens, and hand-drawn maps showing the terrain ahead. The air was tense—not with fear, but focus.
Zion sat at the head, eyes narrowed, sigils glowing dim beneath his skin. Around him sat the trusted few—his inner circle, commanders, and the three priestesses who had joined him in war.
But this time, Thalia stood.
Her voice rang with the confidence of a woman chosen by a god of war.
"We strike first," she said, her finger tapping a valley on the map. "We hit the southern edge at dawn. The corrupted tribe has fortified here—but not beyond. If we break the line there, we divide their force. Then we press forward."
Zion said nothing.
He simply watched her—his priestess, now commander.
The others listened. There were no objections.
The Priestesses Prepare
Back at the temple, the other three priestesses moved with purpose.
Sael, priestess of Erzulie, summoned the fishers and merchants. She handed out rations, organized healers, and crafted banners of calm—symbols to remind the tribe of home while the warriors marched away.
Ayola, with quiet hands and grave eyes, spoke to the spirits. She blessed the blades and armor. She walked through the armory, touching each weapon with ashes and bone, whispering to the god of the dead for strength, for judgment, for mercy where deserved.
Ayomi, standing near the Gate, felt her sigil burn as the spirits stirred. She was the Gatekeeper now—chosen not for strength, but for balance. As the last of the warriors passed through the massive stone arch, she raised her hands and the Gate sealed shut behind them.
With a hum and a shimmer, the entrance to Nouvo Lakay vanished behind a wall of mist and stone.
No one in.
No one out.
Until the warriors returned.
The Waiting Tribe
Just as the Gate sealed, a new tribe arrived—dozens of them, from a distant land torn by ash and river storms. Their people bore strange tools, long cloth robes, and carved masks over their faces. They had traveled for days, answering the stories that spoke of a growing power—Zion's tribe.
But now, they stood outside the Gate.
A representative, tall and old, stepped forward. "We come in peace," he said. "But we will not force our way."
Ayomi nodded from the wall.
"The gate remains closed until the war is done," she said softly.
And so, the tribe camped outside—watching and waiting, as the army of Nouvo Lakay marched off into the unknown, led by Thalia, blessed of Ogou, the blood-forger.
Closing Image
From the edge of a distant cliff, Zion turned once to look back. The Gate had vanished. The temple was no longer in view.
But he could still feel it—the pulse of the gods, the strength of the priestesses, the weight of a people depending on them.
He turned away.
He raised his hand.
And the army moved forward, toward war.