The Pact of Blood and Madness
The battlefield stilled. Smoke curled around corpses. Ash rained like snow.
The gods of the united tribes watched Jalen from the sky — ten of them, bound to their people through oath, shrine, and blood. They could not let this continue.
And still… they hesitated.
Until one — the war-god of bone and thunder — descended, blade of spirit-fire in hand.
He struck.
That was enough.
Beyond the Veil, the Dance Begins
Tijan Petro rose from his branch, eyes gleaming.
"One swing?" he giggled. "That's all I needed!"
The veil shattered around him. He landed on the battlefield like a meteor. The gods turned, furious and wary.
"You know the cost," Papa Legba whispered from afar.
"Of course," Tijan said. "But this isn't a gift. It's a bargain."
He turned to Jalen, who stood amidst the corpses, exhausted but unbroken.
"Ten gods. Ten beasts. Your enemies' soul-pantheon shattered like bone. But I don't kill for free."
Jalen said nothing at first.
Then he spoke.
"What do you want?"
Tijan grinned wide enough to split his face.
"One hundred of the most ferocious beasts in your land. Every year. Offered in fire and fury."
Jalen's jaw tightened. He shook his head.
"No. That's not balance. That's madness."
Tijan leaned forward, intrigued.
"What would you offer, little hammer?"
Jalen straightened. His wolf growled low, protective.
"I will build you an altar. At my home. Sacred and hidden. Every year, I'll offer ten ferocious beasts. Chosen by battle. Given in respect, not fear."
"And your descendants?" Tijan asked, suddenly cold.
"They'll offer too," Jalen replied without pause. "For as long as my bloodline draws breath, we will honor you."
Tijan's grin returned, wide and wild.
"Ohhh, you clever, serious thing…"
He extended a burning hand.
"Then it is done."
Jalen took it.
The pact sealed. Ten gods screamed as Tijan Petro turned on them — not as a favor, but as payment earned.
He danced between them like smoke and steel.
Ten gods fell.
Their names erased. Their temples cracked in distant lands. Their people felt the break but did not yet understand what had been lost.
Then Tijan turned to Ayira.
Her body was limp in Jalen's arms. Her soul hovered near the edge — overwhelmed, exhausted, doubting.
Tijan crouched beside her and tapped her forehead with one flaming finger.
A sigil burned into her skin, just above her heart — wild, swirling, unpredictable like flame in the wind.
"For the price paid," Tijan whispered, "and for what he endured."
Ayira's eyes opened.
But not to the world.
To memory.
In the Temple of Her Mind
She walked the battlefield again — but not as herself.
She saw Jalen's fury, blow for blow. The six hundred men torn down in righteous wrath.
She saw the pain he held back, the way he whispered her name before every charge.
She saw the moment he almost died — but chose to rise, because she was still breathing.
She saw the gods arrive. And she saw him ask. Not beg. Not command. But ask for power — for her.
And she saw the price.
A promise that would stretch beyond his lifetime.
She awoke, fully, in his arms. Her breath returned in a sharp gasp.
Their eyes met.
"You came," she whispered.
Jalen said nothing.
Ayira reached up and touched the faintly glowing sigil on her chest — and smiled.
"I saw everything."
Tijan Petro stood behind them, arms folded, looking satisfied.
"Well then," he said. "Love, war, memory, and a blood-oath across generations."
He cracked his neck, then saluted with two fingers.
"Don't disappoint me, kids."
And with a burst of flame and laughter that echoed across the realms, he vanished