The night sky over Kan Ogou was dense and suffocating, unlike the open heavens Zaruko remembered from his past life. Here, the stars were swallowed by the thick jungle canopy, and only the occasional glow of fireflies dared challenge the darkness.
But beyond the visible shadows, something ancient stirred.
Far to the north, atop a jagged mountain that pierced the clouds like a shattered spear, the ground trembled faintly — unnoticed by mortal eyes but not by those of the divine. Within the cavernous heart of the mountain, a vast maw of stone opened, revealing the inner sanctum of Talasha: the Bone-Eater.
She was a goddess unlike any Zaruko had ever heard of — a predator of gods, a devourer of the divine. In her skeletal hands, she clutched fragments of broken deities, trophies from long-forgotten battles. Her eyes, hollow yet glowing with cold fire, flickered with a hunger that no mortal could comprehend.
Talasha had sensed the death of the fire priestess — a rival god's weakness exposed. She had watched Ogou's forge flare, a bright beacon carving through the eternal dusk. A new power was rising, and it threatened the balance of the world.
The Bone-Eater's voice was a whisper that rippled through the rock and seeped into the earth:
"A flame has been lit… and I will consume it."
In the deep shadows of the jungle, a scout stumbled through the undergrowth toward Kan Ogou. His breath was ragged; his skin burned with strange, glowing glyphs that pulsed like veins of molten metal beneath his flesh. His eyes held a wild, distant look — as if he carried voices that screamed beneath his ribs.
When Zaruko saw him collapse at the village's edge, the elders rushed to his side.
The scout's voice came as a guttural hiss, words tangled in unknown tongues. Slowly, as the elders worked to soothe him, he began to speak a warning:
"The Bone-Eater watches. She devours gods who falter. She comes for the flame that dares to burn too bright."
Zaruko's eyes narrowed.
He paced before the Council of Three in the Circle of Sparks, his mind spinning with the weight of the message.
"If Talasha is real — if she hunts gods as the scout says — then Kan Ogou is marked," he said. "Ogou's fire will draw her here."
Ko, the flame-keeper, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "When a god falls, their power does not simply vanish. It can be consumed, absorbed. We have seen signs — the scorch marks on the trees, the empty shadows where spirits once lingered."
Maji's scarred face hardened. "That means the cult's priestess was only a small part of this. Talasha's true strength lies in what she has already swallowed."
The room grew heavy with silence.
Jinba finally spoke, voice low and steady. "Then we have a choice. We either prepare for a fight that may consume us all, or we strike first — hunt the Bone-Eater before she finds us."
Zaruko looked out the Circle's open roof toward the dark jungle. His ancestors' blood coursed through his veins, a pulse of steel and fire and rebellion.
"We prepare," he said. "But we do not seek battle blindly. We learn. We watch. We wait for the moment we can turn her hunger against her."
That night, as the tribe slept, Zaruko stood at the edge of the forge, the sigil on his chest warming like molten iron beneath his skin.
He whispered a prayer—not for protection, but for strength.
Ogou answered with a low rumble beneath the earth, and Zaruko felt the forge's pulse synchronize with his own heartbeat.
The war for Kan Ogou had only just begun.
As he turned to leave the forge, Zaruko noticed a group of young warriors gathered nearby, whispering in awe.
One of them stepped forward, nervously clutching a crude knife carved from obsidian.
"We want to learn," he said. "Not just to fight, but to protect the flame."
Zaruko studied them — boys on the edge of manhood, eyes wide with belief.
He nodded once. "Then meet me at dawn. Bring more than weapons. Bring questions. Bring purpose."
The boy bowed and ran off, heart pounding with pride.
Zaruko watched them go, the night heavy with omens.
And the forge continued to burn.
Zaruko lingered at the forge long after the others had gone. The orange glow painted his face in hard lines, reflecting off the beads of sweat on his brow. He wasn't afraid—not exactly. But the name Talasha echoed through him like an omen scratched into bone.
He reached for a shard of cooled iron from the forge's edge and turned it in his hand. Rough. Imperfect. But capable of becoming something sharp, something lasting.
"Is this what it's like?" he muttered to the flame. "To be seen by gods who were never meant to look your way?"
No answer came.
But the heat intensified—just slightly—like a breath held deep beneath earth and iron.
He looked toward the distant jungle, past the lights of Kan Ogou. Somewhere out there, something monstrous stirred. A being that did not seek followers or belief, only prey. Talasha did not bless. She devoured. And in this world, that meant evolution.
If she came and Ogou faltered, the tribe would burn.
And if Ogou consumed her…
What would he become?
The fire snapped suddenly, a spark leaping toward the trees, hissing into the dark.
Zaruko closed his eyes and imagined the forge burning hot enough to blind the gods themselves.
"Then let her watch," he whispered. "But if she touches what we've built…"
His fist closed over the iron shard, drawing blood.
"I'll feed her her own bones."
Behind him, the wind shifted. The jungle exhaled — not in breeze, but in presence. The kind of stillness that came when predators listened.
Zaruko didn't flinch. He stepped back from the forge, his blood now dripping into the coals. The flames licked it up greedily, crackling with approval.
In the distance, an owl gave a single cry — then fell silent.
Ogou's fire did not waver.
Talasha was watching.
And he would let her.
Let her see every hammer stroke. Every child who learned to carve. Every iron weapon they shaped.
Let her see the fire that would never kneel.