Beasts, Blood, and Bound Gates
"When the gods call, you do not bring courage. You bring obedience."
— Old tribal saying, whispered by grandmothers in the dark
The Divine Hunt Begins
Jalen and Ayira stood beneath the silver-burned trees of the Forbidden Wastes, their sigils glowing faintly with heat. Tijan Petro had vanished after giving them a scroll—its parchment made from snake-hide, its ink alive with fire.
Seven names.
Seven ancient beasts.
None had been seen in centuries.
Some had vanished into myth.
Others had been sealed away by old tribes.
All were tied to death and madness.
1. The Sorrowed Stag – A deer the size of a war elephant, antlers made of petrified bone, roaming an ash field that drained emotion from all who entered.
Jalen wrestled it bare-handed in silence, blood pouring from his arms as its screams tried to pull sorrow from his soul.
Ayira drove her spear through its heart—not to kill, but to still its despair.
2. The Iron-Jawed Crow – With wings of black iron and a cry that turned rivers sour.
They lured it with poisoned wind, and Jalen, with Ayira on his shoulders, struck it from the sky mid-flight.
3. The Thrice-Spined Viper – So long it wrapped through five abandoned canyons, its breath melting stone.
Ayira danced through its strikes, fearless.
Jalen took its fangs in both hands and snapped its jaw open, ending it with a prayer.
4–7. The rest were worse.
A lion of fire that burned without heat.
A creature made of human hands and forgotten faces.
A spider whose silk spoke riddles that killed the mind.
And the last—a beast made only of mirrors, showing them their deaths again and again until they tore it apart.
By the seventh night, they had them all.
Bound in chains made from obsidian and memory, the beasts were delivered in silence to Zion's high priests.
Zantrayel's Warriors — Preparing the Offerings
No mortals could prepare such beasts. Not without divine protection.
Zion, following Erzulie's command, activated Zantrayel's warriors—warrior shaped like men, with burning eyes and hands that never shook. Forged by ancient Ogou Feray seven faces god-smiths, they had waited for this purpose.
Without a word, the warriors carried the beasts one by one into the Sacrificial Circle beside the stone temple. Fires blazed white-blue, fueled by oils found only under the First Mountain.
The warriors butchered with impossible precision—each cut a ritual.
Each flame a whisper to the gods.
The smell of the air changed.
Time slowed.
It was not cooking.
It was transmutation.
The Priestesses Enter
On the morning of the seventh day, the people gathered.
Drums beat low and slow.
The sky dimmed.
Even the birds stopped singing.
Ayola, Aromi, Elis, Thalia, and Sael stood before the Stone Temple in full regalia—sigils burning bright, eyes shadowed with visions only they could see.
Zion stood with them, hand in hand with Sael. He kissed her fingers.
"Return to me," he whispered.
Sael smiled.
"We will. But not the same."
Then the five entered.
The temple opened, not with noise, but with understanding. A seam of light appeared, and the stone folded away like breath.
When they stepped inside, the door vanished.
Stone. Silent. Final.
The Guardians Take Their Place
Jalen and Ayira sat cross-legged before the temple's sealed front.
They bore no weapons.
They needed none.
Each carried a fresh sigil—a mark given by Tijan Petro himself. It shimmered with violent promise.
Their role was clear:
No one enters.
Not Zion. Not a god. Not even time.
Ayira whispered to Jalen, her voice both soft and electric with divinity.
"I saw them inside. In my dream. All five surrounded by stars. One screamed. One sang. One burned. One bled. One—"
She paused.
"—changed."
Jalen did not flinch.
"We guard them until the world is different."
And so they did.
Night fell.
The stars turned.
And the temple, sealed by purpose and madness, began to hum.