The Boy Who Stayed Behind
His name was Toma.
He had no sigil. No divine dreams. No Lwa whispered his name.
He was not chosen.
But Toma watched.
He watched Ayola walk with spirits and silence.
He watched Ayomi trace strange symbols in the dirt, her eyes always scanning beyond.
He watched Sael, who once was just a stubborn fishergirl, now move like a queen of fire and salt.
And he asked himself, every night before sleep:
"If the gods don't choose me… can I still matter?"
The Pyramid of Power
Before Zion left Nouvo Lakay, he gave a command to his inner circle:
"The priestesses will lead the spirit. You six will shape the blade. I will return—but until then, build the pyramid."
And so they did.
At the top: Zion, absent but ever-present. His word, law. His vision, the anchor.
Just beneath: the Three Chosen Priestesses—Ayola, Ayomi, and Sael—each representing a force of nature, and a gate to the divine.
Beneath them: the Six Pillars—Zion's oldest friends and strongest warriors:
Malek (the Watcher)
Rano (the Heart)
Seyla (the Mind)
Kiro (the Flame)
Bren (the Shield)
Nesa (the Wild)
Each was tasked with leading a core element of the tribe's future: defense, training, strategy, agriculture, diplomacy, and lore.
And below them?
The willing. The brave. The hungry.
People like Toma.
A Blade and a Purpose
Toma begged Rano to train him. The older warrior laughed at first, but saw the boy's fire. So he put a spear in Toma's hand and sent him to spar against the river.
For weeks, Toma practiced alone. He struck the current. Learned to stand against the pull. He swam with weighted stones, tracked birds in the jungle, and learned every blind corner of the village.
He was not the strongest.
Not the fastest.
But he refused to stop.
By the time Seyla noticed him, he was already patrolling at night, weapon in hand, though no one had told him to.
"Who taught you to move like that?" she asked.
Toma shrugged. "No one."
She watched him for a long moment. "You want to protect us?"
He nodded.
"Then we'll make sure you can."
The Rise of the Priestesses
While warriors trained and scouts organized, the priestesses began to shape their own legends.
Ayola raised shrines at the village borders, each guarded by skulls that burned violet at night. Spirits began to walk those paths openly—protectors, watchers, messengers from the beyond.
Ayomi built a ritual grove where her whispers opened unseen doors. Birds carried her messages across the jungle, and the winds obeyed her soft-spoken warnings.
Sael taught defense in the open square, not just to warriors, but to mothers and teenagers and even children. Her sessions became a rite of passage—your first bruise under Sael's staff meant you were ready to stand.
Toma trained beside them all, always watching. Always learning.
And in the quiet corners of the village, people began to say:
"The gods gave us three blades—and a thousand hands to carry them."
The Legend Begins
One night, an elder stood in the fire circle and began to sing. Others joined. The verses grew:
Of Ayola, who could speak to death and never fear it.
Of Ayomi, whose footsteps could open the spirit road.
Of Sael, who once dragged a fish from a cursed river and dared the gods to strike her.
The children listened wide-eyed. The warriors sat taller. Even the winds seemed to hush.
Toma sat near the edge, his spear resting across his knees. No one sang about him. Not yet.
But in his chest, his heart beat like a war drum.
He didn't need to be chosen by a Lwa to become something powerful.
He had already chosen himself.
And when the storm came—and it would come—Toma would be ready.