The Marking of the People
Dawn had not yet broke the silence, but with a tremor in the soul of every being in Nouvo Lakay. The air was dense, sweet with incense, and heavy with presence. Every birdcall, every rustling leaf, seemed to speak a single truth:
The gods had walked the land in the night.
Papa Legba stood at the center of the village, his staff planted in the sacred ground. His voice carried, not just to ears, but to hearts.
"From this day forth, no child of this land shall be unseen. Every soul shall carry a mark. Every home shall be known to the gods. Every hand shall carry the blessing of the new age."
Then, the gods moved through the people—not as distant shadows, but walking, touching, breathing alongside them.
The Blessing of the People
From house to house, the Lwa visited—some visible, others present only as whispers, chills, warmth, or dreams. As each citizen stood before the priestesses, a sigil appeared on their skin, glowing briefly before fading beneath the flesh. No pain, only truth.
Each mark was unique—shaped by their soul, their potential, and the god who claimed them.
A boy born under the blood moon bore the flame-scar sigil of Erzulie Je Rouj.
A fisherman was given a coiling blue mark of Agwe, pulsing like tides.
An elder woman, blind but wise, received the silent spiral of Damballah.
No one was left untouched.
Even the outcast, the wounded, and the doubters—especially them—were seen.
The Blessing of the Land
Papa Legba walked to the old river that cut through the valley and tapped his staff to its surface. The water hissed and shimmered. Fish leapt from its depths, glowing momentarily with new life.
"Let this river remember the gods," he said. "Let all who drink from it be part of this covenant."
Maman Brigitte and Baron Samedi stood over the burial grounds. With one voice, they spoke:
"Let the dead rest well and rise only when the gods will it. This land will not forget its blood."
Every tree, every stone, every path from Nouvo Lakay to the far fields of the outer tribes became part of something greater—not just a home, but a nation wrapped in divine favor.
The Silence After
As night prolong again, the people sleep peacefully in the trought the night. Each felt something new: belonging, power, protection.
Zion sleep quietly at the edge of his bed. He did not know, for he did not need to.
The land had been claimed.
The people had been marked.
Zantrayel was now not just a country—it was sacred ground.