When the Young Cross Worlds

The gates of Zantrayel had seen gods descend in fury and in love.

But never like this.

From the jade-split sky, gilded ships shaped like soaring cranes and dragons glided through the clouds—Xianzhou emissary vessels, crafted of celestial bronze and blessed with harmony sigils. Their sails made no sound. Their descent stirred no wind. But pride—undeniable and heavy—clung to every polished surface.

Onboard were mortals of great education, discipline, and bloodlines that stretched back to the mountains and rivers of their gods. Each had studied divine law, memorized the hundred courtesies of court, and been trained in the five forms of restraint. They had not come to kneel. They had come to observe.

And perhaps, to judge.

When the first ship landed in Bassoon's capital, its ramp extended with geometric precision. Out stepped six young emissaries, each dressed in silk armor embroidered with stars and dragons. They walked with the posture of philosophers, but their eyes held the quiet superiority of nobles.

Their leader, Yin Shuwen, stepped forward, his silver mask glinting in the sun. Behind it, his gaze swept across the gathered crowd of Zantrayel citizens—farmers, warriors, priests, even children—and lingered a heartbeat too long.

He whispered in High Mandarin, not meant to be understood:

"Primitive, but spirited."

The people of Zantrayel didn't know the words.

But they knew the tone.

And the watching Lwa did not smile.

Across the World – In Fire's Shadow

Meanwhile, on a planet steeped in desert suns and golden sand, nine silent thrones sat in a pyramid that had no top, only starlight above.

They were known as the Ennead—the Nine of Heliopolis:

Atum, the First Light.

Shu and Tefnut, Air and Moisture.

Geb and Nut, Earth and Sky.

Osiris, the Just.

Isis, the Queen.

Nephthys, the Shade.

Set, the Chaos.

Where Xianzhou moved with honor, Egypt moved with intention.

No trumpet sounded when they acted.

No ships blazed across the sky.

Instead, in the dead of night, a rift bloomed—an obsidian slit between worlds—quiet as a prayer and deep as the Nile. It opened just beyond the Flame Nation, in the westernmost valley of Kasa's realm.

From it stepped a group of young men and women clad in white linen, each marked with the dark ink of ancient glyphs. They bore no weapons. Their skin shimmered faintly under moonlight. And their eyes carried knowledge older than fire.

These were the Ennead's Children—sent not to rule, but to learn in silence, to plant themselves within Bassoon and wait for the time their knowledge would tip the scales of the world.

Back in Zantrayel, Zion stood at a high tower with his wife Thalia, watching the jade ships and feeling the pulse of change.

"They do not love us," she said softly.

"They don't have to," Zion replied. "But they will respect us—or leave with less than they came with."

He turned his gaze eastward, sensing the still air over Kasa's borders. Something else had arrived—something quieter.

"And others," Zion muttered, "have chosen the shadows