The Drums That Echo Across Realms
Day One: The Rippling Sky of the East
The first disturbance came like a whisper through silk. Zion stood atop the Watchfire Tower of Zantrayel when the clouds twisted into radiant spirals above.
A golden dragon formed from stardust coiled over the land, announcing the arrival of the Chinese Pantheon. The air shimmered with the presence of Yuanshi Tianzun, the Celestial Venerable, and the others—obscured behind veils of jade and fire.
From this divine breach came their emissaries: the Xianzhou delegation, dozens of mortals robed in rich crimson and silver. Scholars, monks, and warrior-poets. They bowed with dignity, but their eyes carried centuries of pride.
"We come not to conquer," their leader, Priestess Meiyuan, said. "We come to harmonize chaos… and study the flame of your gods."
Zion welcomed them, but the people of Zantrayel could feel the weight of judgment in every glance the emissaries gave.
Day Three: The Sands Stir Near Fire
A quiet crack broke open in the earth, near the volcanic borders of Kasa's fire nation. No trumpets, no gods made manifest—only a heatless wind and a soft trail of sand across stone.
Out from a sliver in space walked the followers of the Ennead, the ancient Egyptian gods. They wore obsidian beads and linen robes, and their silence was ritual. They carried relics in gold and offered prayers to no one visible.
"The Nine Gods of Egypt do not need announcement," said a tall emissary with the Eye of Horus tattooed across his chest. "We are their will, and we walk ahead of judgment."
They did not mingle with the Chinese emissaries. Instead, they carved sigils into the cliffs by Kasa's domain and prepared to wait.
Day Six: Thunder Over Ice
Lightning split the northern sky—not the crackling lightning of storms, but the deep blue-white rift of Yggdrasil's breath.
From the split came longboats of light carried by runed elk. The Norse pantheon had sent its mortal emissaries—berserkers, shieldmaidens, and rune-seers—under banners bearing the raven and the hammer.
They drank from their own horns, set up great tents near the cold fjords of Zantrayel, and claimed territory without hesitation.
"We came to fight beside those who earn it," said a woman with frostbitten eyes. "The gods above told us Bassoon would soon burn."
Their arrival caused ripples of tension. Where the Chinese offered diplomacy and the Egyptians quiet rituals, the Norse brought roaring laughter and sword duels at sunrise.
Day Nine: The Rain Walkers of the South
Rain fell in great sheets. From the southern jungles, the Aztec emissaries emerged, painted in red and turquoise, feathers streaming behind them like rivers of fire.
A great obsidian mirror had appeared in a clearing, pulsing like a heartbeat. From its surface, reflections stepped forward—mortals chosen by Quetzalcoatl, Tezcatlipoca, and Tlaloc.
Their arrival was music and death—a dance of drums and chants, blood offerings and jaguar howls.
"Sacrifice is sacred," one priest told a shocked crowd in Zantrayel. "All life requires payment."
The other delegations kept their distance, murmuring warnings. Zion allowed them to remain—but he posted the warriors of Zantrayel near the obsidian mirror at all times.
Day Twelve: Light Beneath the Sea
The ocean withdrew unnaturally far from the shores of Zantrayel. Kalonji stirred uneasily.
From the depths, a shimmer of bioluminescent whales emerged. Riding their backs were emissaries of the Inuit gods—descendants of Sedna, Nanook, and the spirits of ice and sea.
Wrapped in furs and silence, they disembarked without ceremony, bringing with them tools carved from whale bone, offerings of seal oil, and stories spoken in breathy tones.
They said only: "We dreamed of your fire before it burned. Our gods asked us to stand with it."
They never explained more.
Day Sixteen: Twilight Between Trees
Deep in the misty forests outside the capital, the Celtic gods sent their chosen.
Druids robed in ivy, warriors with spiral tattoos, and seers who saw not with their eyes but their tongues. They came quietly, blending with the land until a single horn call made the people realize they were surrounded.
The gods—Dagda, Brigid, Lugh, Morrigan—did not show themselves, but their presence was in every twisting vine and half-moon.
Their emissaries were unpredictable. They offered gifts of laughter, riddles, and enchantments that twisted stone into song.
Zion personally met their leader, a druid named Cael, who offered him a blade that hummed when lies were near.
Day Twenty: The Path of Fire and Dharma
The final visible arrival was heralded by monsoon winds and lotus petals falling from the sky. The emissaries of the Hindu pantheon came walking—not riding divine creatures, not through rifts, but as humble pilgrims.
They carried nothing but prayer, song, and grains of rice.
They bowed to the Lwa, left blessings at every altar, and greeted the people of Zantrayel not as strangers, but as kin.
"We were called by dreams and dharma," said a girl with eyes like burning stars. "Twelve Adityas. Eleven Rudras. One purpose: to protect what is worthy."
The Lwa watched them in silence. Maman Brigitte said later, "These children are not as gentle as they seem. They carry entire storms in their bones."
The Gathering of Pantheons
As the twentieth day closed, Zantrayel had become a living library of gods. Zion stood at the Circle of Sigils, watching the fires of dozens of foreign camps burn into the night.
Still, no sign of Ogun.
And far beneath the crust of the world, something old and endless stirred—a hunger from beyond the stars, a Devoured Hive, ancient and unsated.
Zion breathed deeply, summoned his priestesses, and said, "Prepare the nations. Bassoon is no longer ours alone