The Call to the Forge

The Crossroad had been quiet for days. Ayola had begun to hear the natural hum of the silence again—like wind learning to breathe through stone.

Then the iron scent arrived.

Before the god appeared, she smelled the copper bite of blood and the molten breath of mountain fire.

Ogou had come.

But he did not knock.

He stepped through the side of the Crossroad, carving his own entrance, smoke trailing behind him like a cloak made of war.

His presence turned the ground to ember. His hammer hung on his back like a second spine, still glowing from use. The sigil on his chest shifted between fire and steel, and his eyes—those deep, disciplined coals—locked onto Ayola.

"Gatekeeper," he said, voice rough as a forge bellows. "I need the girl."

Ayola bowed, respectful. "Which girl?"

"Thalia."

Ayola's breath hitched.

Ogou's flames pulsed once.

"Bring her to me."

She stood straighter. "Why?"

Ogou stepped closer, and for the first time since taking her seat, Ayola felt the heat of divinity press against her. Not cruelty. Purpose.

"Because the war within her must be forged into something sharper.

And only I know how to temper it."

The Crossroad rippled behind them as Ogou extended a hand. But instead of fire, it summoned stone, lava, and iron.

A portal opened—not to a temple—but to the heart of a roaring volcano.

Ash clouds rolled in reverse. Molten rivers surged along cathedral-like rock. In the distance, seven anvils floated midair, each attended by faceless spirits pounding metal that screamed.

The air itself rang with war songs too old for language.

Ayola narrowed her eyes. "What will she become?"

Ogou smirked. "What she was always meant to be."

"And if she refuses?"

Ogou's gaze didn't waver. "Then she will remain soft iron in a world that devours the unsharpened."

He turned to the portal.

"I'll give you three days. After that, I come for her."

Then he was gone—into his forge, vanishing between eruptions that sang of war, sacrifice, and glory.

Ayola stood alone again.

But now the Crossroad felt hotter.

And far off, beneath the quiet hum of stillness and choice…

she heard Thalia's heart, already stirring.

Not in fear.

But in fire.