The Forge of Flame and Bone

The war had paused. The dead buried, the city repaired, and the heavens quieted. But in Zantrayel—and far beyond it—no one rested.

Even Zion.

Even the Five Priestesses.

Even the chosen warriors of the pantheons.

All were training.

All were preparing.

All were being shaped anew.

The Calling of Missions

Missions were no longer just military—they were transformative.

Ayomi, Priestess of Baron Samedi, was sent to a necropolis beyond the southern mirror-lake where the dead whispered of a god long forgotten. She walked between tombs, not for conquest, but for knowledge. To commune, to listen, to understand what even the dead now feared.

Sael, Priestess of Erzulie, journeyed to a city of glass that never slept, where love had turned into currency and affection was weaponized. She went not to destroy, but to heal, to remind a fallen people of sacred desire and emotional balance.

Ayola, Priestess of Papa Legba, followed signs that only she could see—runes etched by unseen hands across the windswept desert. There, she was to unlock a gate within a gate, a threshold never meant to be opened again.

Elis, Priestess of Maman Brigitte, returned to the Depths of Ginen, where unredeemed spirits begged for vengeance and chaos whispered through bone to those who still breathed. She was sent to judge, to weigh, to sentence.

Thalia, Priestess of the Seven-Faced Ogou, took no mission by divine command. She volunteered—choosing to travel across shattered Hive territories, not to slay but to study their remnants, sharpen her blade, and redefine what it means to protect.

Zion's Trial Beneath the Skyroot Tree

Zion himself stood alone beneath the Skyroot Tree, in the highlands of Zantrayel's ancient north. It was a place few remembered and none dared enter uninvited.

There, the roots reached into time.

And there, Zion trained.

He did not train as a king.

He did not train as a god's chosen.

He trained as a man, against spirits of memory and wrath, illusions of doubt and pride.

He trained with no one watching but the wind.

Each movement of his blade called thunder.

Each breath calmed storms inside his bones.

He was not sharpening his strength—he was sharpening his soul.

The Hidden Flame

Elsewhere, the chosen of other pantheons—gods both known and hidden—were being tested in their own crucibles.

One such warrior, Khazen of the Ember Tongue, a chosen of the Celestial Fire Pantheon, endured a sun-forging rite, standing for three days in a pillar of unending flame to burn away all doubt. What emerged was not just a warrior—it was a weapon of purity and will.

Another, Tisani of the Moon-Veil, chosen of a forgotten goddess of echoes, walked into a cave without an exit, and did not emerge for a hundred days. When she did, her eyes saw through lies, and her hands bent moonlight like blades.

These were only two.

But hundreds were undergoing transformations.

The Priestesses' Bond

Though scattered across missions, the five priestesses were more connected than ever.

In dreamspace, they spoke nightly.

Their sigils pulsed in unison when any one of them entered danger.

Their bond was not just sisterhood—it was now cosmic.

When the Hive returned, they would not face five women.

They would face a force of one heart, five hands, five flames.

A New Arc Begins

The War of Arrival was past.

But the Age of Becoming had begun.

From the peaks of Zantrayel to the ruins of distant worlds…

From the cities of the gods to the heart of the Hive's empire…

From soul to spirit, warrior to priestess, mortal to divine…

All were evolving.

And something unseen watched from beyond the stars.

Waiting.

Learning.

Hungering.