After the Fire, the Embers

The drums had gone silent.

The streets of Zantrayel, once lit with flame and echoing with music, now rested in a heavy hush. The scent of spiced meats and incense still lingered in the air, but the laughter had died down. The people had feasted. They had danced. They had rejoiced beneath the gaze of gods and priestesses, warriors and kings.

Now came the morning after.

The City Breathes Again

Zantrayel was alive—but it was no longer singing.

The banners were still up, the lamps still burned, but the mood had shifted. A calm had returned, not peace, but purpose.

Cleaners swept the massive coliseum.

Priests extinguished sacred fires that had burned for three days straight.

Children, wide-eyed from nights without sleep, now slumped against their mothers' backs.

The warriors walked slower, their bodies aching from both battle and celebration.

In the capital's heart, the Council of the Seven gathered beneath the ancient canopy tree known as Wòch Lavi—the Stone of Life. Zion stood among them.

Zion's Eyes Turn Forward

Zion wore no crown. No armor. Only a loose black robe and the mark of the Lwa etched across his bare chest. His five wives stood behind him—Ayola, Ayomi, Sael, Thalia, and Elis—watching silently as the city returned to its rhythm.

Zion turned to his seven friends, seated before him.

"The Hive does not sleep," he said.

"And neither can we."

One by one, they nodded. Jalen still bore the tension in his shoulders—his concern for Ayira not yet passed. Kael held maps of the rebuilt districts. Olan carried scrolls on new crop rotation. Zaire whispered notes on what songs had been sung in the last three days—new verses that spoke of gods walking among mortals.

They had all changed.

Grown. Hardened. Awakened.

The 99 Gather Quietly

In the lower coliseum grounds, the 99 warriors gathered—not as part of the armies, but as the unmatched champions of Zantrayel. No longer shining in their war-glory, they now bore linen robes, each dyed with a different shade of red—the blood earned, not spilled.

Twenty-seven of their own would never return to the field.

And yet, they stood proud. Behind them, the Five Priestesses walked—silent, radiant, powerful. No words were spoken. The mere sight of them was enough.

Ayira's Presence

Ayira had already been released. No chains marked her return, no guilt weighed her steps. She walked freely, standing at her husband's side with the dignity of one who never flinched.

Jalen waited.

Their eyes met.

They said nothing.

But when Ayira stepped forward, he did not stop her.

She returned to her place—by his side.

The New Orders

Zion addressed them all.

"We hold this ground not for ourselves—but for the world. We have seen the Hive bleed. We have seen gods wounded. And yet, this is only the beginning."

He looked to the skies, his voice calm, his will like iron.

"Build. Fortify. Train. The stars will call to us again."

And far above them, deep in the cosmos, something answered