The Circle Grows

I. Nouvo Lakay, No Longer Small

The drums no longer echoed through a village.

They rang through a tribe.

What had started as scorched earth and prayer had grown into something else. Nouvo Lakay, once a whisper, now stood as a force. Watchtowers framed its borders. Sentries wore marks of fire, bone, and unity. The temple's stone pulse still lingered in the air.

They no longer waited for gods.

They carried them.

And now, others came to kneel—or to ask for shelter.

II. The Children of N'bara

The first to swear loyalty were the Children of N'bara—a river-dwelling people scattered by raiders and forced into wandering. Their leader, Eji, bowed before Zion and spoke not of servitude, but of shared survival.

"We've lost our home twice," she said. "We will not lose it a third time. Let your fire shelter us."

Zion looked at the priestesses.

Sael approved silently—calculating their fighting strength.

Ayomi said only, "They have ghosts with them. Good ones."

Ayola watched the children, saw how they feared nothing but silence, and nodded.

"We will make them a place. But they must become us."

So the Children of N'bara became the First Branch.

Others would follow.

III. Redrawing the Heart

With their numbers swelling, Zion and the elders relocated the market.

It was no longer safe—or wise—to keep it close to the temple, where prayers shook stone and offerings could blind.

So the market was moved beyond the southern hill, closer to the river bend. Merchants built canvas-roofed stalls, and foreign traders now waited in marked zones. Disputes were judged by a council of five—one from each priestess's circle, and one from the Children of N'bara.

The move did more than free space.

It sent a message:

Nouvo Lakay would not be ruled by chaos.

It was order now. Purpose. Power.

IV. A Name in the Wind

That night, Zion sat before the fire, the priestesses around him, silent.

They had been feeling it for days—something approaching.

Not an army.

Not a god.

Something… tangled.

Ayola's dreams had cracked. She no longer saw clearly. The Gate did not speak. Only the wind did.

And the wind whispered a name none of them recognized, but none forgot once they heard it:

"Kasa…"

Elis awoke screaming. The bones she wore burned her skin.

Thalia's spear glowed red when held near fire.

Ayomi cried without knowing why.

Only Sael remained still.

"He's not one of ours," she said.

Zion looked into the flame.

"He may not be anyone's."

V. Seeds of Division

As Nouvo Lakay grew, so too did tension.

Among the new families came old grudges.

Among the market traders came greed.

Among the warriors, once united, now came whispers:

"Why do they lead, and we follow?"

"Why are the gods silent again?"

"What makes their marks stronger than ours?"

The priestesses felt it building—beneath praise, beneath loyalty.

Cracks.

Small.

Spreading.

Zion did not fear battle.

But he feared rotting from within.

VI. Two Paths, Two Fires

Far to the north, Kasa dreamed of fire rising from water.

Far to the south, Zion saw water drowning fire.

Both awoke with smoke on their hands.

And though they had never met,

Though no blood connected them,

Though no god had drawn their paths together—

The world had begun its weaving.

And some threads cannot be undone.