Ashes and Altars
"After war, there must be seed."
— Old proverb from the River-Folk
The Altar of the Flame-Eyed Lwa
The altar was built not in the center of the city, but in the northern cliffs—where the wind never ceased and the stars burned close.
Jalen built it by hand.
Not one stone was laid by another.
It began with a single black slab carved from obsidian, taken from the heart of the sacred hill. He shaped it with his own blade, chipped his own hands, let the stone drink his blood.
Around the slab, he raised ten stone pillars—each one marked with a different beast's sigil: fang, claw, horn, wing, scale, shadow, howl, eye, bone, and breath.
Each pillar faced outward, forming a perfect circle. At the center, the altar burned—not with fire, but with a flickering presence.
Tijan Petro was watching.
And waiting.
The First Offering
Ten beasts were brought—each one captured alone by Jalen over the span of two weeks.
A horned river lion from the western banks.
A three-eyed mountain ape.
A razor-jawed duskcat.
And others with no names, only rumors.
Jalen faced them in single combat. No poison. No traps. No allies.
When the tenth beast lay slain, he carved symbols into their skulls and placed them one by one upon the altar.
The moment the tenth skull was set—
The flame turned blue.
A gust of wind roared out from the altar, and a distorted laughter echoed through the mountains. The laughter wasn't cruel—it was amused. Wild. Unpredictable.
Then a voice, deep and distant:
"You did well, boy. I'll take these. See you next year."
The flame vanished.
The altar stood. Waiting. Always hungry.
And behind it, the cliffside bore a new mark—an etching of Jalen's sigil, pulsing faintly in the stone.
Zion's Quiet Return to Life
While Jalen completed his pact, Zion walked the streets.
No title. No guards. Just a man in simple robes, his hand occasionally brushing against his wife's as they strolled.
Her name was Ayomi. Calm as a lake, sharp as obsidian. The people adored her, even feared her a little—when she spoke, things moved.
Zion listened more than he talked.
They passed through markets, gardens, and workshops.
He watched children train with wooden spears. He watched elders teaching old songs to youth who hummed too fast. He tasted a new bread someone had invented using crushed sky-nuts and smiled.
"This is good," he said. "We'll make sure the baker has enough supplies to feed not just mouths, but hope."
He visited a dying tree near the city's edge. It hadn't grown since the storm. He knelt, touched its roots, and promised to return with Ayizan's chosen to heal the land.
He spoke to stonemasons, asking what they needed.
He sat with the Nightwatchers—those who patrolled the dark for danger—and asked how their families were sleeping.
He whispered to a crying child who missed her father.
He listened to a farmer complain about pest-wolves.
He nodded as a blind old woman gave him advice like he was still a boy.
"It's not the kings who save nations," she said. "It's the ones who keep walking when no one sees."
Zion kissed her hand and smiled.
"Then I'll keep walking."
Nightfall: On the Balcony with Ayomi
As dusk fell, he stood with Ayomi on the high balcony of their home. Below them, the capital glowed with soft light and the buzz of peace.
She leaned her head on his shoulder.
"You never stop, do you?" she asked.
"Not until they stop needing," he replied.
"And what about you?"
He turned to her, brushed a braid from her cheek.
"I need this. You. Them. The walk. The struggle. The quiet after the storm."
She kissed him gently.
And the night held them like a secret.
Far North, the Fire Still Watches
On a throne of bones and feathers beyond the veil, Tijan Petro grinned.
"The dog built my altar. The lion keeps walking. The girl has fire in her now."
He clapped his hands.
"Let's see how long this little kingdom of theirs lasts before I'm called again."
He laughed, and stars blinked