Demas_Richardson

ZION
He woke in a broken world, carrying the soul of another… and the memories of gods long forgotten.

The tribe is scattered. The warriors are dead. But as Zion rises in a new body, ancient spirits stir—and a lost people begin to believe again.

They don’t know who he is.
They don’t know what he carries.
But the gods are watching… and so is the enemy

BATTLE GROUND OF THE Gods

"Even when the bones fail, the spirit never forgets its rhythm."

The heart of the city pulsed slow and quiet under the weight of the hour. In a modest home nestled among cracked streets and bougainvillea vines, the matriarch of the Toussaint bloodline took her final breath.

Maman Odetta, age 105, lay surrounded by flickering candles, faded portraits of ancestors, and the scent of burning incense. Though her body had grown frail, her spirit had never wavered.

Outside her home, whispers passed through the neighborhood. The old Vodou priestess, the one who could read bones and calm storms, was dying.

Inside, she smiled—serene, at peace.

"The boy done well," she whispered to no one but the air. "Time for me to walk again."

Her chest rose one last time… then fell silent.

The scent of salt and ash filled the air.

From the shadows emerged Kanzo, spirit-walker, guardian of the between.

He bowed low to the soul now rising from Odetta's body, her form young and radiant, dressed in white ceremonial robes that shimmered with gold thread.

"Maman," Kanzo greeted. "Your path don't end here."

She looked down once more at the room she had known her whole life—her altar, her rosaries, her mortar of herbs.

"Take me where I'm needed, chile," she said, her voice echoing with ageless wisdom.

At the Crossroads — Papa Legba Waits

She stepped through veils and mist until the Crossroads opened around her, vast and shifting.

There he stood—Papa Legba, the gatekeeper between worlds, leaning on his crooked cane, hat low over sharp eyes.

"Mwen fière de ou, Odetta," he said. I'm proud of you.

"You better be. I raised that boy you always watched," she answered with a smirk.

They shared laughter like thunder hidden inside a warm wind.

"But I didn't call you here just to catch up," Legba said. "Zion's priestesses walking a thin line. They need you to keep from breaking."

The Stone Temple — Beyond Zion's World

Time and space bent, and in an instant, Maman Odetta stood within the Stone Temple, where the five chosen priestesses knelt in divine trial—battling visions, voices, and forces beyond mortal endurance.

She took her place at the heart of the circle.

"Children," she said gently, voice cutting through the storm. "Let your Lwa in, but don't drown in they power."

Ayola, Aromi, Elis, Thalia, and Sael struggled to breathe under the weight of divine connection, but Odetta moved from one to the next, whispering the old ways.

"Erzulie Freda don't want your tears—she want your devotion."

"Baron Samedi laugh at fear, so stop trembling."

"Ayizan got secrets, but she don't give 'em to the impatient."

She taught them how to chant without breaking.

How to carry godhood without letting it crush their soul.

And in doing so, she gave them back their power—this time, tempered by wisdom.

Outside — Jalen and Ayira Keep Watch

While the gods raged and the priestesses rose, Jalen and Ayira sat in silence at the Temple gates. Day turned to night. The wind shifted. Birds vanished. Yet they did not move.

They were the guardians of the threshold.

And they would not fail Zion—or the Lwa

The Death of Maman Odetta