When the Old Ones Knocked

They did not come with horns or trumpets.

They came with quiet footsteps, old symbols stitched into flesh and cloak.

Emissaries from demon gods of ancient pantheons—long buried in dust and blood—stepped into Bassoon beneath a twilight sky.

Some came with one eye.

Some with no mouths.

Some bore wounds that never closed, healed only by time and oath.

They stood before Zion's Throne at the Crossed Realms and spoke in a single voice—though no one had told them to do so.

"If we obey your laws…

If we bind ourselves by purpose and balance,

Will you permit us to stay in this new world you've made?

Will you recognize us—not as threats,

but as kin?"

🌍 The World Held Its Breath

The gods of Bassoon stilled.

The demons of Bassoon stirred.

The pantheons beyond—Olympus, Ifé, Vedas, Asgard, the Red Caverns, and those without name—watched from realms unseen.

They had not expected that question.

They had feared invasion.

They had prepared for war.

But a request for asylum?

For order under Zion's law?

This was not in any prophecy.

⚖️ Zion's Answer

Zion rose.

He wore no crown, yet the air bent around him as if to polish invisible gold.

"I do not rule.

I keep balance.

I do not crave loyalty.

I demand respect—for life, for the law, and for the cost of silence in the face of evil.

If you come to build, you are welcome.

If you come to burn, you will face judgment—god or demon, old or new."

He paused, and the Crossroad pulsed behind him. Papa Legba watched, smiling, staff tapping the threshold of time.

"Step in peace," Zion said.

"Or do not step at all."

🌪️ The Aftermath

The emissaries knelt.

And the Crossroad opened—not by Ayola's hand, but by Papa Legba himself.

One by one, the emissaries entered.

One by one, they were marked—not claimed, but recognized.

And across the realms, the other pantheons shook.

Because they now understood something terrifying:

Bassoon was not a battlefield.

It was becoming the future.