The Lwa’s Joke

By the third day of Tijan Petro living in the temple, Zion had aged ten years—in spirit, if not in body.

He sat slumped on his throne, eyes twitching, lips dry, muttering prayers no one taught him. His council approached him with the usual updates: construction, education, diplomatic correspondence.

"Does any of this involve setting something on fire or summoning a volcano?" Zion asked flatly.

"No, my king," replied one priestess.

"Good. Proceed."

A Houseguest from the Fire Pit

Tijan Petro, meanwhile, had made himself very comfortable.

He wore a robe of smoking silk that wasn't burning—but absolutely smelled like it should be. He barked at the cooks for more spice. He scared the scholars by floating upside down in their library. He even challenged a statue to a drinking contest and won.

And every night, he sat in the center of the temple, humming and muttering, surrounded by a circle of flickering flames that never burned the floor—but melted the nerves of every guard on duty.

"He talks to the fire like it's a lover," one guard whispered.

"I saw him bless a bowl of soup and it exploded," said another.

"He's always smiling. That's the worst part."

Zion's Stress Reaches Divine Alert

One night, after waking up in a cold sweat from a dream involving flaming goats, juggling babies, and a very sassy Loa, Zion stormed into the temple.

He pointed at the ceiling and screamed:

"PAPA LEGBA! ERZULIE! WHOEVER IS LISTENING—ENOUGH WITH THE JOKES! My heart can't take it! I'm too young for this level of stress!"

Silence.

Then faint laughter rolled in from somewhere beneath the stone.

Zion rubbed his eyes. "I know that's you, Baron. Don't play with me."

The Mysterious Disappearing Hole

As if the Lwa hadn't done enough, strange rumors began circulating.

A villager approached the Bureau of Public Concerns—a new department formed to log complaints, ideas, and civic concerns—and reported the following:

"An old man was seen digging a hole by the main road. All day. Humming to himself. No shirt. Talking about the 'buried laughter of time'… whatever that means."

"And?" the scribe asked.

"The hole is gone now. Vanished. No dirt. No shovel. No man. Just… nothing."

"Did anyone else see him?"

"No. And here's the weird part: no one remembers his face. Not even me. I just know I saw him."

Word spread fast. People whispered:

"Maybe it was a ghost?"

"Maybe a spirit testing the earth?"

"Maybe it was just Tijan Petro again?"

The last one was popular.

So popular that five different temples submitted official requests for "the flame-haired menace to stop wandering off without warning."

Zion was not amused.

The Temple Becomes a Stage

Back in the temple, Tijan Petro had installed himself like an unpredictable grand-uncle with divine power and no social awareness.

He greeted visitors by throwing handfuls of ash in the air and yelling, "You have been reborn!"

He turned a statue into a chicken, then argued with it for two hours because it refused to sing.

Zion walked in on him once balancing a flaming pot on his head while practicing a monologue about vengeance, loneliness, and pepper soup.

"Why are you like this?" Zion muttered.

"Because it's fun," Tijan Petro answered.

"You're terrifying."

"Thank you."

Zion's Final Plea

At the end of the day, Zion slumped back into his bed, face buried in his hands.

"This is fine. Everything's fine. The god of chaos is my roommate. Strange holes are appearing and disappearing. The Lwa are laughing from the shadows. I'm leading the first country on a primitive world and trying not to have a stroke at twenty-one."

A whisper drifted through the air, like a warm breeze.

"You're doing great, child."

Zion groaned. "Mama Odetta, don't you start too.