The Silent Borders, the Hidden Fire
The wind that swept across Zantrayel that night carried no sound.
No drums.
No chants.
No warning.
The priestesses slept, their dreams calm and untroubled. In Nouvo Lakay, the people rested, unaware of the divine storm unraveling just beyond the veil of mortal sight.
Only the gods moved.
The Marking of the Land
Under the cloak of night, Papa Legba stood alone beneath the ancient moon. He raised his cane of crossroads, and without a word, the borders of Zantrayel began to draw themselves.
Invisible fire danced across the forests and mountains, branding the edges of the nation. Rivers surged and slowed, bending to divine geometry. The land accepted its shape, as if it had always waited for this night.
No man witnessed it.
No priestess felt the shift.
Only the Lwa walked the edges, unseen—Maman Brigitte in the cemeteries, Ogou Feray in the iron cliffs, Erzulie in the riverbanks, Baron Samedi laughing beneath the soil. They wove the sacred perimeter of a nation in silence, building a wall not of stone, but of spirit.
The Sigil-Burning of Zion
While the gods marked the land, Zion slept alone, far from the firelight of others.
But in his dreams, he did not sleep.
He stood before the Lwa.
They did not speak.
They simply came—one by one. All 234 of them. Known and whispered. Loved and feared. Each Lwa with a truth to carve.
He had honored a few.
He had offered sacrifice to some.
But the rest? He had forgotten.
And for that, he was claimed completely.
They came in silence and etched their sigils into his back, glowing brands of divine language. The pain was otherworldly—his body trembled, but could not scream. His mind cracked, but did not break. Every symbol layered atop the last, each one living, shifting, whispering.
No one heard him.
No one knew.
At Dawn
When the first light of morning touched Nouvo Lakay, Zion awoke—alone, shirtless, and shivering. His back glowed faintly before dimming into scars unseen by human eyes.
The priestesses found him kneeling, weak but standing.
"Are you alright?" Thalia asked, her voice cautious.
"I dreamed," Zion said quietly, eyes still fixed on something far away. "No… I was taken. And now I carry more than I ever asked for."
But he said no more.
Because he knew:
This was not for mortals to understand.
Only the gods knew what had happened that night.
Only they knew the price of forgetting.
And only they would know what it meant, now, that Zion bore every Lwa's mark—alone