The Stone and the Fire

The morning sun rose strange and golden over Nouvo Lakay, casting long, whispering shadows across the land of Zantrayel.

But no one felt fear.

They awoke in silence, each citizen—from the oldest elder to the youngest child—blinking slowly as if returning from a collective dream. When they stood, they discovered something etched into their skin:

A glowing sigil.

Each one different.

Each one alive with quiet heat.

Each one sacred.

Marked by the Lwa.

Not one person could say when it had happened, nor how. The marks had not burned during the night, but now they shimmered faintly under the sun—blessings forged in a realm beyond time. Some had symbols of river currents, others of bone, fire, or stars. But all felt a deep truth settle in their chest:

"You are claimed. You are part of something greater."

Zion's Fire

Elsewhere, Zion sat in the center of the Grand Temple, his back arched in pain. His shirt lay torn beside him. The heat from his spine pulsed like a living forge. The 234 sigils carved upon him had begun to move, shifting, rotating, locking into place—as if organizing themselves for the battles and blessings to come.

His body trembled.

The priestesses rushed to him, their eyes wide with concern, but when they tried to touch him—

"Don't," he whispered through gritted teeth. "They're still… finishing."

They stepped back.

Behind him, the air shimmered, as if all the Lwa still watched through an invisible veil.

The Stone in the Temple

When the priestesses finally turned from Zion, they found the stone.

It had not been there the night before.

Now, it stood in the very heart of the temple—a massive slab of black and white marble, veined with gold and humming with power. Every priestess approached in silent reverence.

Upon its face were carved the names of every known Lwa—234 in total.

Each name inscribed in divine script, glowing faintly.

Papa Legba.

Erzulie Freda.

Baron Samedi.

Maman Brigitte.

Ogou Feray.

Ayizan.

Simbi.

And names even they had only heard whispered in rituals or buried texts.

"This is… a covenant," Ayola said, voice trembling.

"No," whispered Elis. "This is law."

Zion looked up, sweat pouring down his face. The sigils on his back settled, and with a final surge of pain, the last one burned into place.

"The gods are not watching us from afar anymore," he murmured.

"They are here. And they have chosen."