The Smoke Between Thrones

I. Ajima's Declaration

The drums of Nouvo Lakay beat not for battle, but for reckoning.

At the Heart Circle, where only Zion and the marked once stood, Ajima entered draped in red and bone.

Behind her: elders from the two subsidiary tribes, skilled warriors, and newly anointed speakers.

The five priestesses watched in silence.

Zion stood, waiting.

Ajima spoke loud and clear:

"We followed. We fought. We bled. But we do not vote."

"The gods chose you. The Lwa marked you. But leadership must not become a crown passed in silence."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

"I propose the First Tribal Council—made of speakers, warriors, priestesses, and the marked."

"Let us not be ruled. Let us govern. Together."

Thalia's hand moved subtly to her spear.

Ayomi's eyes flickered with concern.

Ayola stepped forward, calm and sharp.

"And if the gods say no?"

Ajima did not blink.

"Then the gods may watch us rise anyway."

II. Kasa – The Third Seal: The Ember of Mortal Glory

The cavern roared as Kasa placed his blood on the third seal—a circular stone etched with flames cradling a city.

Not a god.

A city.

As the light surged, his mind was torn backward.

A city of fire and stars.

Mortal-built. Mortal-led.

And at its center, mortals wielded power not borrowed from gods, but gifted by Nzobalu:

Flames that bent truth.

Steel that remembered stories.

Voices that commanded stone and wind.

No chains.

No shrines.

No intermediaries.

Just power, bound in trust.

"This," said a voice in the vision, "was what they feared."

"That mortals could build a world not beneath them—but beside them."

The city crumbled in fire—not from within, but from divine retribution.

When Kasa woke, his hands crackled faintly with the first embers of true creation.

Orikai stared, wide-eyed.

"You are becoming what we lost."

III. Zion – The Dream of Two Suns

That night, Zion dreamt again.

But this dream was not sent by Papa Legba.

He stood on a cliff of white ash, overlooking a sea of cinders.

Across from him stood a boy his age, marked not by Lwa, but by something older. His back carried a trail of fire. His eyes burned with memory, not worship.

They did not speak.

But the land between them cracked and bled flame.

And a voice—one Zion had never heard—echoed across the dream:

"The fire that builds… and the fire that breaks."

"You are not alone, son of Legba."

"Your echo walks elsewhere."

Zion woke in sweat, the air in his hut thick and stifling. Ayola sat by the door, watching him.

"What did you see?" she asked.

Zion, breathless, replied:

"Someone else."

"And he's waking up."

IV. Fracture Lines

At dawn, the Heart Circle still stood empty—but tension filled its stone walls.

Whispers of the council proposal moved like smoke.

Some supported Ajima. Others feared division.

Ayola and Sael debated behind closed doors.

Thalia trained harder.

Ayomi walked the graves again.

And Zion, silent, watched the east.

"If I fall," he whispered, "will they still remember why we stood?"

V. Kasa's Path Narrows

Kasa stood above the ruins shown in his vision—half-buried, half-scattered, but real.

"This was once a capital," Orikai said. "Now it is your path."

Far below, embers of old machines and shattered murals whispered fragments.

A cracked statue bore Nzobalu's name in a language long dead.

Kasa stepped forward.

He did not need translation.

"They will come for me," he said.

"Then we will be ready," Orikai answered.