When Wings Tear the Sky
I. After the Vote
The council's formation had changed everything—and nothing.
Behind closed doors, the newly formed Tribal Council met in whispers. Seven voices, chosen from the priesthood, warriors, and subsidiary tribes, now shared a table with Zion and the priestesses.
But consensus? Fragile as ash.
"We cannot allow the marked to act without review," Ajima insisted.
"And we cannot delay rituals while we argue over candles," Sael snapped.
Ayomi remained silent.
Thalia left halfway through.
Ayola stayed, observing every word with the calm of a waiting storm.
Zion listened—then left without a word.
II. Zion and the Five
That night, under the sacred tree behind the temple, Zion met with the five priestesses alone.
"They want to help," Ayola offered, "but they don't know how to move forward without tearing down what brought them this far."
"Power makes people forget," Ayomi murmured, "especially those who never carried it before."
Elis whispered, "Some of them already fear you, Zion."
Zion looked up at the sky.
"I don't care if they fear me. I care if they forget why we rose."
"Then remind them," Thalia said. "Remind them what the gods gave us."
As if summoned by her words, a cry split the night—not human, but vast and violent.
III. Feathers and Fire
The attack came at dawn.
From the southern skies, a monstrous bird god—wingspan like thunderclouds, talons that carved stone, eyes burning with divine hunger—descended upon Nouvo Lakay.
The people ran. Screamed. Shields shattered. Spears cracked.
It wasn't alone.
A raiding tribe, wrapped in feathers and stormpaint, followed behind it, chanting to the god they called Krá-Thuun, the Sky-Maw.
"They saw the council as weakness," Ayola whispered. "They moved fast."
Ajima tried to rally warriors.
The council froze, unprepared.
Zion stepped into the street, calm as dusk, and whispered:
"Baron Samedi… I ask now."
IV. A Laugh Beneath the Tomb
The wind died.
The bird god shrieked—
—and from the earth, laughter rolled like rolling coffins.
Baron Samedi rose from the center of the graveyard, smoke and bone, top hat and rot, walking like death on a holiday.
He looked at Krá-Thuun and spat into the dust.
"You gods with wings always forget what lies below."
The fight wasn't even fair.
Krá-Thuun struck with thunderwinds—Samedi laughed and turned them to ash.
Talons like spears fell—only to grasp shadow.
The god tried to flee—but Baron Samedi whispered a death it had never tasted.
The giant bird fell. Broken. Hollow. Its followers fled screaming.
V. The Aftermath
As dawn returned, the people gathered in silence around the bones of the fallen god.
Zion stood in the square, surrounded by the five priestesses.
Ajima approached—bruised, shaken, but alive.
"We weren't ready," she admitted.
Zion didn't gloat.
"Now you understand. It's not just politics. It's prophecy and predators. Power and gods. The old world wants us crushed."
Ayola stepped forward.
"Next time, we must be the storm."
The council reconvened the next day—quieter. Wiser. Changed.
VI. Elsewhere: The Sky Cracked for Another
Far away, Kasa paused as ash fell from the sky.
He felt it—not pain, not fear—but a ripple in the weave of power.
Something had died.
Something divine.
"They are awakening," whispered Orikai.
"Then so must we," Kasa replied.