The First Root

The void was still.

Too still.

And from that silence, the Hive claimed its first victory.

🕷 The Hive's First Move

The frontline had believed the scattered scouts were the Hive's opening assault—probing the defenses, testing responses.

But the truth was far more sinister.

They were bait.

While gods and demons rallied their forces to chase illusions, one queen burrowed underneath the chaos, her children swarming through veins of forgotten magic and shadow.

And in the heart of that distraction, they found their first prize:

A lesser god of memory, fragile but ancient.

A demon lord, forgotten by name, but not by power.

Or both.

The truth became muddled.

What was certain is this: something was taken.

And it was fed to the Hive.

In a place beyond sight, the Hive watched it die—not with cruelty, but curiosity.

It disassembled the divine soul, split the layers of its memory and morality.

It did not feast for hunger.

It consumed for understanding.

The Hive needed more than power—it needed context.

What were gods?

What were demons?

What was Zion?

And now, it had its first answer.

🛡 Emergency Council of Bassoon

In the war room carved from crystal bones and star-forged stone, Zion stood before his council. His wives—five-star generals by title, but commanders by heart—stood silent, eyes burning with questions.

His seven brothers, each bearing three stars, paced restlessly.

Across from them, the Lwa of Ginen, each bearing their ancient sigils and special-command banners, listened—not as deities above mortals, but as protectors of their new shared home.

Ayola, still bearing the residue of the Crossroads, whispered,

"They didn't just feed. They learned."

Zion's voice was grim, low, final:

"We are no longer fighting monsters. We are fighting an idea—the idea that nothing should remain untouched."

🌀 The Price to Pay

The council debated the price of countering the Hive's growing root.

Some called for scorched star tactics—erasing any planet they touch.

Others urged patience—find the source, then collapse it inward.

But all agreed on one thing:

If the Hive could take one… it would take more.

Zion's decree rang out:

"We will build a veil wall—a barrier of gods and demons, of spirit and stone.

Let no one travel alone.

Let no sigil remain unguarded.

If one must die, let it be known and named, not lost."

As the meeting ended, thunder rippled—not across the skies, but in the soul of the world.

The Hive had struck first.

The gods would answer.

But the cost had only just begu3