The Joke of the List
When the list was first revealed, many scoffed.
Zion. Jalen. Ayira. The five priestesses. Warriors known across Bassoon. Names that carried fear and fame.
But then, there—carved in clear stone on the left side of the colosseum wall:
#44 — Wawa, Child of Lwa
An 11-year-old girl.
Barefoot.
Hair in tight coils wrapped with string and beads.
Clothes simple, stitched by village hands.
No armor. No blade.
Laughter erupted.
Not from Zantrayel—but from the chosen of the pantheons.
The Norse smirked.
The Zianzhou whispered.
Even a few of the Egyptian warriors raised eyebrows behind their veils.
"A test?"
"A trap?"
"Is this some kind of joke?"
"The gods mock us."
But Wawa stood in the sand of the Colosseum, her eyes calm. She held no weapon, only a single clay gourd tied with red and blue cord.
A challenge horn sounded.
The gods watched.
The Challenger
From the ranks of the Zianzhou stepped a man wrapped in crimson.
Lian Zhou, 7-foot warrior of jade discipline.
Chosen of Lei Gong, god of thunder and punishment.
His hands sparked with stormlight.
His breath rolled like thunder.
His face held no mockery—only resolve.
"I do not take pleasure in this," he said, bowing slightly. "But a challenge is a challenge."
Wawa looked up and nodded. "Good. I don't like when people enjoy hurting others."
The arena fell silent.
The Fight
Lian Zhou raised his hands. Lightning danced between his fingers. The earth trembled slightly beneath his power. The other pantheon's chosen leaned in.
And Wawa…
sat down.
Cross-legged.
She whispered into her gourd.
She smiled.
Then the sky shifted.
The lightning stopped mid-air.
Clouds that had been gathering above the colosseum vanished.
The thunder in Lian Zhou's veins went quiet.
"What—?" he gasped.
His arms froze. His knees buckled.
Not from pain. Not from magic.
But from… grief.
Tears poured from his eyes.
He dropped to his knees, gasping.
He saw his mother's death.
He heard the cry of a village destroyed in his youth.
He felt the guilt he buried under years of battle discipline.
The clay gourd in Wawa's hand whispered, and the air sang with compassion.
From the stands, Zion stood in quiet reverence.
"She is not the child of Erzulie," Ayira said softly.
"Nor Maman Brigitte," Sael added.
"Then…?" Thalia whispered.
"Ayizan," said Zion. "The Keeper of Truth. The Gatekeeper of the Sacred Mysteries."
Wawa stood up slowly. Walked to Lian Zhou. Placed her hand on his shoulder.
"It's okay to feel. Even warriors must cry."
She helped him to his feet.
There was no need for judges. The gods above had gone silent.
A child had humbled thunder.
With no weapon. No rage. No show of power.
Only truth.
The Arena Reacts
The crowd did not cheer.
They wept.
Some because they remembered their own pain.
Others because they realized strength is not always what one can destroy—but what one can endure… and heal.
The stone updated.
Victor: Wawa, Child of Ayizan
The joke had become the standard.
Even Tijan Petro's laughter stilled for a moment