All Returns to Zantrayel

The skies above Zantrayel opened—not with fire or thunder, but with light and shadow braided like smoke and silk.

The people looked up, and the Crossroad split the air, not as a wound, but as a bridge.

They returned.

Not all at once, but in waves—gods cloaked in divinity, demons wrapped in veils of shadow, the chosen awakened and changed.

And yet… they were still family.

👁️ Eyes of the Children

From balconies and rooftops, the children of Zantrayel watched.

Some ran with joy, screaming names they hadn't spoken aloud in moons.

"Mama!"

"Tonton!"

"She's back!"

But others paused.

Their parents returned with new eyes, with sigils glowing, with voices that carried thunder or trembled the ground.

Some children stared in silence—unsure whether to smile or hide.

Because now, their mother had wings.

Now, their father wore the scent of brimstone.

Now, their brother walked with fire under his skin.

And yet… they still remembered the way they hugged.

The way they sang.

The way they loved.

🌗 Fear and Faith

Elders whispered:

"He's not the same."

"That's not your daughter anymore."

But the children responded differently.

They touched glowing hands, even if they burned.

They hugged their mothers, even if they now bore horns or haloes.

They looked past power—into presence.

And some whispered prayers not to gods…

…but to Zion, who had given them back what the world had stolen.

🌱 A New Normal

Not all reunions were joyful.

Some children waited, and no one came through the Crossroad.

And yet, those left behind were comforted by others who had returned—gods and demons alike—who sat beside the lonely and said,

"You are not forgotten. And we are not strangers."

Zantrayel wept.

Zantrayel sang.

Because this was not a return to what was…

It was the birth of what could be.