Part I – Five Armies, One Purpose
The morning mist hadn't yet lifted from Nouvo Lakay, but the clamor of change echoed through the village. Warriors stood at attention—not under a single banner, but five.
Each priestess now stood at the head of her own force:
Ayomi, calm and sharp-eyed, taught her followers how to read movement, track whispers, and move unseen—gatekeepers in both spirit and shadow.
Thalia, ever bold, forged a disciplined fighting force: axe-wielders, spear-throwers, and shield maidens drawn from Ogou's chosen.
Sael, all grace and cunning, trained her warriors in balance and control—blending combat with rituals of Erzulie's beauty and sharpness.
Elis, still finding her voice, chose quiet strength. Under Maman Brigitte's watch, she shaped a ghostly company who moved with eerie precision.
Ayola, though already commander of Zion's intelligence network, now prepared a hidden force—men and women who used silence as a blade and shadows as armor.
Zion watched the formations from the temple steps, arms crossed. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. This wasn't a dream anymore—it was real.
"You admire us from afar like a shy boy," Sael teased, sashaying past him, "yet say nothing when we train in sweat and heat."
"I'm studying," Zion replied, smirking. "Every general studies his strongest weapons."
"Weapon?" Thalia scoffed as she approached. "You mean 'queen,' right? Because I do like the sound of that."
Zion raised a brow. "Then what about the others? Am I building a royal court?"
"Careful," Elis said shyly from behind. "You'll make us argue over who gets the crown."
"Let's just give him a leash," Ayomi muttered dryly. "Might be safer."
Ayola simply chuckled. She never flirted with words—her silence was the challenge.
Part II – Warnings and Wagers
That evening, Zion gathered the trusted envoys and sent messengers to the surrounding tribes: those allied, those at peace, and even those neutral. Each carried a single message:
"A force rises that consumes gods and corrupts truth. Strengthen your sigils. Protect your stories. And remember—forgetting is the first step toward being devoured."
Some tribes would laugh.
Others would listen.
A few would prepare.
Part III – In the Web of Ayola
Far beyond Nouvo Lakay, in a dim tent behind a traveling herbalist's cart, two of Ayola's agents leaned over a dead man's arm. His skin was cracked, and his sigil glowed—wrong. Too bright. Twisted.
"Same pattern," one whispered. "That makes seven."
"And they're all spreading through tradesmen," said the second. "Tribes who don't even worship. Some of these people don't even know what a sigil is—yet they're being branded."
In a hidden ledger they'd stolen from a corrupt merchant, names were listed—scores of tribes marked with symbols they never asked for.
"Someone's building a new network," the agent said grimly. "And they're not asking for permission."
Part IV – Returning Flame
Back in the temple, Zion sat with all five priestesses by firelight, sharing the latest news from Ayola's spies. Maps stretched before them. Threats loomed at every border.
But the fire between them wasn't just from danger.
"You know," Zion said, glancing between the women, "when I said I wanted you all close, I didn't expect you'd all become generals."
"You should've known better," Thalia smirked. "You taught us."
"Now you'll have to deal with us," Sael added, inching closer. "All strong. All radiant."
"And all watching," Ayomi added pointedly, arms folded.
Zion leaned back, playful and wary.
"May the gods have mercy on me."
The five priestesses exchanged looks. For once, they all smiled at the same time.
"They won't," Elis said softly. "You're ours, now."