The Builders of the Dawn
Dust rose with the sound of chisels and chants.
Milo stood at the heart of Nouvo Lakay, sweat shining on his brow as he directed teams of masons, apprentices, and farmers-turned-builders. The ground beneath the tribe's sacred circle had been transformed into a living blueprint—rows of cut stone, lifted with ropes, muscle, and belief.
Children carried small tools. Elders offered prayers with every foundation stone. Every block placed was marked with a sigil—some glowing, some yet silent.
"No wasted hands," Milo declared. "The gods will not sit on a throne we feared to build."
He no longer questioned why the Baron had chosen him. He felt it in his bones—the rhythm of stone, the purpose of the earth. This temple would not just be for worship—it would be a fortress of spirit.
The Return of Zion
The wind shifted that morning, warm and wild. The guards at the edge of the forest straightened at the sound of wingbeats.
From the sky, riding the great feathered beast Jakael, Zion returned.
Beside him, Thalia, now clad in black and crimson, a glinting iron charm of Ogou hanging around her neck, gripped the beast with unshakable confidence.
The people gathered in awe.
It had been only weeks… yet everything had changed.
Zion dismounted in silence, eyes wide as he looked upon what had become of his people. Not just survivors—but builders of a future.
The construction site was massive—stone pillars rose like fingers reaching for the gods. Scribes took notes. Children sang foundation hymns.
Milo stepped forward, covered in dust, and bowed.
"You left us with dreams, Zion. We woke up and built them."
Zion embraced him without a word. Emotion swelled in his chest—pride, humility, wonder.
"This… this wasn't supposed to happen so fast."
"You inspired it," came a voice behind him.
Zion turned—Seal, her hair braided in shells and her sigil glowing soft gold, walked forward beside Ayola and Ayomi. The three priestesses stood as a triangle—radiant, calm, ready.
Then came Thalia.
She stepped forward, standing between the three, facing them—and Zion.
"I am Ogou's flame now," she said, her voice iron-steady. "But I'm still yours, Zion."
He looked into her eyes. There was no hesitation, no lingering doubt. Just strength and truth.
He took her hand.
"And I'm proud of you. Of all of you."
A Circle Reformed
Later that evening, a small council formed beneath the newly laid stones. Zion's six remaining companions flanked him—eyes scanning the map of the land, minds sharpening their focus.
Around them, the Pyramid of Power—Zion at the peak, the three priestesses at its base corners, and his companions forming the mid-tier of guardians and guides—took on a new, living form.
Each had their role. Each carried part of the flame.
Final Ember
As the sun fell, casting firelight against the carved stone, Thalia stood atop a half-finished pillar. In her hand, a blade—not for war, but for blessing.
She called out across the people.
"This is not the end of the old ways. This is the beginning of something greater. Ogou does not demand obedience. He demands readiness. And we—we are ready."
The people roared. For the first time in their memory, they did not just feel safe.
They felt powerful.