The Tide That Fights

I. Through the Rift

The saltwater still clung to their skin

as Zion, Kasa, and the gods passed through Kalonji's rift.

The world on the other side was chaos.

The sky was scorched red.

Ash fell like snow.

And below it all, Tāmò bled still.

Beasts — twisted things from beyond the veil —

tore through the coral homes,

their howls matched by the screams of defenders,

whose spears glowed with sea-sigils and faith.

Grandfather Kalonji rose first,

emerging from the rift in full divine form—

his shell cracked, his breath heavy with age and fury.

With one motion, he slammed his massive limb against the earth.

"MY PEOPLE DO NOT DIE ALONE."

The sea surged upward in a wall,

washing over half the battlefield—

but parting around his warriors like a curtain of judgment.

And beside him, stepping from the mist—

Zion, eyes narrowed, heart beating like a war drum.

Kasa, silent, but the flame of the serpent burning bright in his chest.

Their gods stood behind them—

Erzulie, wrapped in mist and fury,

Papa Legba, leaning silently on his cane,

Ogou, arms folded, smile sharp as steel.

And somewhere in the heavens,

something watched.

II. Unity in Ash

Zion looked to Kasa. The tension was there.

Two souls forged by fire and loss.

Two paths. Two flames.

Two truths.

But now wasn't the time for rivalry.

Zion extended a hand.

"Whatever our past—this is our now."

Kasa hesitated.

Then gripped his hand.

And the gods stirred.

From Erzulie's lips came the first war chant.

From Ogou's throat came the second.

And then—

Zion and Kasa charged.

III. The Tāmò Stand

Side by side, they crashed into the beast-army.

Kasa's flames danced like serpents,

turning beast flesh to cinders.

Zion's voice called lightning from the sea-winds,

his blade an echo of storms long forgotten.

Behind them, Kalonji slammed his shell into the ground,

summoning a wall of coral and teeth that burst from the sand

—devouring the lesser beasts whole.

The gods followed.

Ogou, splitting a beast's skull with a hammer of all seven faces.

Papa Legba, weaving illusion and reality until beasts attacked their own shadows.

Erzulie Freda and Je Roug, moving in tandem—love and rage in perfect dance.

The rift above trembled.

The beasts began to fall.

And the island—though wounded—did not break.

IV. The Silence After

By nightfall, the last beast lay still.

The sky dimmed. The salt wind returned.

Kasa sat on a coral stone, exhausted.

Zion leaned beside him, bleeding from his arm, watching the horizon.

"They're only testing us," Zion muttered.

"What comes next… is real war."

Kasa didn't answer at first.

Then:

"Then we stop waiting. We strike first."

Zion turned to him slowly.

And for the first time, smiled.