The Fire of Voices

I. The Gathering

At sunrise, the drums called not for war, nor for ceremony—but for decision.

The Heart Circle filled with warriors, elders, priestesses, and the voices of the two subsidiary tribes. Word had spread fast: Ajima had forced the vote.

She stood at the center, dressed plainly, not in challenge—but in conviction.

Zion, flanked by Ayola and Thalia, watched in silence as the circle filled.

Ayomi and Sael stood slightly apart, their expressions unreadable.

"We have grown," Ajima began, "and with growth comes danger. Not just from outside—but from the blind comfort of power held too long in too few hands."

She turned to the crowd.

"I do not question Zion's strength or the favor of the Lwa. But I question silence. Obedience. Dependency. We are no longer a village. We are a nation becoming."

The murmurs surged like tide.

"Let us build the First Council. Let every tribe, priesthood, and warrior class have a voice."

Zion stepped forward, calm, voice steady.

"If we divide ourselves too soon, we may break before we rise."

Ajima replied, eyes sharp:

"And if we don't, we risk becoming something we once fled from."

II. The Vote of Stones

It was Ayola who proposed the method: a vote of stones, placed beneath moonlight.

Each clan and faction would carve a symbol on a stone and place it in one of two circles:

One for "Yes" – begin the formation of a Tribal Council.

One for "No" – maintain the priestess-led structure under Zion's guidance.

As night fell, the circle glowed with lantern-light.

Stone by stone, tribe by tribe, they voted.

In silence.

No war drums.

No chanting.

Only choice.

When the last stone was laid, Ayomi stepped forward with her spirit-familiar, who whispered the count.

"It is done," she said softly. "The council… will be born."

III. Aftermath

Ajima did not smile. She bowed her head.

Zion remained still, unreadable.

Ayola touched his arm gently.

"This does not mean they've rejected you. Only that they now know how to speak for themselves."

"That's not what I fear," Zion replied.

"Then what?"

"That we've taught them to speak before they've learned to listen."

IV. In the Shadows

Far beyond Nouvo Lakay, a hidden listener—a scout from a distant faction—ran through the jungle, breath tight in his chest.

He carried news back to a warlord known only as The Mourning Flame, who laughed at the word "council."

"They build towers of voices," the warlord murmured, "while I prepare spears."