The Second Wave

I. The Sky Cried Ashes

The second rift did not roar.

It opened like a wound.

A slow tear above the treeline.

No lightning. No thunder.

Only silence—and then the stench of burning fur.

The second wave of beasts poured forth

with bone-blades for hands

and eyes that wept flame.

They were not scouts.

They were conquerors.

II. The Call of the Horn

Ayola was the first to feel it—a ripple across the crossroads.

She raised the twin-horn of Papa Legba and blew.

It echoed across the valleys and hills,

through forest paths and mountain trails,

where Nouvo Lakay's subordinate tribes listened and rose.

The Sky-Kin, dwellers of high rock and wind.

The Stonebloods, builders and breakers from the north hills.

The Riverborn, riders of streams and spears.

And others—smaller, quieter—but still loyal.

They answered the call.

Not for glory.

For survival.

III. The Fracture Within

But inside Nouvo Lakay, fear had taken root.

Some whispered,

"Where is Zion?"

"The gods have left us."

"We should flee before the gates fall."

And in the shadows, Ejimo listened and said nothing.

A group of families packed quietly,

speaking only in glances and half-truths.

Others stayed.

Sharpened blades.

Polished charms.

Built fires at the gates and offered prayers under breath.

IV. The Priestesses' Stand

The five stood tall.

Ayomi burned incense of the dead, preparing graves in advance—just in case.

Elis painted wards of death along the sacred paths with ash and salt.

Seal rallied the healers and spirit-weavers, her eyes hard with quiet rage.

Ayola guided the subordinate tribes into defensive rings—each position chosen by omen.

Thalia, face grim and spear in hand, led the battle rites personally.

They did not waver.

Not even when the horizon turned red with fire and the beasts came again.

V. The Second Clash

The battle spilled out beyond the border once more,

the same fields now scorched and soaked in old blood.

But this time, they were not alone.

The Sky-Kin descended with spears like lightning.

The Riverborn flanked from the water's edge.

The Stonebloods held the central hill, unmoving like mountains.

It was not unity—

but it was something close.

And it held.

Barely.

VI. The Cowards' Path

That night, under cover of smoke and shadows,

several families slipped out of Nouvo Lakay—

taking their children, their food, their fear.

Ejimo watched them go.

She whispered no curses.

She offered no warning.

But when she turned from the gate,

there was something new in her eyes.

Something dangerous