The Silence That Follows

The air had stilled.

Ash and dust floated gently across the battlefield as the cries of war fell away into a heavy, breathless quiet. The gods had ended their fight, and now the world waited—for breath, for healing, for mourning.

Papa Legba's Final Gesture

Far from the roar of the wounded and the weeping, Papa Legba stood alone at the last rift.

It pulsed like an open wound, howling in silence, leaking hunger and sorrow from a world not meant to be seen. Beyond its threshold, the Beast World still watched—still waited.

With one hand wrapped in his long red prayer beads, Papa Legba lifted his cane.

He did not speak.

He did not need to.

With a single wave, the veil mended. The rift vanished like smoke swallowed by wind. The last doorway closed—not with thunder, but with peace.

Then he turned and began the slow walk home.

Back in Nouvo Lakay

Smoke rose into the twilight sky—not from battle, but from incense, from offerings, from quiet fire.

The people gathered beneath the stone gate of the temple. Rows of woven mats cradled the bodies of the fallen—warriors, priestesses, villagers, allies from distant tribes. Death had taken widely and without mercy.

But the lwa had returned.

And so had tradition.

The Ceremony of the Passed

Baron Samedi led the rite, his coat once bloodstained now shining black like night water. His voice was somber, low, and full of power.

Beside him stood Maman Brigitte, her eyes unblinking, her hands over a bowl of white salt and red wine.

Each name spoken was answered with drumming.

Each soul honored was blessed in turn.

"We do not bury our dead," Baron Samedi said, his voice carrying.

"We lift them to the gate. They will walk it in peace."

Children wept. Elders whispered prayers. Zion knelt, his forehead pressed to the ground.

Beside him, the priestesses stood—each battered, some wounded, but all unbroken.

Ayola held the symbol of Papa Legba close to her chest.

Ayomi watched the horizon, eyes sharp, silent.

Seal whispered the names of the fallen one by one, never faltering.

Thalia did not cry. She stood with sword planted in the ground and hand resting on its hilt.

Elis lit candles that burned with blue flame.

And Baron Samedi danced—slowly, solemnly—until the last drum fell silent.

A Final Moment

Later, in the quiet of midnight, Zion stood alone in the temple yard.

Papa Legba approached and stood beside him.

Neither spoke for a long time.

Then Papa said softly, "The door is shut. But the Beast still dreams. And you, child of dust, must be ready when it wakes again."

Zion closed his eyes.

The war was not over.

But for a moment, there was peace